fanfic | stxi | leave no soul behind 7.2/7.4 (2 remaining)
Title: Leave No Soul Behind 7.2, 5,939 words of 230,000+
Fandom: Star Trek XI, TOS references.
Characters: Kirk/Spock, ensemble, OCs.
Rating & Warnings: Strong R - slash, language, adult themes.
Spoilers: For the 2009 movie mostly.
Disclaimer: Fanfiction and fanfiction only, folks.
Betas: the_arc5 who only got a chance to look at two thirds of this thanks to my absolute need for sleep within the last 24 hours. I absolutely guarantee that any stuff ups are one hundred percent my own and nothing to do with her. She's brilliant.
Author's Note: This is written for stripedpetunia on trek_exchange, and god damn it! I missed my posting deadline by a measly 59 minutes. Aargh! Forgive me?
previous
Chapter 7.2
Getting across town to the campus proves more difficult than anyone expected. Nero has deployed ground troops in greater numbers than Jim's ever seen, and they flit between buildings and claim the high ground with disarming swiftness. More than once, his team find themselves pinned down or bottled up, the air superheating with phaser fire.
The third time looks to be the last time. Gaila provides cover fire as McCoy darts out into the cross street to drag a civilian back into the lee of a building for treatment, but it’s not enough. The doctor goes down with a glancing strike to his shoulder, sprawled with his legs trapped beneath his save.
“Leonard!” she calls, letting loose with an unprecedented barrage while Jim curses and tries to find new vantages in an attempt to shield such a large area of open space.
Gaila moves to assist McCoy, but T'Loren holds her back. “Your skills are crucial to the next phase of our plan.”
“He's hurt!”
“Stay under cover. That is an order.”
“I don't recall you being my superior officer!"
"Gaila! Do as she says!" Jim doesn't wait for acknowledgement, slithering down the pile of rubble that is providing refuge and firing at the same time, taking out one Romulan and sending the other scurrying for cover.
He turns his momentum into a shoulder roll as he hits the ground, green energy bolts sizzling in his wake. He spares a quick glance for T'Loren as she moves to cover him, grits his teeth and makes a run for McCoy. There’s a buckled aircar door in his path, so he scoops it up and uses it as a makeshift shield. Romulan fire pops and clangs against it like golf balls at a driving range. He’s cursing up a storm under his breath as the metal heats in his hand, forcing him to drop it a full five steps away from the doctor and his would-be patient. He’s just wondering how the hell he’s going to drag two full grown people out of the street by himself when T'Loren arrives and Gaila uses the moment as an excuse to go on the offensive.
T'Loren slings McCoy over her shoulder effortlessly and loops her spare arm around the civilian's waist. Jim swings around behind her, laying down fire on the blind side. Gaila cartwheels her arm in an attempt to hurry them, calling out something about enemy reinforcements.
“Faster,” T'Loren suggests calmly, breaking into a run despite her heavy load.
Jim does his best to keep up and still maintain a decent spread of phaser fire. He’s running sideways across uneven terrain, stumbling here and there, very much aware that to lose his footing means T'Loren and McCoy lose their cover and the Romulans gain a stationary target. The hard slam of plascrete against his shoulder is as welcome as an embrace from an old friend.
“Anyone else hurt?” he yells over the continuing barrage.
T'Loren shakes her head in the negative and turns to inspect her burdens. McCoy has no new injuries but the woman isn’t so fortunate. There’s a smoking hole where the back of her head used to be and Jim turns away, jaw clenched.
Gaila winces in sympathy but wastes no time moving her aside to gain better access to McCoy. T'Loren takes a few seconds to appreciate the fact that Gaila has guided them into the mouth of a subway entrance. It’s a smart move; the tunnels providing easy access to Academy grounds if only you’re familiar with their twists and turns.
They finally manage to rouse McCoy who blinks up at them, disorientated and clutching the hypo bruise over his carotid. “Who taught you that technique, a chimpanzee?”
“You did, you ungrateful bastard,” Jim grins at him. “Now quit clowning around and tell me which dressing to use on your pitiful excuse for a flesh wound.”
“Huh,” says McCoy, twisting in an attempt to see the charred, seeping burn on his shoulder blade. “Combi-prep with a clear dressing should do the trick.”
Jim pulls the requested materials from his kit and teases McCoy’s shirt fabric out of the way. It’s an angry red and has to hurt like hell, but it appears low energy. Either the Romulan's weapon was almost out of charge or the hit had been exceptionally long range. “Way to go passing out on us,” Jim sighs, securing the dressing with an adhesive cover, “nothing but a grade two burn, you pussy.”
“I’ll remember that the next time you come crawling into my sickbay, you little…”
“Doctor, Commander,” T'Loren interrupts, “may I suggest we move deeper into the tunnels? I will provide cover fire.”
“Agreed.” Jim extends a hand to Bones and hauls him to his feet. "Bones, can you run? If they catch us before we reach an intersection it will be like shooting fish in a barrel."
McCoy slaps his hands away. "Quite fussing, will you? I can run a mile."
"Okay, then. Gaila and I will take point, you and T'Loren cover our six." Jim glances at his chrono and looks grim. "That little firefight has really slowed us down. Spock and the others should be at the Spaceport by now. We need to get access to the Cochrane Array as soon as possible or we may as well paint a big target on the side of whichever shuttle the others manage to commandeer."
"Get me to the Academy." Gaila bounces on the balls of her feet. "Just get me within network range, Jim."
-:-
"Nice accent," Ashe comments under her breath as they clear the first checkpoint.
Eli flicks her a quelling glance. "Thank you."
Spock keeps his head hung low, hiding half his face behind Ashe's shoulder. It is unlikely that any such low-ranking acolytes of Nero will recognize him, but given his experiences during the Battle for Aspera, he would rather not take the chance. As they enter the spaceport lobby, he is forced to acknowledge that it is far more likely someone else will reveal his identity. All around them, people sit under armed guard, hands on their heads, turning to look at the new arrivals. All it will take is one shout of his name, one person who recognizes him from the countless newscasts and press conferences he's endured over the years. He dares to look up only once, moments before Eli leads them into a gate lounge. It seems that every eye is trained on him, all of them knowing, all of them hoping. Desperate for deliverance, humanity holds its tongue and keeps his secret.
