FIC: A Commotion In The Firmament - Part 1/5
Title: A Commotion In The Firmament
Author name: laughinggas13
Artist name: creepylicious
Beta name: tawg
Word Count: ~25 000
Fandom: Star Trek XI
Rating: PG-13
Main Characters and/or pairings: Kirk/Spock. Enterprise crew, assorted OCs.
Genre: Action/Adventure
Summary: In time-honoured tradition, the Enterprise is dispatched on a peaceful diplomatic mission. In equally time-honoured tradition, said 'peace' comes crumbling round their ears within seconds of arrival. Now with added dinosaurs!
Warnings: Mind-rape, violence and swearing.
Disclaimers: Um, yeah, not mine in any way, shape or form.
Author's Notes (if any): Major, major thanks due to my beta, tawg , for stepping in at the last minute and doing such a fantastic job. (If my dinosaurs in any way resemble reality, it's thanks to her.) Also thanks to yappichick , a) for organising this, b) for answering all my daft questions, and c) for letting me change my posting date at the last minute. And thanks to my f-list, again for answering daft questions and generally putting up with me babbling on about this for the last few months. Geek points to anyone who spots the (really lame) Physics/ Maths joke.
Art: Here
Mix: Vulcan Teenage Rebel
You can now read the whole thing over at AO3. Exciting, no?
Jim often wondered if the Enterprise had somehow ended up on Starfleet’s list of diplomatic vessels. As he pointed out to Spock, it was ridiculous that a ship built with so much firepower was kept confined to milk runs while older, weaker craft were sent to patrol the Neutral Zone. He suspected there were several high-ups who hated the fact that the ‘Fleet’s pride and joy had gone to a green cadet, and were using this period of inaction to either test his mettle, or force his resignation through sheer tedium.
Well. He’d show them. He’d gladly sit through a year’s worth of lectures on diplomatic protocol if it meant he got to captain his beautiful starship.
He sat up a little straighter in his chair and leaned forward slightly in an imitation of intense interest. Admiral Crossman was not very good at concealing his dislike of Jim and Jim enjoyed subverting his expectations.
“And remember, Kirk, the Vulcans are long-standing members of the Federation. The recent disaster on their home-planet in no way devalues them as a species. You will treat them with the respect befitting their contributions to the Federation. Do I make myself clear?”
Jim fought down the temptation to roll his eyes. He’d be fairly willing to bet that Crossman had never even met a Vulcan face to face, let alone spent the last few months working in close proximity to one. He was suddenly glad he’d taken the Admiral’s call in his quarters, rather than on the bridge - God only knew how Spock would react to their new orders.
“Understood, sir. I’ll have Commander Spock stand by to advise me of any cultural differences.”
Admiral Crossman squinted at him suspiciously, apparently unable to decide whether or not Jim was taking the piss. Finally, he grunted. “Just you watch yourself, Kirk. Crossman out.”
As the Admiral’s image flickered off, Jim made an obscene gesture in the direction of the screen. “Up yours too, sir.” He pushed himself out of the chair and headed over to the door. He owed it to his first officer to give him the news before he called a general meeting.
~
“And I know I moan about the reports you and Uhura put together for me, but I did pass my xenocultures class. I am capable of diplomacy without Starfleet holding my hand.”
“I do not doubt it.”
Jim had chickened out of telling Spock the full extent of their orders, not wanting to see the familiar wall of blankness that came down every time the fate of Vulcan was mentioned. He’d skipped over the details in favour of venting his frustration with Crossman. Now, though, he felt somewhat guilty at his deception. He cleared his throat.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to rant. Actually, I came to see you about the new orders. I don’t know how much contact you have with the colony …” He couldn’t bring himself to say ‘New Vulcan’ - whose bright idea had that been? Oh yes, let’s remind people of what they’ve lost every single time we refer to their planet. Fortunately, Spock was good at reading between the lines.
“I receive twice-monthly updates from my father,” he said.
Jim felt a little more hopeful. “So you already know about the proposal passed by the High Council?”
“I was aware that a petition had been made. I did not know it had been ratified.” Impossible to tell what he thought of the decision.
“Yesterday, I think. Starfleet wants to send us to Beta Kithara to sweet-talk the scientists.”
Spock nodded. When he spoke, it was slowly, as if weighing each word. “The proposal is eminently logical, if somewhat unexpected.”
“That’s what I thought too. Kind of radical, but I guess it must have made sense to a lot of people to get passed by the Council.”
“Yes. The events following the destruction of Vulcan -” Not ‘the Narada incident’, Jim noted. Not Starfleet’s careful euphemism, not what Crossman would have said.
“- have forced us to think in new ways. The change is, I think, not entirely detrimental.”
“So you’re saying you… approve of the proposal?”
“You forget that I am a product of genetic engineering myself. What is proposed is no more a crime against Nature than my own conception was. Of course,” he added, with a wry lift of the eyebrow, “there are Vulcans who consider me an unnatural creature. No doubt there will be some opposition; it is inevitable.”
This seemed to Jim a good moment to draw the conversation to a close, but he hesitated. “Spock, would you mind if I asked a personal question?”
“You may ask, Captain. I cannot promise that I will be able to answer. I will not, however, ‘mind’.”
“Right. So, um, would you play chess with me tonight?”
Jim blinked. That had not been what he’d meant to ask: would you go through the Kithara Procedure? Why is the High Council being so goddamned shifty? His brain must have tripped the safety cutout at the last minute, which was probably a good thing.
Spock raised his eyebrow at Jim’s non sequitur, but assented.
“Nineteen hundred suit you?” Jim could feel his face flushing. He barely waited for Spock’s “Affirmative,” before he was gabbling, “Excellent, yes, good, I’ll see you there then.”
He was out in the corridor before he realised he’d completely forgotten to mention the general meeting he’d be calling.
Pull yourself together, Jim, he told himself irritably. You’re embarrassed that you didn’t ask your first officer a horrendously personal question? The hell?
The heat had faded from his face by the time he reached the ready room. He spent a few minutes making sure that all the computer terminals had a text-display version of their orders ready to go, then commed Uhura to request her presence along with the rest of his section heads.
They drifted into the room in ones and twos. There were a few minutes of grumbling while everyone dragged chairs about to get a view of the computer screens. Once the murmur of noise had died away, Jim stood up.