Naturally, that is when they are finally challenged by the Romulans.
Eli's casual greeting is met with crossed teral'n, their blades glinting wickedly in the overhead lighting. The young Vulcan does an admirable job of looking angry and repeats his demand with more force, requesting that they stand aside. The bigger of the two Romulan guards stalks forwards, brandishing his teral'n at Eli's throat, spitting out questions that Spock only understands in part. Access to boarding areas is denied; orders directly from Nero himself.
Spock feels Ashe tense in his arms and begins to calculate how many of the enemy he can eliminate during the journey from here to the nearest point of cover, and whether it will be enough. The odds he calculates spiral in around him, highlighting the reality of their situation, forcing him to rethink. He cannot find a solution that offers at least a marginal chance of survival.
The Romulan takes another step closer, pushing into Eli's chest with the staff of his weapon, shrugging the youngster off as though he were nothing. Spock angles his body, taking one or two subtle steps to the side and consciously slowing his breathing. Their timing must be perfect. Eli catches his eye and blinks in acknowledgement. The slightest inclination of his head is the signal.
Spock tosses Ashe towards Eli before the youngster is even through disembowling the guard with his own weapon. Spock strikes the other guard in the face with the flat of his palm, feeling a satisfying crack of bone. He drives home his advantage as the first scream goes up from the mostly human crowd. Spock cannot help but grimace. He knows their reaction is instinctive, that they do not mean to compromise his efforts, but the noise draws more guards who promptly open fire with disruptors.
Eli is two steps ahead of him, Ashe slung over one shoulder, clearing a path to the closest shuttle dock. Spock has no choice but to dismiss them from his mind. Ashe has the codes and the ability to liberate the Enterprise; she must live long enough to accomplish that task or their entire revolution dies here. It is as though time slows down, his centering breath loud in his own ears as he gathers his balance and launches into an explosive offensive.
The Romulans momentarily check their forward momentum in the face of Spock's unexpected charge. It is not rational for any solitary being to act as he does, and Spock intends to make full use of their surprise. He drops three with his phaser to get close enough for hand-to-hand combat, where much of their firepower will be lost through fear of hitting each other. His world narrows to include only threats and solutions, his fists striking flesh with as much brute force as he can muster. Against Romulans he has no strength or speed advantage; he has only his training and his determination.
Years of physical conditioning have honed his reflexes and his body. At first they drop in quick succession, his fingers seeking out nerve clusters and striking tracheas. Gradually though, the sheer number of them begins to take its toll and he is reduced to fending off blows with his forearms, to landing punches and kicks wherever he can find an opening. Inevitably, his own defense develops flaws. The confrontation has lasted only minutes but the demand on his stamina is extreme. His heart is thundering in his side, his breath gasping between clenched teeth. Romulan fists start to hit home, splitting his lip and doubling him over. He lashes out viciously, claiming a reciprocal victory, but it is the beginning of the end and he knows it. He cannot spare a glance to see if Eli and Ashe have boarded a shuttle, but no power in the universe could suppress the regret that floods him.
He regrets not planning more thoroughly. He regrets not examining Nero's fixation with future tech a long time ago. Most of all, he regrets not sharing a bond with Jim.
Jim, who asked him for one.
Jim, who Spock will never see again ...
-:-
“It’s stuck!”
“Well un-stick it!” Jim stage whispers back at Gaila, who’s busy shoving ineffectually at a seldom used access hatch.
“You could help!”
Jim glances back down the way they came. Squinting into the darkness, he can just about make out two figures running towards them. Running can’t be good. Clearly, stealth is no longer a priority.
“Right,” he says, flicking his phaser to the highest setting. “Move aside.”
Gaila hurriedly complies, jamming both her hands over her ears as Jim immediately looses two rounds into the latch. The sound is deafening in the confined space and he winces.
She drops her hands and glares at him. “That’s you’re solution to everything, isn’t it? If it doesn’t work, shoot it!”
He gestures at the smoking door with the phaser. “It’s a ten ton plassteel hatch. What did you want me to do, kick it open?”
“Boys,” she sighs, but it still takes all her body weight to shift it.
McCoy jogs to a halt, a little out of breath. “Subtle Jim, real subtle.”
“Well, clearly you and T’Loren are masters of evasion,” he snaps back.
“The Romulans saw us enter the tunnel,” Bones exclaims, eyebrows shooting up. “Didn’t it occur to you that they might, I don’t know, follow us?”
“It occurred to me that we might lose them on the way.”
“Well,” Bones rolls his eyes, “it’s not your lucky day.”
Jim grins in the semi-darkness. “Day ain’t over yet.”
T’Loren appears silently, not even having broken a sweat from all the running. “The Romulans are approximately thirty seconds behind us.”
“Great,” Jim deadpans. “Through the door. Let’s go, people.”
They scramble through the small airlock-like inter chamber, having to bend double and squeeze in sideways one by one. When Jim steps through he bumps into Gaila's back and is about to demand why the hell she's just standing there when he straightens and sees the phaser pointed right between her eyes.
"Oh," he says instead.
-:-
Stars explode behind Spock's eyes and he falls to one knee. Logically, he knows the room cannot be spinning, but when he reopens his eyes, they tell him a different story. A foot connects with his cheekbone, sending him sprawling face-first across the polished floor. The crowd of Romulans stalk after him, confident and less hurried now that it's clear they are the victors. Spock takes a breath that is half a groan and forces himself back up to his knees. He stares at the floor, ears ringing, as drops of blood fall lazily from his face and splash onto the faux marble finish. His hands frame the random raindrop patterns, skin torn across his knuckles, the tiny criss-cross of scars reminding him of the reason his stamina is so poor. He coughs and tastes more blood, his abused lungs burning like coals in his chest.
A hand grips his hair, yanking his head back so they can look at him. He stares back defiantly, ignoring the new pain across his scalp in favor of concentrating on all his anger, all his desire for revenge. It is not a Vulcan thing to do, but it keeps the fear at bay. It is unreasonable that he should die now, when he finally has so much to live for.
The lead guard kneels down in front of him, the tattooed sneer on his face a thing of terrifying beauty. "Lord Nero does not need you alive, not anymore, and he will reward me for ending your miserable life."