“As some of you no doubt know, or have worked out, our new orders came through today. They’re a direct result of the Vulcan High Council’s decision to authorise the Kithara Procedure, which means we’re due at Beta Kithara four days from now.”
As he paused for breath, Bones jumped in. “Now look here, Jim, not all of us get the Vulcan gossip rags. I don’t think I’m alone in saying I’d like a few details on this Kithara Procedure.”
A couple of heads nodded agreement. Jim drew in a breath, but Spock got in first.
“The scientists on Kithara are some of the best biologists in the quadrant. They specialise in genetics, but are masters of all techniques pertaining to the study of life. At present they are the only research institute pioneering a new method of creating living tissue from digital records, which is why the Federation has chosen to approach them.
“What is being called the ‘Kithara Procedure’ was first hypothesised by a croup of students at the Vulcan Science Academy, some years previously. Since Nero’s attack, more work has been done of the subject to bring it to a state where it is viable to put it into practice. Without going in to technicalities, the Procedure would utilise the brain scans from the medical records of those Vulcans who lost their lives in the attack to recreate the organic matter.”
Jim stared at him. His own orders hadn’t been half as detailed - all he’d been told about was a ‘revolution in medical science’. Then he remembered that Sarek sat on the High Council and Spock had no doubt persuaded him to forward all the technical papers to the Enterprise for a bit of light reading.
“They’re growing brains in jars? Really? I feel like I’m living in The Man With Two Brains here.” Chekov shot Sulu a This Is Serious Business look and Sulu rearranged his expression of delight into one more appropriate for the funeral of a close relative.
“The scheme is an audacious one,” Spock acknowledged.
“But why do the Vulcans want to go ahead with it in the first place?” Bones asked.
Spock drew himself up slightly straighter, which Jim knew meant he was uncomfortable with the question. “For… various reasons related to Vulcan telepathy, it is necessary to attempt to preserve as much of the Vulcan collective consciousness as possible. Though far from ideal, the Kithara Procedure seems the only feasible solution.”
“Genetic engineering goes against the Federation’s charter and this sounds pretty damn borderline, Jim,” said Bones.
Jim shrugged. “Not really. They won’t be changing anything, just… preserving what’s there. I don’t know, it all sounds like mad science to me, but if Spock’s in favour of it, that’s good enough for me.”
Spock threw him a look that Jim couldn’t interpret. Gratitude, he thought, and - puzzlement? Curiosity? Spock returned his gaze to Bones and said, “Many Vulcans feel as you do, Doctor. They say that it is better to continue with what we have than to cling to the few fragments of the past that remain.”
Bones still looked sceptical, but Jim pressed on before he could voice his misgivings. “We’re to be accompanied by a delegation of Vulcans to help us persuade the Kitharans to play ball, so there’ll be a rendezvous with the Ha’kiv at a small moon in the Jutta region. I’ll patch the co-ordinates through to the bridge as soon as this meeting’s over.”
“Wait a second, ‘persuade’? You mean they haven’t actually agreed to this?”
“Not as such, no,” Jim admitted. “Beta Kithara’s pretty far out and they haven’t been responding to any of the subspace messages Starfleet’s been sending. Hence, us.”
“No’ responding, Captain?” That was Scotty, leaning forward, his face bright with interest. “There shouldnae be a problem getting the message out there. Even the old receiver models’d be capable of picking it up.”
“Yeah, that’s what I thought. If everything’s all right out there, why aren’t they responding? Possible scenarios: one, severe structural damage to their subspace arrays; two, some sort of interference field blocking our messages from getting through and theirs from getting out -”
“Three, they’re ignoring us.”
“Fair point, Bones, but why? It’s not like Starfleet’s going to strong-arm them into doing anything they don’t want to. They’re not even full Federation members and they don’t seem to want to be either, so it’s not like we can hold that over them.”
“There is a fourth, more serious possibility. The Kithara system lies only half a dozen light years outside the Klingon Empire. In the disruption following Nero’s attack on Earth, the invasion of such an insignificant system could have gone unnoticed. It would explain the lack of communication.”
“Nice to know our first officer’s so optimistic.” McCoy was apparently unable to resist the dig.
Jim waved a warning hand in his direction, thinking hard. “Actually… I’d have thought we’d have had more communication with Kithara if the Klingons were trying to conceal an attack. I mean, if they wanted to divert suspicion, they could easily have faked up some voice-only transmissions to keep Starfleet happy, right?”
“Agreed. However, given Starfleet’s primary reason for contacting Kithara was to arrange a face-to-face meeting, the Klingons may have hoped to avoid this by ignoring the communiqués.”
“You’re both aware that we’re only dealing with hypothetical Klingons here, right? Simplest explanation’s probably the best: the Kitharans got their communicator technology in a snarl-up.”
“Uhura, how likely is that?”
“Subspace anomalies are hardly unheard of, Captain.”
Jim winced. Uhura had an amazing knack for addressing her captain like a particularly slow first-grader. She used it less frequently these days, but on the occasions when she did, it was enough to make Jim’s toes curl with embarrassment. Call it a personal failing, but he’d never wanted to be just ‘The Captain’, impersonal as a computer interface. He liked his crew, wanted to look after them to a degree that scared him sometimes, and he hoped he was liked in return. Uhura’s I Am Talking To An Idiot voice brought back unpleasant memories of fights in shitty little bars and of the person he’d been before Starfleet and Pike and Bones and Spock and the Enterprise adopted him in their weird, occasionally messed up ways.
Not that he’d ever admit any of that, of course. He said, “I realise that, but to knock out an entire colony for a month?”
“It could be due to any number of factors: ion storms, magnetic interference, deliberate jamming. There’s no real way to know for sure until we reach the colony.”
And by the time they did, the Enterprise would be stuck in the whatever-it-was too. Jim scowled. He hated flying blind, not that the universe appeared to care much for his objections.
They’d barely made it a week out of spacedock before Starfleet’s charts were failing them.
~
The sensors are down due to some technical malfunction that, yeah, Scotty explains to him, but this is also while the main computer console’s doing a passable imitation of a firework display. Uhura rigs up some form of echo-location using the communications station, which is insanely brilliant of her, and Jim’s secretly planning to sweet-talk her into telling him how she did it so he can use it later, because at the moment he’s sat on his ass in the centre chair being fuck all help to anybody.