Spock takes a deep breath through his nose and exhales through his mouth. He struggles for calm, for acceptance, for all the things a Vulcan ought to accomplish in the moments preceding his death. None of it will come. He feels the cold press of metal against his throat and notices the way his pulse leaps in response, so uncontrolled, so very human. Instinctively, his mind reaches out towards the tenuous thread of connection he shares with Jim, but it is not enough or Jim is too far away, and he his left grasping at nothingness, incomplete.
Spock feels the knife shift against his skin and his eyes slam closed, anticipating the hot splash of his own blood, wondering whether it will feel more like drowning or suffocating...
Then the world shifts around him.
He rematerializes aboard a starship, still on his knees, head thrown back. The Romulan, caught in the wide beam with him, jerks his head around just in time to see the face of the person who stabs him. Sarek drives the lipau in deeper, angling the blade upwards so that it punctures both the Romulan's heart and a lung, sealing his fate. With a stunned expression on his face, the Romulan topples to the side, fingers fluttering around the hilt of the knife.
Spock watches as his father turns and regards him steadily. Not a trace of murder is visible on his face, not unless you look in his eyes, which burn with an almost incandescent rage. When Sarek crushes him against his chest in the first father-son hug of his adult life, it is then that Spock can feel the truly Vulcan fury, the outrage that someone should dare to harm Spock.
Shaking like a leaf, Spock grips his father's shoulders, allowing himself a moment's amazement at being alive.
"Spock..."
"Father," he replies, forcing himself to push away, to regroup. "I must locate Lieutenant Ho and Eli. The importance of their mission cannot be underestimated."
Sarek's jaw clenches but he nods after a second, drawing Spock to his feet and steadying him surreptitiously as the transporter tech looks on. "We will assist you in any way we can."
"The Vulcan High Council condones your participation?" Spock asks, his voice almost unrecognizable with trauma and surprise.
Sarek shoots him an unspeakable look. "I do not care either way," he announces, striding down the steps of the transporter, robes billowing in his wake.
For the first time in a long time, Spock looks at his father and sees more than their shared history, sees the brilliant young diplomat who made himself an outcast by marrying a human woman...by marrying for love and then having a child that some would pity and others would revile.
Spock follows him down the dais and into the corridors of the Tat'sar. "Thank you, Father," he says, "for my life."
Sarek says nothing, but he is a diplomat, a brilliant one, so he reaches out and clasps his son's shoulder in acknowledgement, only letting the hand fall away when they draw near to the bridge where others might see and judge. The double doors slide open soundlessly and he finds Eli and Ashe waiting for him.
"Oh, thank god!" the Lieutenant exclaims, looking like she would most likely cause a scene by hugging him if only she had a means of transportation.
Eli, too, looks greatly relieved. The young Vulcan steps forward, hands clasped lightly behind his back. "We are awaiting the transmission from the Cochrane Array as ordered, sir."
"Any word from Commander Kirk or his team?" Spock replies, forcing the words past the damage in his throat.
"No," Eli shakes his head. "By my calculations, they should have arrived at the Academy."
"They may have encountered resistance," he speculates. "We can afford a brief interlude to allow them time to access the Array."
Captain Senekot rises from his command chair, turning to face them. "I will give you ten minutes, no longer, before I must remove my ship and my personnel."
Spock inclines his head, having expected no less. "Understood."
"This ship, our mission, cannot be compromised any further, not even in times of such great need."
Spock, who has worked aboard this ship and come to suspect a great deal about its true mission, nods again, holding Senekot's eye. "I ask only that which you can freely offer. Thank you for saving my life and those of my associates."
It may be the adrenaline still flooding his system, but Spock imagines he sees a slight softening in the Captain’s hostility towards him before he turns back to ship's business.
"Come," Sarek says into the pause. "Our sickbay is fully staffed."
Battered, bruised and in considerable pain, Spock acquiesces immediately. He can do nothing but wait at this point, anyway.
-:-
"Hey!" Jim snaps at the shaking cadet pointing a phaser at Gaila. "Friendlies!"
The young woman's hand falls away shakily. "I'm sorry," she stammers, her big blue eyes filling with tears. "It's just, we rigged scanners and the tunnels are full of Romulans."
He steps around Gaila, gently grasping the cadet's hand in both of his and helping her lower the weapon the rest of the way. "That's right, they are," he agrees. "But you can see we're not Romulans. Look at my uniform, Cadet. We're EPAS."
"Oh! EPAS!" she breathes in relief, tears welling over. "Are you here to rescue us, sir?"
He feels her steady as he continues to hold her hand. "Kind of," he grins apologetically. "We need access to the Cochrane Array and the transporters. Think you can help us with that?"
"Yes, sure," she nods, taking a deep breath. "Most of us are holed up in the shuttle bays, sir. It seemed like the logical choice; easily defensible and we have ships there capable of making orbit. There are a few of us out on patrols, making sure we've still got a perimeter and security is holding."
Jim looks her up and down. "They nominated you as a perimeter guard?"
Her spine straightens noticeably. "I volunteered, sir."
His lips quirk in approval. "What's your name, Cadet?"
"Rand, sir. Janice, Cadet, graduating class."
"Commander James Kirk," he replies, shaking her hand before finally releasing it.
"Yes, sir," she blushes. "I recognize you now."
"Janice, can you take my friend Gaila here..."
"Hello!" Gaila says cheerfully, "thanks for not shooting me."
"Can you take Gaila to the Array? I think I remember my way to the shuttle bay," Jim presses on, shooting his Ops Lieutenant an exasperated glance.
-:-
Three minutes later, Janice watches avidly as Lieutenant Gaila shimmies under the main Cochrane console, hydrospanner jammed between her teeth. It turns out the Orion is as gifted as she is beautiful, because not a second later, the Array shunts online, bypassing the usual security interface and warm up.
Janice steps back as Gaila rolls out from underneath, replacing her spanner with a pearly grin.
"What can I say?" she beams. "Computers just love me."
"What's going on?" Janice asks, curiosity bubbling over.
"Oh," says Gaila, her fingers flying over the touchscreen. "We're kind of taking over the military. Don't tell your Starfleet friends, they won't understand."
Janice takes a moment to digest this because it's tantamount to treason. At the very least, it's a military coup and she can reel off the long list of punishments associated with such a move. The thing is, the concept of a traitor doesn't jell with what she knows of James T. Kirk, hero of the Battle of Vulcan, saviour of Aspera, hero of the Emergency Personnel Ambulance Service.