They beam down anyway, because his crew is just that good, but there’s nothing left of the desert cities so eloquently described in the pathetic excuse for background information that Starfleet provided. Instead, they’re jumped half a kilometre out from the beam-down point and carted off to the jumble of stones that Spock informs him used to be the main city on this continent.
No one seems to want to hurt the crew, just for Starfleet to take their requests for aid seriously. When Jim explains about the ship basically being dead in the vacuum, the Ydri start to scowl and mutter unpleasant things that they don’t think he can understand. (He can’t, but he’s always been quick at reading body language, besides which, Uhura is whispering a slightly stilted translation in his ear of the more impressive insults. Jim thinks she might be committing a few to memory.)
Everyone takes turns trying to convince the Ydri that they really would love to help (and really, no one looking at this world, crumbling away under a civil war gone nuclear, could want to do otherwise), but that they really can’t do anything until Scotty manages to fix up whatever’s eating the Enterprise. Eventually, the Ydri lose patience and lock them all in a small stone room far, far underground.
Two hours later, Spock is unconscious.
Jim’s still frantically checking vital signs when Lieutenant Varoy clutches her head and lets out a keening wail. It’s enough to give Jim the clue - Varoy is Agonian, with a brand of telepathy similar to Vulcan. He begs and bullies the Ydri into giving Spock and Varoy access to a meditation room until both are able to sit up and talk once more.
Spock explains. The Ydri are mildly telepathic, but without the fine control that most races with more pronounced telepathy learn to exert. The Ydri aren’t bothered by the way one person’s feelings are taken up by everyone - it’s all they’ve known - but for Spock and Varoy, the onslaught of rage and fear that soaks through the very atmosphere of the planet is too much.
Luckily for all of them, Scotty is a fucking miracle worker. In twenty-one hours, he has all the essential systems up and running on board the Enterprise, and shortly after, the Ydri receive Starfleet’s assurance of an aid ship to arrive within a week.
Back on the ship, Spock insists on doing his shift, then retreats to his quarters and doesn’t emerge for fifteen hours. Jim knows he’s not sleeping, but he’s locked his door. Jim could, of course, override this, but he figures Spock has his reasons and also remembers how much he used to hate people asking him if he was okay after a fight. He doesn’t get that anymore - Bones just yells at him and calls him an idiot (despite the fact that very, very few of the fights Jim gets into these days are in any way his fault), which is altogether much to be preferred.
So Spock’s door stays shut and Jim doesn’t know whether he’s done his duty by his friend or not, because some people have a magic sixth sense that tells them when they’re doing the right thing, but not Jim, which, on reflection, could explain a lot.
~
But they’d pulled through somehow, and no doubt would continue to do so, because as Jim was fond of pointing out to whoever was issuing the insane orders of the moment, his ship, his crew, were beyond brilliant.
~
“Captain Kirk.”
Jim groaned quietly to himself. Only two days since their rendezvous with the Ha’kiv and he was already trying to hide behind bulkheads to avoid the diplomatic party. He was pretty sure this sort of behaviour wasn’t sanctioned in the Captain’s Handbook.
He took a deep breath, pasted a smile on his face and turned to greet the man who’d called out to him.
“Ambassador Suvat. Can I be of assistance?” Please, say no. Please.
“Indeed. I would welcome the opportunity to expand my knowledge to encompass the workings of a starship.”
“Would you like me to find someone to take you on a tour?”
“Would not the captain make the most omniscient guide?”
Look, Spock may like long words, but that’s because he’s Spock. You on the other hand are using them as an intellectual bludgeon. Jim felt his friendly smile slip a bit and hitched it back into place. “Very probably, although my section heads know their areas better than I could ever hope to.”
“If you are not busy…”
I am. “Not at all. It would be my pleasure.”
There was something about the Ambassador, Jim decided as they fell into step, that just rubbed him up the wrong way. Most of the diplomatic party were friendly enough, in a reserved, Vulcan sort of way. Suvat’s behaviour, on the other hand, swung between icy superiority and an almost pathetic eagerness to ingratiate himself with Jim. In a human, it would have been a bit odd. In a Vulcan, it was downright unnerving.
He also seemed to have an uncanny ability to find Jim at the most awkward of moments - like now, for instance, when he’d absolutely promised Bones, hand-shook on it and everything, to share a drink after shift and listen to him bemoan the fact that no one appreciated a simple country doctor anymore. Ah well, couldn’t be helped. Perhaps he’d be able to foist Suvat off on Spock - no doubt they’d find some fascinating area of shared interest.
With this in mind, he bent his steps towards the labs on Deck Five. Spock’s Science Squad (he made a mental note to tell Bones that one later) was currently working on something to do with binary star systems that involved rather pretty simulations.
By peering through each of the observation windows in turn, he eventually found Spock in Lab Three, making notes on what looked like a child’s mobile. Two orange spheres floated a foot or so above the workbench, circled by glowing specks of light representing planets. At the sound of the door shutting behind Jim, Spock laid aside his padd and turned to greet them.
“Hey, Spock.”
“Good evening, Captain. Ambassador.” He nodded politely to both of them before turning back to his work.
Jim bit his lip. Every other time he’d visited the lab, Spock had barely waited for him to get through the door before he started expounding on his results. That he wasn’t doing so today was…unsettling. Jim could only attribute it to the Ambassador’s presence.
“Spock’s studying the way binary systems warp the space-time around them,” he said, trying to catch the Ambassador’s interest. When this got no more than the barest nod of acknowledgement, he continued: “The implications for the future of warp drive technology could be enormous, so Spock tells me.”
No one said anything. Jim resisted the urge to run his fingers through his hair in frustration. It was like being back in high school all over again, he thought, only with less name-calling and more awkward silences.
“Okay, then,” he said, more to defuse the situation than anything else. “We’ll go take a look at the Engineering section and let Spock get back to his science. Ambassador Suvat, after you.”
He waved the Ambassador through the doors and shot Spock a look that he hoped managed to convey his utter bewilderment, mixed with the resentment he felt towards Suvat, mixed with general curiosity as to just what the hell was going on. Spock arched one elegant eyebrow in response. Jim hoped that meant Tell you later.
To his relief, Scotty was brimming over with enthusiasm to discuss all thing Engineering. Jim wasn’t sure quite how the engineer had managed to hustle the Ambassador away without actually touching him, but he was more than willing to appreciate the results. Letting Scotty’s voice fade into the distance, he slumped against a bulkhead, feeling the powerful thrum of the engines underneath. He settled back and shut his eyes, imagining his heartbeat shifting to match the engines’ pulse.
The Enterprise. His Enterprise.
If he’d thought Suvat appreciated a starship as anything more than duranium hulls and dilithium crystals, he’d have revelled in the chance to show off the Enterprise’s beauty. And yet…
He was still trying to figure out just what it was about the Ambassador that bothered him so much when Scotty returned. He was still talking nineteen to the dozen, but Jim noted with a small smile that Suvat was looking stony-faced even by Vulcan standards. Jim got to his feet.
“Ah, Ambassador. Did Mr Scott explain everything to you?”
“Indeed. He was most informative.”
As they left, Jim gave Scotty a swift thumbs-up behind the Ambassador’s back. Scotty winked and gave him a mock salute in return.
“Is there anywhere else you’d like to visit, sir?”
“If you will accompany me to my quarters, that will be quite sufficient, thank you, Captain.”
Suvat swept away down the corridor, and Jim was forced to lengthen his strides to keep up.
“If there’s a problem with your quarters, I’m sure Maintenance can-”
“There is no problem. I simply wish a private conference with you, Captain.”
“What about?” Jim said and frowned. That had come out more abruptly than he’d intended.
“It would be prudent to wait until we reach my quarters.”
Jim heaved a small sigh that was lost in the swish of the turbolift doors.
~
“I wish to speak with you on the subject of our mission to Kithara.”
The Ambassador’s quarters were at least twice the size of Jim’s own, with an anteroom large enough to hold two small couches. It was on one of these that the Ambassador now sat, his austere robes out of place against the soft, bright fabrics. He made a courteous gesture towards the other couch and Jim hesitated.
Sitting down would imply that the meeting was going to be a long one, something he’d hoped to avoid. Then again, if the Ambassador was hell-bent on discussing their mission, brevity was probably out of the question. Reluctantly, Jim sat.
“Ambassador, I’d have thought you know more about it than I do. We’ve had no contact with the Vulcan High Council, only what Starfleet has relayed to us.”
Jim noticed he was slipping automatically into a more formal style of speaking. Spock’s influence, he supposed. Not that it didn’t have its uses, what with the number of diplomatic missions that were pushed their way.
“It is true that I have a better understanding of what the Kithara project represents to our people than any off-worlder ever could. It is for that reason that I must tell you: I do not believe it is the solution to my people’s problems.”
The Ambassador leaned forward until his chin rested on steepled hands. Jim could feel his eyes widening in surprise.
“You mean you’ve been sent to plead a case you don’t even believe in?”
“Indeed. There are few enough who hold the rank of Ambassador, fewer still who are not off-world at present. And only one able to be spared on such a mission as this.”
His lips tightened briefly and Jim thought, So that’s why you’re here: the Vulcans don’t much care for you either, and I bet that makes you mad. Vulcans don’t have feelings, my ass.
Aloud, he said, “But surely you realise the potential benefits?”
“I believe that my people have no need to resort to such undignified methods to preserve our race. What good is it to increase in number if in doing so we lose what makes us truly Vulcan?”
Jim’s instinctive reaction was to call bullshit. Casting around for a more diplomatic phrasing, he said, “But will you, though? I remember something my first officer told me when we were talking about the Kithara project. He said that Nero’s attack has forced people to think in ‘new ways’. He doesn’t believe the project will destroy your culture.”
“Mr Spock -” Jim thought he caught a trace of something mocking in the name. “- is something of an anomaly among Vulcans.”
“Yes, I’ve gathered that your people didn’t exactly take to the idea of hybrids.” Jim really hoped Suvat couldn’t hear the irritation in his voice - no need to provoke a diplomatic incident in his first year of captaincy. “But still, in this case, it seems you’re the odd one out. The motion to approach the Kitharans was passed with a substantial majority.”
Suvat inclined his head. “True. And you need not be alarmed that my personal beliefs will impair my ability to do my duty. I shall merely present the facts. What will be will be.”
And that, it seemed, was that, not that Jim was happy about it by any stretch.
At liberty once more, Jim headed for medbay, only to find that, judging by the absence of both Bones and Nurse Chapel and by the meaningful eyebrow waggling he got when he asked, at least one person onboard did indeed appreciate simple country doctors.
The chronometer read eighteen twenty-five. Jim bounced impatiently on the balls of his feet, still twitchy after his talk with Ambassador Suvat. He tried to repress the feeling; starship captains shouldn’t get twitchy over a little thing like finding out your allies weren’t necessarily even in the same choir, let alone singing from the same hymn sheet. He realised his fingers were tapping out an offbeat rhythm against the side of his leg and stilled them irritably. He needed distraction.
In short order, he considered and rejected his quarters, the bridge, and the gym.
It was with a certain sense of inevitability that he found himself outside Spock’s door five minutes later.
“I know I’m a bit early, but I thought if you’re free…” That was when he noticed the impressive stack of padds on Spock’s desk. “You’re working, I’ll come back later,” he said hastily.
“That will not be necessary, Captain.” Spock rose and began transferring the padds to an open bag at the side of the desk. Jim hastened to help.
“What are all these? Surely you can’t have gotten this much data from your simulations?”
“My scientific notes are still in the laboratory. These are the crew reports.”
“Oh God, I’d been trying to forget about them. Six months already?”
“Five months and twenty-three days. I have allowed a week for you to read over the reports and make any alterations you see fit.”
“You spoil me, really you do. My life wouldn’t have been complete without the delights of crew reports to look forward to.”
“It seems to me highly illogical to become a starship captain when one of the position’s most time-consuming duties is so abhorrent to you,” Spock remarked.
Jim tossed the last padd into the bag and grinned. “Wow, Spock, we really are infecting you with our human ways if you’re picking up on sarcasm now.”
Spock fixed his eyes on a point over Jim’s left shoulder as he replied, “I do not believe I would term it an ‘infection’.”
“That might be the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”
“I shall endeavour to keep from forming a habit, then, as it disturbs you so much.”
“Thank you, Mr Spock,” Jim said gravely. And he really did think he saw, as Spock turned away to fetch the chess set, the corners of Spock’s mouth twitch. Just a little.