"I like the President," says Janice, which is true and also her only real objection to EPAS running the show instead of F-Sec. She might be young and innocent, but you'd have to be stupid not to see how badly the war is going, and how little Starfleet are doing to counter it effectively.
Gaila shifts a new line of code into place with practiced ease. "Oh, we like Wescott," she says reassuringly. "We'll keep him."
"You're awfully confident."
Gaila hits send on her communications packet and a series of bleeps follows as the Academy computers begin transmission to the Cochrane Array. "Why wouldn't I be?" she asks. "The DivCO and the Captain are miracle workers."
"The Captain?"
"Spock," she supplies. "He's the new captain of the Enterprise, didn't you know?"
Janice feels a rush of something she can't quantify. It's a little like a first kiss or a Valentine, but a lot more scary. "Can I come with you?"
Gaila tilts her head to the side, copper curls bouncing. "It's really, really dangerous. You could die," she points out discouragingly.
Janice steels herself and lifts her chin. "I could just as easily die here."
"I knew I liked you for a reason," Gaila beams. "Now, we should get the merry hell out of here, because Nero is about to blow this place sky high."
-:-
Jim sees Gaila and Cadet Rand running across the hanger bay just as he finishes his explanation to McCoy and T'Loren. Reunited, the five of them form a loose semi circle.
"Okay," Jim begins, then stares pointedly at Rand.
"She's with me," Gaila says supportively, slinging an arm around her.
"Uh, welcome?" says Jim. "File your transfer paperwork later; right now, we have to get these cadets into shuttles and those shuttles into the air. Spread out, all of you, and get these birds in the air. Gaila, how long until the signal?"
She glances at her chrono. "Fifty seconds."
"Now," Jim orders. "Move."
-:-
Fifty seconds later, the Earth's largest signal transmitter tells everyone within parsecs that Earth is under attack and is being evacuated. Spock watches from the Tat'sar's sickbay as millions of small craft take to the planet's skies like a flock of migratory birds. Somewhere amongst them, camouflaged in their number, will be Jim and his team.
"Take a deep breath in," the Vulcan Healer urges, "now exhale."
Spock finally can.
-:-
"Gailaaaaa!" Jim protests from his seat behind the pilot's bulkhead.
"Sorry, but there's a crap load of Romulans out here, sir," she replies, deftly weaving between two exploding Academy shuttles and the Romulan cruiser responsible for that carnage.
"Just get us to Luna in one piece, will you?" Jim bitches, mostly to distract himself from the red-uniformed bodies that fly past them as they clear the explosion.
"No can do, sir," Gaila sounds entirely too chirpy for someone with a look of bloody determination on her face. "According to long range scanners and comm chatter, the dome is breached. Anyone not in an escape pod has been sealed in by the emergency decompression system. They're broadcasting a mayday."
Jim curses and unclips his seatbelt, pulls himself to his feet and uses the hand loops to make his unsteady way from the passenger section to the cockpit bulkhead.
McCoy makes a desperate grab for him on the way past. "Sit down before you give yourself a concussion!" he growls, as the shuttle leaps and bucks under their feet.
Jim fends him off, using his arms to lift himself over the centre console and into the copilot's seat. "Talk to me, Gaila."
"Our best option is to make straight for the Enterprise," she mutters, hands knuckle-white on the yoke. "There's simply no clear trajectory up there, but Luna is taking a concentrated pounding. Even if I manage to land us, we'd be lucky to be able to reach the transporters given the degree of damage to the biosphere. Airlocks will be closed all over the place."
"What about Chekov, Uhura, Hannity and the rest of them?"
"If they were clever, they got out with Pike or earlier."
"Do we even know if Pike got out?"
"No." She turns to glance at him. "But he had to know this was coming. If he stayed, it's because he has a reason."
Jim straps in and takes control of communications, navigation and shields, freeing Gaila to do all the flying. "Okay, let's get to the ship. I'll comm Scotty on the secure line; let him know we're coming."
In the rear of the shuttle, Janice Rand turns to McCoy and asks, "is it always like this?"
Leonard swallows heavily and nods, perspiration glistening on his brow. "Yeah, pretty much."
She takes in his death grip on the chair and his determinedly closed eyes. "Is it bad?"
"No worse than usual. I just hate flying."
She pats him comfortingly on the knee. "What's the worst that could happen?"
McCoy groans. "You ask me that question and now I'm thinking about it!"
-:-
Spock beams directly to the bridge of the Enterprise. It gleams white around him, and for a moment the glinting reflections blind him to the exposed conduits and missing fixtures. Lieutenants Hannity and Scott look up as the transporter field fades away, their hands deeply embedded in the main propulsion console.
"We must get under way," Spock tells them. "Immediately."
Scotty shakes his head miserably. "No can do, Captain. We've got no power to main thrusters."
"Can you fix the drive?"
"There's nothing wrong with the bloody thing," he clarifies. "It's the actuators. One of the junctions must be faulting out, but there are hundreds of these between here and the engine room."
Spock's hands curl into fists at his sides. "How long?"
"Could be anywhere from three minutes to thirty, sir."
"Make it three."
Scotty sighs heavily and delves back inside the console. "I'll do what I can."
-:-
An Academy shuttle touches down in the Enterprise's main hangar pitted with phaser burns and smoking hot to the touch. Techs and junior staff leap out of the way, their faces filled with consternation as the hatch pops and twenty Starfleet cadets pile out, followed by three EPAS personnel and a Vulcan.
“Okay,” Jim hollers, running up a ladder to attract attention, “everyone, get the hell off this boat or you’re coming with us whether you like it or not!”
A few people at the fringes scamper down the docking ramps to escape pods but the vast majority of techs, tradespeople and cadets remain fixed in place, staring up at him on the gantry.
Jim blinks. “One way trip, last stop before the firefight!” he tries again.
One or two more people scatter, tools abandoned in their haste to leave, but the vast majority remain. Jim estimates at least one hundred and eighty of them, clad in a mix of cadet red, officers uniforms, baggy tech coveralls and black undershirts that don’t give away their specialities.
“Are you guys deaf?” Jim demands, growing impatient.