A private corner of his brain began letting off celebratory fireworks.
Part Two
Author name: laughinggas13
Artist name: creepylicious
Beta name: tawg
Word Count: ~25 000
Fandom: Star Trek XI
Rating: PG-13
Main Characters and/or pairings: Kirk/Spock. Enterprise crew, assorted OCs.
Genre: Action/Adventure
Summary: In time-honoured tradition, the Enterprise is dispatched on a peaceful diplomatic mission. In equally time-honoured tradition, said 'peace' comes crumbling round their ears within seconds of arrival. Now with added dinosaurs!
Warnings: Mind-rape, violence and swearing.
Disclaimers: Um, yeah, not mine in any way, shape or form.
Author's Notes (if any): Major, major thanks due to my beta, tawg , for stepping in at the last minute and doing such a fantastic job. (If my dinosaurs in any way resemble reality, it's thanks to her.) Also thanks to yappichick , a) for organising this, b) for answering all my daft questions, and c) for letting me change my posting date at the last minute. And thanks to my f-list, again for answering daft questions and generally putting up with me babbling on about this for the last few months. Geek points to anyone who spots the (really lame) Physics/ Maths joke.
Art: Here
Mix: Vulcan Teenage Rebel
You can now read the whole thing over at AO3. Exciting, no?
Jim often wondered if the Enterprise had somehow ended up on Starfleet’s list of diplomatic vessels. As he pointed out to Spock, it was ridiculous that a ship built with so much firepower was kept confined to milk runs while older, weaker craft were sent to patrol the Neutral Zone. He suspected there were several high-ups who hated the fact that the ‘Fleet’s pride and joy had gone to a green cadet, and were using this period of inaction to either test his mettle, or force his resignation through sheer tedium.
Well. He’d show them. He’d gladly sit through a year’s worth of lectures on diplomatic protocol if it meant he got to captain his beautiful starship.
He sat up a little straighter in his chair and leaned forward slightly in an imitation of intense interest. Admiral Crossman was not very good at concealing his dislike of Jim and Jim enjoyed subverting his expectations.
“And remember, Kirk, the Vulcans are long-standing members of the Federation. The recent disaster on their home-planet in no way devalues them as a species. You will treat them with the respect befitting their contributions to the Federation. Do I make myself clear?”
Jim fought down the temptation to roll his eyes. He’d be fairly willing to bet that Crossman had never even met a Vulcan face to face, let alone spent the last few months working in close proximity to one. He was suddenly glad he’d taken the Admiral’s call in his quarters, rather than on the bridge - God only knew how Spock would react to their new orders.
“Understood, sir. I’ll have Commander Spock stand by to advise me of any cultural differences.”
Admiral Crossman squinted at him suspiciously, apparently unable to decide whether or not Jim was taking the piss. Finally, he grunted. “Just you watch yourself, Kirk. Crossman out.”
As the Admiral’s image flickered off, Jim made an obscene gesture in the direction of the screen. “Up yours too, sir.” He pushed himself out of the chair and headed over to the door. He owed it to his first officer to give him the news before he called a general meeting.
~
“And I know I moan about the reports you and Uhura put together for me, but I did pass my xenocultures class. I am capable of diplomacy without Starfleet holding my hand.”
“I do not doubt it.”
Jim had chickened out of telling Spock the full extent of their orders, not wanting to see the familiar wall of blankness that came down every time the fate of Vulcan was mentioned. He’d skipped over the details in favour of venting his frustration with Crossman. Now, though, he felt somewhat guilty at his deception. He cleared his throat.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to rant. Actually, I came to see you about the new orders. I don’t know how much contact you have with the colony …” He couldn’t bring himself to say ‘New Vulcan’ - whose bright idea had that been? Oh yes, let’s remind people of what they’ve lost every single time we refer to their planet. Fortunately, Spock was good at reading between the lines.
“I receive twice-monthly updates from my father,” he said.
Jim felt a little more hopeful. “So you already know about the proposal passed by the High Council?”
“I was aware that a petition had been made. I did not know it had been ratified.” Impossible to tell what he thought of the decision.
“Yesterday, I think. Starfleet wants to send us to Beta Kithara to sweet-talk the scientists.”
Spock nodded. When he spoke, it was slowly, as if weighing each word. “The proposal is eminently logical, if somewhat unexpected.”
“That’s what I thought too. Kind of radical, but I guess it must have made sense to a lot of people to get passed by the Council.”
“Yes. The events following the destruction of Vulcan -” Not ‘the Narada incident’, Jim noted. Not Starfleet’s careful euphemism, not what Crossman would have said.
“- have forced us to think in new ways. The change is, I think, not entirely detrimental.”
“So you’re saying you… approve of the proposal?”
“You forget that I am a product of genetic engineering myself. What is proposed is no more a crime against Nature than my own conception was. Of course,” he added, with a wry lift of the eyebrow, “there are Vulcans who consider me an unnatural creature. No doubt there will be some opposition; it is inevitable.”
This seemed to Jim a good moment to draw the conversation to a close, but he hesitated. “Spock, would you mind if I asked a personal question?”
“You may ask, Captain. I cannot promise that I will be able to answer. I will not, however, ‘mind’.”
“Right. So, um, would you play chess with me tonight?”
Jim blinked. That had not been what he’d meant to ask: would you go through the Kithara Procedure? Why is the High Council being so goddamned shifty? His brain must have tripped the safety cutout at the last minute, which was probably a good thing.
Spock raised his eyebrow at Jim’s non sequitur, but assented.
“Nineteen hundred suit you?” Jim could feel his face flushing. He barely waited for Spock’s “Affirmative,” before he was gabbling, “Excellent, yes, good, I’ll see you there then.”
He was out in the corridor before he realised he’d completely forgotten to mention the general meeting he’d be calling.
Pull yourself together, Jim, he told himself irritably. You’re embarrassed that you didn’t ask your first officer a horrendously personal question? The hell?
The heat had faded from his face by the time he reached the ready room. He spent a few minutes making sure that all the computer terminals had a text-display version of their orders ready to go, then commed Uhura to request her presence along with the rest of his section heads.
They drifted into the room in ones and twos. There were a few minutes of grumbling while everyone dragged chairs about to get a view of the computer screens. Once the murmur of noise had died away, Jim stood up.
“As some of you no doubt know, or have worked out, our new orders came through today. They’re a direct result of the Vulcan High Council’s decision to authorise the Kithara Procedure, which means we’re due at Beta Kithara four days from now.”
As he paused for breath, Bones jumped in. “Now look here, Jim, not all of us get the Vulcan gossip rags. I don’t think I’m alone in saying I’d like a few details on this Kithara Procedure.”
A couple of heads nodded agreement. Jim drew in a breath, but Spock got in first.
“The scientists on Kithara are some of the best biologists in the quadrant. They specialise in genetics, but are masters of all techniques pertaining to the study of life. At present they are the only research institute pioneering a new method of creating living tissue from digital records, which is why the Federation has chosen to approach them.
“What is being called the ‘Kithara Procedure’ was first hypothesised by a croup of students at the Vulcan Science Academy, some years previously. Since Nero’s attack, more work has been done of the subject to bring it to a state where it is viable to put it into practice. Without going in to technicalities, the Procedure would utilise the brain scans from the medical records of those Vulcans who lost their lives in the attack to recreate the organic matter.”
Jim stared at him. His own orders hadn’t been half as detailed - all he’d been told about was a ‘revolution in medical science’. Then he remembered that Sarek sat on the High Council and Spock had no doubt persuaded him to forward all the technical papers to the Enterprise for a bit of light reading.
“They’re growing brains in jars? Really? I feel like I’m living in The Man With Two Brains here.” Chekov shot Sulu a This Is Serious Business look and Sulu rearranged his expression of delight into one more appropriate for the funeral of a close relative.
“The scheme is an audacious one,” Spock acknowledged.
“But why do the Vulcans want to go ahead with it in the first place?” Bones asked.
Spock drew himself up slightly straighter, which Jim knew meant he was uncomfortable with the question. “For… various reasons related to Vulcan telepathy, it is necessary to attempt to preserve as much of the Vulcan collective consciousness as possible. Though far from ideal, the Kithara Procedure seems the only feasible solution.”
“Genetic engineering goes against the Federation’s charter and this sounds pretty damn borderline, Jim,” said Bones.
Jim shrugged. “Not really. They won’t be changing anything, just… preserving what’s there. I don’t know, it all sounds like mad science to me, but if Spock’s in favour of it, that’s good enough for me.”
Spock threw him a look that Jim couldn’t interpret. Gratitude, he thought, and - puzzlement? Curiosity? Spock returned his gaze to Bones and said, “Many Vulcans feel as you do, Doctor. They say that it is better to continue with what we have than to cling to the few fragments of the past that remain.”
Bones still looked sceptical, but Jim pressed on before he could voice his misgivings. “We’re to be accompanied by a delegation of Vulcans to help us persuade the Kitharans to play ball, so there’ll be a rendezvous with the Ha’kiv at a small moon in the Jutta region. I’ll patch the co-ordinates through to the bridge as soon as this meeting’s over.”
“Wait a second, ‘persuade’? You mean they haven’t actually agreed to this?”
“Not as such, no,” Jim admitted. “Beta Kithara’s pretty far out and they haven’t been responding to any of the subspace messages Starfleet’s been sending. Hence, us.”
“No’ responding, Captain?” That was Scotty, leaning forward, his face bright with interest. “There shouldnae be a problem getting the message out there. Even the old receiver models’d be capable of picking it up.”
“Yeah, that’s what I thought. If everything’s all right out there, why aren’t they responding? Possible scenarios: one, severe structural damage to their subspace arrays; two, some sort of interference field blocking our messages from getting through and theirs from getting out -”
“Three, they’re ignoring us.”
“Fair point, Bones, but why? It’s not like Starfleet’s going to strong-arm them into doing anything they don’t want to. They’re not even full Federation members and they don’t seem to want to be either, so it’s not like we can hold that over them.”
“There is a fourth, more serious possibility. The Kithara system lies only half a dozen light years outside the Klingon Empire. In the disruption following Nero’s attack on Earth, the invasion of such an insignificant system could have gone unnoticed. It would explain the lack of communication.”
“Nice to know our first officer’s so optimistic.” McCoy was apparently unable to resist the dig.
Jim waved a warning hand in his direction, thinking hard. “Actually… I’d have thought we’d have had more communication with Kithara if the Klingons were trying to conceal an attack. I mean, if they wanted to divert suspicion, they could easily have faked up some voice-only transmissions to keep Starfleet happy, right?”
“Agreed. However, given Starfleet’s primary reason for contacting Kithara was to arrange a face-to-face meeting, the Klingons may have hoped to avoid this by ignoring the communiqués.”
“You’re both aware that we’re only dealing with hypothetical Klingons here, right? Simplest explanation’s probably the best: the Kitharans got their communicator technology in a snarl-up.”
“Uhura, how likely is that?”
“Subspace anomalies are hardly unheard of, Captain.”
Jim winced. Uhura had an amazing knack for addressing her captain like a particularly slow first-grader. She used it less frequently these days, but on the occasions when she did, it was enough to make Jim’s toes curl with embarrassment. Call it a personal failing, but he’d never wanted to be just ‘The Captain’, impersonal as a computer interface. He liked his crew, wanted to look after them to a degree that scared him sometimes, and he hoped he was liked in return. Uhura’s I Am Talking To An Idiot voice brought back unpleasant memories of fights in shitty little bars and of the person he’d been before Starfleet and Pike and Bones and Spock and the Enterprise adopted him in their weird, occasionally messed up ways.
Not that he’d ever admit any of that, of course. He said, “I realise that, but to knock out an entire colony for a month?”
“It could be due to any number of factors: ion storms, magnetic interference, deliberate jamming. There’s no real way to know for sure until we reach the colony.”
And by the time they did, the Enterprise would be stuck in the whatever-it-was too. Jim scowled. He hated flying blind, not that the universe appeared to care much for his objections.
They’d barely made it a week out of spacedock before Starfleet’s charts were failing them.
~
The sensors are down due to some technical malfunction that, yeah, Scotty explains to him, but this is also while the main computer console’s doing a passable imitation of a firework display. Uhura rigs up some form of echo-location using the communications station, which is insanely brilliant of her, and Jim’s secretly planning to sweet-talk her into telling him how she did it so he can use it later, because at the moment he’s sat on his ass in the centre chair being fuck all help to anybody.