A burly technician steps forward. “With all due respect, sir, are you?”
Jim gapes like a fish. “You haven’t said anything!”
The tech just folds his arms and plants his feet, glancing over his shoulder as the ripple of obstinacy spreads out from him like a pebble thrown into still water. They’re all staring up at Jim, actions speaking so much louder than words ever could. Jim feels his throat tighten and he clenches his jaw in response. These people, these brilliant fucking people.
With the ease of long practice, he turns, frames the access ladder with his gloves and boots, and slides down to their level, sticking the landing neatly. There’s wariness and apprehension evident in every expression that greets him. Jim is an enlisted officer, a DivCO who’s used to giving orders, and what they’re doing is paramount to insubordination.
Jim approaches their self-nominated leader and extends his hand. “Jim Kirk, Divisional Commander, EPAS, USS Enterprise.”
“Senior Tech Charles W. Pittern,” the grease-stained man returns, engulfing Jim’s hand in the firm grip of his own. “Chief Installation and Refit Supervisor, USS Enterprise, at your service, Commander.”
“Right then,” Jim releases his hand and sneaks a glance over his shoulder. “We have a skeleton command crew in place, a Chief of Engineering, Tactical, Ops and Communications. Science is vacant and so are many of the Lieutenant, Lieutenant Commander and Ensign positions in all fields.”
Pittern turns to the motley group and cups his hands around his mouth. “Ranking officers step forward, engineers and techs to my left, sciences to my right.” Questions begin as murmurs and quickly escalate into a confusing avalanche. Pittern raises and lowers his arms repeatedly, shushing them. “I don’t have time to sort you individually. You’re smart people or you wouldn’t be working on this boat. Think about your strengths, not just the scope of your qualifications. Go and find a vacant position in a field you’re good at.”
“Seconded,” Jim affirms. “But right now, I need a small team of transporter and science people, heavy on the applied math and sensor relay expertise.”
Several science track officers step forward and a handful of techs. One blue-shirted Lieutenant glances at the techs and points them out to Jim. “Sir, Skia and White should take sensors, they installed the damn things. I haven’t even laid eyes on them yet.”
“Okay,” Jim agrees, but points at the blue shirt. “You, what’s your name?”
“Nathan van Looy, sir, Lieutenant, First Class.”
“van Looy, I like you.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“You’re the new head of our science department.”
van Looy’s eyes widen in disbelief. “There are people here with more expertise, sir, and I’ve never held a command position, so...”
“I need honesty and quick thinking,” Jim snaps. “I need someone who knows the talents of the officers on this ship and can help me put them where we need them, think you can handle that?”
van Looy smiles wryly. “Yes, sir. That I can do.”
“Okay then.”
Pittern herds the sensor techs and three or four other people towards Jim. “Navigation calibrator, logic board integration specialist, this girl is technically a comms person but she minored in astrophysics at college, and then you have Wardell.” Pittern’s weathered face breaks into a toothy grin. “Wardell is an all-round transporter genius, sir.”
“I’ll take all the genius I can get,” Jim grins, ushering them on towards the bridge. “Oh, and Pittern?” he calls, turning back momentarily.
“Aye, sir?”
“Not sure if this is legal or not, but as of now, you’re our Second Officer.”
The Senior Tech grins wider. “Pretty sure I have to graduate the Academy for that, sir.”
“There’s a regulation to cover it,” Jim smirks. “At least, I hope there is. Get to work, I need this ship in the air yesterday.”
-:-
Two minutes later on the bridge, Spock receives the all clear from Scotty in Engineering. He doesn't question how the works were completed in such a small fraction of the estimated time, he just folds himself into the center seat and glances over at navigation. "Take us out, Lieutenant Uhura."
As the ship starts to inch forward under her own power, various people begin to take their stations. Hannity takes Ops, seated beside Chekov at navigation. Ashe has Tactical, and the weapons and sensor seats next to hers are filled by people in tech uniforms who flood out of the turbolift. More non-enlisted people appear on the bridge, prompting Spock to turn his chair.
Jim appears from amidst a motley array of uniforms, stepping forward just as Spock rises to meet him. "Looks like revolutions are popular today," he grins. "Meet the first volunteer Constitution Class crew in history, sir." Then more softly, as he draws closer. "Is everything okay?"
Spock acknowledges his battered face and bloodstained uniform with the barest motion of one hand. "I estimate we have approximately eighteen point six minutes before the drill reaches the planet's core."
Jim studies him for a second longer, then nods. "I'll prep one of the new shuttles. I'll need a crew."
He turns to leave but Spock steps forward, halting him instantly. "Jim, the statistical likelihood that ..."
"It'll work, Spock," he replies in an urgent undertone, indicating the meld points on his face. "I know it."
The tableau holds as the Enterprise finally begins to pick up speed, the spacedock falling away to reveal the vicious dogfights and pinwheeling wreckage orbiting the Earth.
"Heading, Captain?" Chekov requests.
Spock hesitates, eyes locked with Jim's
"It'll work," Jim insists. "We've talked this through a thousand times."
"Captain, your orders?" Chekov insists a little apologetically.
Spock tears his eyes away and pivots, unable to look Jim in the eye and give the order. "The Narada," he says simply. "As close as you can, Mr. Chekov."
next
Fandom: Star Trek XI, TOS references.
Characters: Kirk/Spock, ensemble, OCs.
Rating & Warnings: Strong R - slash, language, adult themes.
Spoilers: For the 2009 movie mostly.
Disclaimer: Fanfiction and fanfiction only, folks.
Betas: the_arc5 who only got a chance to look at two thirds of this thanks to my absolute need for sleep within the last 24 hours. I absolutely guarantee that any stuff ups are one hundred percent my own and nothing to do with her. She's brilliant.
Author's Note: This is written for stripedpetunia on trek_exchange, and god damn it! I missed my posting deadline by a measly 59 minutes. Aargh! Forgive me?
previous
Chapter 7.2
Getting across town to the campus proves more difficult than anyone expected. Nero has deployed ground troops in greater numbers than Jim's ever seen, and they flit between buildings and claim the high ground with disarming swiftness. More than once, his team find themselves pinned down or bottled up, the air superheating with phaser fire.