They beam down anyway, because his crew is just that good, but there’s nothing left of the desert cities so eloquently described in the pathetic excuse for background information that Starfleet provided. Instead, they’re jumped half a kilometre out from the beam-down point and carted off to the jumble of stones that Spock informs him used to be the main city on this continent.
No one seems to want to hurt the crew, just for Starfleet to take their requests for aid seriously. When Jim explains about the ship basically being dead in the vacuum, the Ydri start to scowl and mutter unpleasant things that they don’t think he can understand. (He can’t, but he’s always been quick at reading body language, besides which, Uhura is whispering a slightly stilted translation in his ear of the more impressive insults. Jim thinks she might be committing a few to memory.)
Everyone takes turns trying to convince the Ydri that they really would love to help (and really, no one looking at this world, crumbling away under a civil war gone nuclear, could want to do otherwise), but that they really can’t do anything until Scotty manages to fix up whatever’s eating the Enterprise. Eventually, the Ydri lose patience and lock them all in a small stone room far, far underground.
Two hours later, Spock is unconscious.
Jim’s still frantically checking vital signs when Lieutenant Varoy clutches her head and lets out a keening wail. It’s enough to give Jim the clue - Varoy is Agonian, with a brand of telepathy similar to Vulcan. He begs and bullies the Ydri into giving Spock and Varoy access to a meditation room until both are able to sit up and talk once more.
Spock explains. The Ydri are mildly telepathic, but without the fine control that most races with more pronounced telepathy learn to exert. The Ydri aren’t bothered by the way one person’s feelings are taken up by everyone - it’s all they’ve known - but for Spock and Varoy, the onslaught of rage and fear that soaks through the very atmosphere of the planet is too much.
Luckily for all of them, Scotty is a fucking miracle worker. In twenty-one hours, he has all the essential systems up and running on board the Enterprise, and shortly after, the Ydri receive Starfleet’s assurance of an aid ship to arrive within a week.
Back on the ship, Spock insists on doing his shift, then retreats to his quarters and doesn’t emerge for fifteen hours. Jim knows he’s not sleeping, but he’s locked his door. Jim could, of course, override this, but he figures Spock has his reasons and also remembers how much he used to hate people asking him if he was okay after a fight. He doesn’t get that anymore - Bones just yells at him and calls him an idiot (despite the fact that very, very few of the fights Jim gets into these days are in any way his fault), which is altogether much to be preferred.
So Spock’s door stays shut and Jim doesn’t know whether he’s done his duty by his friend or not, because some people have a magic sixth sense that tells them when they’re doing the right thing, but not Jim, which, on reflection, could explain a lot.
~
But they’d pulled through somehow, and no doubt would continue to do so, because as Jim was fond of pointing out to whoever was issuing the insane orders of the moment, his ship, his crew, were beyond brilliant.
~
“Captain Kirk.”
Jim groaned quietly to himself. Only two days since their rendezvous with the Ha’kiv and he was already trying to hide behind bulkheads to avoid the diplomatic party. He was pretty sure this sort of behaviour wasn’t sanctioned in the Captain’s Handbook.
He took a deep breath, pasted a smile on his face and turned to greet the man who’d called out to him.
“Ambassador Suvat. Can I be of assistance?” Please, say no. Please.
“Indeed. I would welcome the opportunity to expand my knowledge to encompass the workings of a starship.”
“Would you like me to find someone to take you on a tour?”
“Would not the captain make the most omniscient guide?”
Look, Spock may like long words, but that’s because he’s Spock. You on the other hand are using them as an intellectual bludgeon. Jim felt his friendly smile slip a bit and hitched it back into place. “Very probably, although my section heads know their areas better than I could ever hope to.”
“If you are not busy…”
I am. “Not at all. It would be my pleasure.”
There was something about the Ambassador, Jim decided as they fell into step, that just rubbed him up the wrong way. Most of the diplomatic party were friendly enough, in a reserved, Vulcan sort of way. Suvat’s behaviour, on the other hand, swung between icy superiority and an almost pathetic eagerness to ingratiate himself with Jim. In a human, it would have been a bit odd. In a Vulcan, it was downright unnerving.
He also seemed to have an uncanny ability to find Jim at the most awkward of moments - like now, for instance, when he’d absolutely promised Bones, hand-shook on it and everything, to share a drink after shift and listen to him bemoan the fact that no one appreciated a simple country doctor anymore. Ah well, couldn’t be helped. Perhaps he’d be able to foist Suvat off on Spock - no doubt they’d find some fascinating area of shared interest.
With this in mind, he bent his steps towards the labs on Deck Five. Spock’s Science Squad (he made a mental note to tell Bones that one later) was currently working on something to do with binary star systems that involved rather pretty simulations.
By peering through each of the observation windows in turn, he eventually found Spock in Lab Three, making notes on what looked like a child’s mobile. Two orange spheres floated a foot or so above the workbench, circled by glowing specks of light representing planets. At the sound of the door shutting behind Jim, Spock laid aside his padd and turned to greet them.
“Hey, Spock.”
“Good evening, Captain. Ambassador.” He nodded politely to both of them before turning back to his work.
Jim bit his lip. Every other time he’d visited the lab, Spock had barely waited for him to get through the door before he started expounding on his results. That he wasn’t doing so today was…unsettling. Jim could only attribute it to the Ambassador’s presence.
“Spock’s studying the way binary systems warp the space-time around them,” he said, trying to catch the Ambassador’s interest. When this got no more than the barest nod of acknowledgement, he continued: “The implications for the future of warp drive technology could be enormous, so Spock tells me.”
No one said anything. Jim resisted the urge to run his fingers through his hair in frustration. It was like being back in high school all over again, he thought, only with less name-calling and more awkward silences.
“Okay, then,” he said, more to defuse the situation than anything else. “We’ll go take a look at the Engineering section and let Spock get back to his science. Ambassador Suvat, after you.”
He waved the Ambassador through the doors and shot Spock a look that he hoped managed to convey his utter bewilderment, mixed with the resentment he felt towards Suvat, mixed with general curiosity as to just what the hell was going on. Spock arched one elegant eyebrow in response. Jim hoped that meant Tell you later.
To his relief, Scotty was brimming over with enthusiasm to discuss all thing Engineering. Jim wasn’t sure quite how the engineer had managed to hustle the Ambassador away without actually touching him, but he was more than willing to appreciate the results. Letting Scotty’s voice fade into the distance, he slumped against a bulkhead, feeling the powerful thrum of the engines underneath. He settled back and shut his eyes, imagining his heartbeat shifting to match the engines’ pulse.