The third time looks to be the last time. Gaila provides cover fire as McCoy darts out into the cross street to drag a civilian back into the lee of a building for treatment, but it’s not enough. The doctor goes down with a glancing strike to his shoulder, sprawled with his legs trapped beneath his save.
“Leonard!” she calls, letting loose with an unprecedented barrage while Jim curses and tries to find new vantages in an attempt to shield such a large area of open space.
Gaila moves to assist McCoy, but T'Loren holds her back. “Your skills are crucial to the next phase of our plan.”
“He's hurt!”
“Stay under cover. That is an order.”
“I don't recall you being my superior officer!"
"Gaila! Do as she says!" Jim doesn't wait for acknowledgement, slithering down the pile of rubble that is providing refuge and firing at the same time, taking out one Romulan and sending the other scurrying for cover.
He turns his momentum into a shoulder roll as he hits the ground, green energy bolts sizzling in his wake. He spares a quick glance for T'Loren as she moves to cover him, grits his teeth and makes a run for McCoy. There’s a buckled aircar door in his path, so he scoops it up and uses it as a makeshift shield. Romulan fire pops and clangs against it like golf balls at a driving range. He’s cursing up a storm under his breath as the metal heats in his hand, forcing him to drop it a full five steps away from the doctor and his would-be patient. He’s just wondering how the hell he’s going to drag two full grown people out of the street by himself when T'Loren arrives and Gaila uses the moment as an excuse to go on the offensive.
T'Loren slings McCoy over her shoulder effortlessly and loops her spare arm around the civilian's waist. Jim swings around behind her, laying down fire on the blind side. Gaila cartwheels her arm in an attempt to hurry them, calling out something about enemy reinforcements.
“Faster,” T'Loren suggests calmly, breaking into a run despite her heavy load.
Jim does his best to keep up and still maintain a decent spread of phaser fire. He’s running sideways across uneven terrain, stumbling here and there, very much aware that to lose his footing means T'Loren and McCoy lose their cover and the Romulans gain a stationary target. The hard slam of plascrete against his shoulder is as welcome as an embrace from an old friend.
“Anyone else hurt?” he yells over the continuing barrage.
T'Loren shakes her head in the negative and turns to inspect her burdens. McCoy has no new injuries but the woman isn’t so fortunate. There’s a smoking hole where the back of her head used to be and Jim turns away, jaw clenched.
Gaila winces in sympathy but wastes no time moving her aside to gain better access to McCoy. T'Loren takes a few seconds to appreciate the fact that Gaila has guided them into the mouth of a subway entrance. It’s a smart move; the tunnels providing easy access to Academy grounds if only you’re familiar with their twists and turns.
They finally manage to rouse McCoy who blinks up at them, disorientated and clutching the hypo bruise over his carotid. “Who taught you that technique, a chimpanzee?”
“You did, you ungrateful bastard,” Jim grins at him. “Now quit clowning around and tell me which dressing to use on your pitiful excuse for a flesh wound.”
“Huh,” says McCoy, twisting in an attempt to see the charred, seeping burn on his shoulder blade. “Combi-prep with a clear dressing should do the trick.”
Jim pulls the requested materials from his kit and teases McCoy’s shirt fabric out of the way. It’s an angry red and has to hurt like hell, but it appears low energy. Either the Romulan's weapon was almost out of charge or the hit had been exceptionally long range. “Way to go passing out on us,” Jim sighs, securing the dressing with an adhesive cover, “nothing but a grade two burn, you pussy.”
“I’ll remember that the next time you come crawling into my sickbay, you little…”
“Doctor, Commander,” T'Loren interrupts, “may I suggest we move deeper into the tunnels? I will provide cover fire.”
“Agreed.” Jim extends a hand to Bones and hauls him to his feet. "Bones, can you run? If they catch us before we reach an intersection it will be like shooting fish in a barrel."
McCoy slaps his hands away. "Quite fussing, will you? I can run a mile."
"Okay, then. Gaila and I will take point, you and T'Loren cover our six." Jim glances at his chrono and looks grim. "That little firefight has really slowed us down. Spock and the others should be at the Spaceport by now. We need to get access to the Cochrane Array as soon as possible or we may as well paint a big target on the side of whichever shuttle the others manage to commandeer."
"Get me to the Academy." Gaila bounces on the balls of her feet. "Just get me within network range, Jim."
-:-
"Nice accent," Ashe comments under her breath as they clear the first checkpoint.
Eli flicks her a quelling glance. "Thank you."
Spock keeps his head hung low, hiding half his face behind Ashe's shoulder. It is unlikely that any such low-ranking acolytes of Nero will recognize him, but given his experiences during the Battle for Aspera, he would rather not take the chance. As they enter the spaceport lobby, he is forced to acknowledge that it is far more likely someone else will reveal his identity. All around them, people sit under armed guard, hands on their heads, turning to look at the new arrivals. All it will take is one shout of his name, one person who recognizes him from the countless newscasts and press conferences he's endured over the years. He dares to look up only once, moments before Eli leads them into a gate lounge. It seems that every eye is trained on him, all of them knowing, all of them hoping. Desperate for deliverance, humanity holds its tongue and keeps his secret.
Naturally, that is when they are finally challenged by the Romulans.
Eli's casual greeting is met with crossed teral'n, their blades glinting wickedly in the overhead lighting. The young Vulcan does an admirable job of looking angry and repeats his demand with more force, requesting that they stand aside. The bigger of the two Romulan guards stalks forwards, brandishing his teral'n at Eli's throat, spitting out questions that Spock only understands in part. Access to boarding areas is denied; orders directly from Nero himself.
Spock feels Ashe tense in his arms and begins to calculate how many of the enemy he can eliminate during the journey from here to the nearest point of cover, and whether it will be enough. The odds he calculates spiral in around him, highlighting the reality of their situation, forcing him to rethink. He cannot find a solution that offers at least a marginal chance of survival.
The Romulan takes another step closer, pushing into Eli's chest with the staff of his weapon, shrugging the youngster off as though he were nothing. Spock angles his body, taking one or two subtle steps to the side and consciously slowing his breathing. Their timing must be perfect. Eli catches his eye and blinks in acknowledgement. The slightest inclination of his head is the signal.
Spock tosses Ashe towards Eli before the youngster is even through disembowling the guard with his own weapon. Spock strikes the other guard in the face with the flat of his palm, feeling a satisfying crack of bone. He drives home his advantage as the first scream goes up from the mostly human crowd. Spock cannot help but grimace. He knows their reaction is instinctive, that they do not mean to compromise his efforts, but the noise draws more guards who promptly open fire with disruptors.
Eli is two steps ahead of him, Ashe slung over one shoulder, clearing a path to the closest shuttle dock. Spock has no choice but to dismiss them from his mind. Ashe has the codes and the ability to liberate the Enterprise; she must live long enough to accomplish that task or their entire revolution dies here. It is as though time slows down, his centering breath loud in his own ears as he gathers his balance and launches into an explosive offensive.
The Romulans momentarily check their forward momentum in the face of Spock's unexpected charge. It is not rational for any solitary being to act as he does, and Spock intends to make full use of their surprise. He drops three with his phaser to get close enough for hand-to-hand combat, where much of their firepower will be lost through fear of hitting each other. His world narrows to include only threats and solutions, his fists striking flesh with as much brute force as he can muster. Against Romulans he has no strength or speed advantage; he has only his training and his determination.
Years of physical conditioning have honed his reflexes and his body. At first they drop in quick succession, his fingers seeking out nerve clusters and striking tracheas. Gradually though, the sheer number of them begins to take its toll and he is reduced to fending off blows with his forearms, to landing punches and kicks wherever he can find an opening. Inevitably, his own defense develops flaws. The confrontation has lasted only minutes but the demand on his stamina is extreme. His heart is thundering in his side, his breath gasping between clenched teeth. Romulan fists start to hit home, splitting his lip and doubling him over. He lashes out viciously, claiming a reciprocal victory, but it is the beginning of the end and he knows it. He cannot spare a glance to see if Eli and Ashe have boarded a shuttle, but no power in the universe could suppress the regret that floods him.
He regrets not planning more thoroughly. He regrets not examining Nero's fixation with future tech a long time ago. Most of all, he regrets not sharing a bond with Jim.
Jim, who asked him for one.
Jim, who Spock will never see again ...
-:-
“It’s stuck!”
“Well un-stick it!” Jim stage whispers back at Gaila, who’s busy shoving ineffectually at a seldom used access hatch.
“You could help!”
Jim glances back down the way they came. Squinting into the darkness, he can just about make out two figures running towards them. Running can’t be good. Clearly, stealth is no longer a priority.
“Right,” he says, flicking his phaser to the highest setting. “Move aside.”
Gaila hurriedly complies, jamming both her hands over her ears as Jim immediately looses two rounds into the latch. The sound is deafening in the confined space and he winces.
She drops her hands and glares at him. “That’s you’re solution to everything, isn’t it? If it doesn’t work, shoot it!”
He gestures at the smoking door with the phaser. “It’s a ten ton plassteel hatch. What did you want me to do, kick it open?”
“Boys,” she sighs, but it still takes all her body weight to shift it.
McCoy jogs to a halt, a little out of breath. “Subtle Jim, real subtle.”
“Well, clearly you and T’Loren are masters of evasion,” he snaps back.
“The Romulans saw us enter the tunnel,” Bones exclaims, eyebrows shooting up. “Didn’t it occur to you that they might, I don’t know, follow us?”
“It occurred to me that we might lose them on the way.”
“Well,” Bones rolls his eyes, “it’s not your lucky day.”
Jim grins in the semi-darkness. “Day ain’t over yet.”
T’Loren appears silently, not even having broken a sweat from all the running. “The Romulans are approximately thirty seconds behind us.”
“Great,” Jim deadpans. “Through the door. Let’s go, people.”
They scramble through the small airlock-like inter chamber, having to bend double and squeeze in sideways one by one. When Jim steps through he bumps into Gaila's back and is about to demand why the hell she's just standing there when he straightens and sees the phaser pointed right between her eyes.
"Oh," he says instead.
-:-
Stars explode behind Spock's eyes and he falls to one knee. Logically, he knows the room cannot be spinning, but when he reopens his eyes, they tell him a different story. A foot connects with his cheekbone, sending him sprawling face-first across the polished floor. The crowd of Romulans stalk after him, confident and less hurried now that it's clear they are the victors. Spock takes a breath that is half a groan and forces himself back up to his knees. He stares at the floor, ears ringing, as drops of blood fall lazily from his face and splash onto the faux marble finish. His hands frame the random raindrop patterns, skin torn across his knuckles, the tiny criss-cross of scars reminding him of the reason his stamina is so poor. He coughs and tastes more blood, his abused lungs burning like coals in his chest.
A hand grips his hair, yanking his head back so they can look at him. He stares back defiantly, ignoring the new pain across his scalp in favor of concentrating on all his anger, all his desire for revenge. It is not a Vulcan thing to do, but it keeps the fear at bay. It is unreasonable that he should die now, when he finally has so much to live for.
The lead guard kneels down in front of him, the tattooed sneer on his face a thing of terrifying beauty. "Lord Nero does not need you alive, not anymore, and he will reward me for ending your miserable life."
Spock takes a deep breath through his nose and exhales through his mouth. He struggles for calm, for acceptance, for all the things a Vulcan ought to accomplish in the moments preceding his death. None of it will come. He feels the cold press of metal against his throat and notices the way his pulse leaps in response, so uncontrolled, so very human. Instinctively, his mind reaches out towards the tenuous thread of connection he shares with Jim, but it is not enough or Jim is too far away, and he his left grasping at nothingness, incomplete.
Spock feels the knife shift against his skin and his eyes slam closed, anticipating the hot splash of his own blood, wondering whether it will feel more like drowning or suffocating...
Then the world shifts around him.
He rematerializes aboard a starship, still on his knees, head thrown back. The Romulan, caught in the wide beam with him, jerks his head around just in time to see the face of the person who stabs him. Sarek drives the lipau in deeper, angling the blade upwards so that it punctures both the Romulan's heart and a lung, sealing his fate. With a stunned expression on his face, the Romulan topples to the side, fingers fluttering around the hilt of the knife.
Spock watches as his father turns and regards him steadily. Not a trace of murder is visible on his face, not unless you look in his eyes, which burn with an almost incandescent rage. When Sarek crushes him against his chest in the first father-son hug of his adult life, it is then that Spock can feel the truly Vulcan fury, the outrage that someone should dare to harm Spock.