The Enterprise. His Enterprise.
If he’d thought Suvat appreciated a starship as anything more than duranium hulls and dilithium crystals, he’d have revelled in the chance to show off the Enterprise’s beauty. And yet…
He was still trying to figure out just what it was about the Ambassador that bothered him so much when Scotty returned. He was still talking nineteen to the dozen, but Jim noted with a small smile that Suvat was looking stony-faced even by Vulcan standards. Jim got to his feet.
“Ah, Ambassador. Did Mr Scott explain everything to you?”
“Indeed. He was most informative.”
As they left, Jim gave Scotty a swift thumbs-up behind the Ambassador’s back. Scotty winked and gave him a mock salute in return.
“Is there anywhere else you’d like to visit, sir?”
“If you will accompany me to my quarters, that will be quite sufficient, thank you, Captain.”
Suvat swept away down the corridor, and Jim was forced to lengthen his strides to keep up.
“If there’s a problem with your quarters, I’m sure Maintenance can-”
“There is no problem. I simply wish a private conference with you, Captain.”
“What about?” Jim said and frowned. That had come out more abruptly than he’d intended.
“It would be prudent to wait until we reach my quarters.”
Jim heaved a small sigh that was lost in the swish of the turbolift doors.
~
“I wish to speak with you on the subject of our mission to Kithara.”
The Ambassador’s quarters were at least twice the size of Jim’s own, with an anteroom large enough to hold two small couches. It was on one of these that the Ambassador now sat, his austere robes out of place against the soft, bright fabrics. He made a courteous gesture towards the other couch and Jim hesitated.
Sitting down would imply that the meeting was going to be a long one, something he’d hoped to avoid. Then again, if the Ambassador was hell-bent on discussing their mission, brevity was probably out of the question. Reluctantly, Jim sat.
“Ambassador, I’d have thought you know more about it than I do. We’ve had no contact with the Vulcan High Council, only what Starfleet has relayed to us.”
Jim noticed he was slipping automatically into a more formal style of speaking. Spock’s influence, he supposed. Not that it didn’t have its uses, what with the number of diplomatic missions that were pushed their way.
“It is true that I have a better understanding of what the Kithara project represents to our people than any off-worlder ever could. It is for that reason that I must tell you: I do not believe it is the solution to my people’s problems.”
The Ambassador leaned forward until his chin rested on steepled hands. Jim could feel his eyes widening in surprise.
“You mean you’ve been sent to plead a case you don’t even believe in?”
“Indeed. There are few enough who hold the rank of Ambassador, fewer still who are not off-world at present. And only one able to be spared on such a mission as this.”
His lips tightened briefly and Jim thought, So that’s why you’re here: the Vulcans don’t much care for you either, and I bet that makes you mad. Vulcans don’t have feelings, my ass.
Aloud, he said, “But surely you realise the potential benefits?”
“I believe that my people have no need to resort to such undignified methods to preserve our race. What good is it to increase in number if in doing so we lose what makes us truly Vulcan?”
Jim’s instinctive reaction was to call bullshit. Casting around for a more diplomatic phrasing, he said, “But will you, though? I remember something my first officer told me when we were talking about the Kithara project. He said that Nero’s attack has forced people to think in ‘new ways’. He doesn’t believe the project will destroy your culture.”
“Mr Spock -” Jim thought he caught a trace of something mocking in the name. “- is something of an anomaly among Vulcans.”
“Yes, I’ve gathered that your people didn’t exactly take to the idea of hybrids.” Jim really hoped Suvat couldn’t hear the irritation in his voice - no need to provoke a diplomatic incident in his first year of captaincy. “But still, in this case, it seems you’re the odd one out. The motion to approach the Kitharans was passed with a substantial majority.”
Suvat inclined his head. “True. And you need not be alarmed that my personal beliefs will impair my ability to do my duty. I shall merely present the facts. What will be will be.”
And that, it seemed, was that, not that Jim was happy about it by any stretch.
At liberty once more, Jim headed for medbay, only to find that, judging by the absence of both Bones and Nurse Chapel and by the meaningful eyebrow waggling he got when he asked, at least one person onboard did indeed appreciate simple country doctors.
The chronometer read eighteen twenty-five. Jim bounced impatiently on the balls of his feet, still twitchy after his talk with Ambassador Suvat. He tried to repress the feeling; starship captains shouldn’t get twitchy over a little thing like finding out your allies weren’t necessarily even in the same choir, let alone singing from the same hymn sheet. He realised his fingers were tapping out an offbeat rhythm against the side of his leg and stilled them irritably. He needed distraction.
In short order, he considered and rejected his quarters, the bridge, and the gym.
It was with a certain sense of inevitability that he found himself outside Spock’s door five minutes later.
“I know I’m a bit early, but I thought if you’re free…” That was when he noticed the impressive stack of padds on Spock’s desk. “You’re working, I’ll come back later,” he said hastily.
“That will not be necessary, Captain.” Spock rose and began transferring the padds to an open bag at the side of the desk. Jim hastened to help.
“What are all these? Surely you can’t have gotten this much data from your simulations?”
“My scientific notes are still in the laboratory. These are the crew reports.”
“Oh God, I’d been trying to forget about them. Six months already?”
“Five months and twenty-three days. I have allowed a week for you to read over the reports and make any alterations you see fit.”
“You spoil me, really you do. My life wouldn’t have been complete without the delights of crew reports to look forward to.”
“It seems to me highly illogical to become a starship captain when one of the position’s most time-consuming duties is so abhorrent to you,” Spock remarked.
Jim tossed the last padd into the bag and grinned. “Wow, Spock, we really are infecting you with our human ways if you’re picking up on sarcasm now.”
Spock fixed his eyes on a point over Jim’s left shoulder as he replied, “I do not believe I would term it an ‘infection’.”
“That might be the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”
“I shall endeavour to keep from forming a habit, then, as it disturbs you so much.”
“Thank you, Mr Spock,” Jim said gravely. And he really did think he saw, as Spock turned away to fetch the chess set, the corners of Spock’s mouth twitch. Just a little.
A private corner of his brain began letting off celebratory fireworks.
Part Two