Shaking like a leaf, Spock grips his father's shoulders, allowing himself a moment's amazement at being alive.
"Spock..."
"Father," he replies, forcing himself to push away, to regroup. "I must locate Lieutenant Ho and Eli. The importance of their mission cannot be underestimated."
Sarek's jaw clenches but he nods after a second, drawing Spock to his feet and steadying him surreptitiously as the transporter tech looks on. "We will assist you in any way we can."
"The Vulcan High Council condones your participation?" Spock asks, his voice almost unrecognizable with trauma and surprise.
Sarek shoots him an unspeakable look. "I do not care either way," he announces, striding down the steps of the transporter, robes billowing in his wake.
For the first time in a long time, Spock looks at his father and sees more than their shared history, sees the brilliant young diplomat who made himself an outcast by marrying a human woman...by marrying for love and then having a child that some would pity and others would revile.
Spock follows him down the dais and into the corridors of the Tat'sar. "Thank you, Father," he says, "for my life."
Sarek says nothing, but he is a diplomat, a brilliant one, so he reaches out and clasps his son's shoulder in acknowledgement, only letting the hand fall away when they draw near to the bridge where others might see and judge. The double doors slide open soundlessly and he finds Eli and Ashe waiting for him.
"Oh, thank god!" the Lieutenant exclaims, looking like she would most likely cause a scene by hugging him if only she had a means of transportation.
Eli, too, looks greatly relieved. The young Vulcan steps forward, hands clasped lightly behind his back. "We are awaiting the transmission from the Cochrane Array as ordered, sir."
"Any word from Commander Kirk or his team?" Spock replies, forcing the words past the damage in his throat.
"No," Eli shakes his head. "By my calculations, they should have arrived at the Academy."
"They may have encountered resistance," he speculates. "We can afford a brief interlude to allow them time to access the Array."
Captain Senekot rises from his command chair, turning to face them. "I will give you ten minutes, no longer, before I must remove my ship and my personnel."
Spock inclines his head, having expected no less. "Understood."
"This ship, our mission, cannot be compromised any further, not even in times of such great need."
Spock, who has worked aboard this ship and come to suspect a great deal about its true mission, nods again, holding Senekot's eye. "I ask only that which you can freely offer. Thank you for saving my life and those of my associates."
It may be the adrenaline still flooding his system, but Spock imagines he sees a slight softening in the Captain’s hostility towards him before he turns back to ship's business.
"Come," Sarek says into the pause. "Our sickbay is fully staffed."
Battered, bruised and in considerable pain, Spock acquiesces immediately. He can do nothing but wait at this point, anyway.
-:-
"Hey!" Jim snaps at the shaking cadet pointing a phaser at Gaila. "Friendlies!"
The young woman's hand falls away shakily. "I'm sorry," she stammers, her big blue eyes filling with tears. "It's just, we rigged scanners and the tunnels are full of Romulans."
He steps around Gaila, gently grasping the cadet's hand in both of his and helping her lower the weapon the rest of the way. "That's right, they are," he agrees. "But you can see we're not Romulans. Look at my uniform, Cadet. We're EPAS."
"Oh! EPAS!" she breathes in relief, tears welling over. "Are you here to rescue us, sir?"
He feels her steady as he continues to hold her hand. "Kind of," he grins apologetically. "We need access to the Cochrane Array and the transporters. Think you can help us with that?"
"Yes, sure," she nods, taking a deep breath. "Most of us are holed up in the shuttle bays, sir. It seemed like the logical choice; easily defensible and we have ships there capable of making orbit. There are a few of us out on patrols, making sure we've still got a perimeter and security is holding."
Jim looks her up and down. "They nominated you as a perimeter guard?"
Her spine straightens noticeably. "I volunteered, sir."
His lips quirk in approval. "What's your name, Cadet?"
"Rand, sir. Janice, Cadet, graduating class."
"Commander James Kirk," he replies, shaking her hand before finally releasing it.
"Yes, sir," she blushes. "I recognize you now."
"Janice, can you take my friend Gaila here..."
"Hello!" Gaila says cheerfully, "thanks for not shooting me."
"Can you take Gaila to the Array? I think I remember my way to the shuttle bay," Jim presses on, shooting his Ops Lieutenant an exasperated glance.
-:-
Three minutes later, Janice watches avidly as Lieutenant Gaila shimmies under the main Cochrane console, hydrospanner jammed between her teeth. It turns out the Orion is as gifted as she is beautiful, because not a second later, the Array shunts online, bypassing the usual security interface and warm up.
Janice steps back as Gaila rolls out from underneath, replacing her spanner with a pearly grin.
"What can I say?" she beams. "Computers just love me."
"What's going on?" Janice asks, curiosity bubbling over.
"Oh," says Gaila, her fingers flying over the touchscreen. "We're kind of taking over the military. Don't tell your Starfleet friends, they won't understand."
Janice takes a moment to digest this because it's tantamount to treason. At the very least, it's a military coup and she can reel off the long list of punishments associated with such a move. The thing is, the concept of a traitor doesn't jell with what she knows of James T. Kirk, hero of the Battle of Vulcan, saviour of Aspera, hero of the Emergency Personnel Ambulance Service.
"I like the President," says Janice, which is true and also her only real objection to EPAS running the show instead of F-Sec. She might be young and innocent, but you'd have to be stupid not to see how badly the war is going, and how little Starfleet are doing to counter it effectively.
Gaila shifts a new line of code into place with practiced ease. "Oh, we like Wescott," she says reassuringly. "We'll keep him."
"You're awfully confident."
Gaila hits send on her communications packet and a series of bleeps follows as the Academy computers begin transmission to the Cochrane Array. "Why wouldn't I be?" she asks. "The DivCO and the Captain are miracle workers."
"The Captain?"
"Spock," she supplies. "He's the new captain of the Enterprise, didn't you know?"
Janice feels a rush of something she can't quantify. It's a little like a first kiss or a Valentine, but a lot more scary. "Can I come with you?"
Gaila tilts her head to the side, copper curls bouncing. "It's really, really dangerous. You could die," she points out discouragingly.
Janice steels herself and lifts her chin. "I could just as easily die here."
"I knew I liked you for a reason," Gaila beams. "Now, we should get the merry hell out of here, because Nero is about to blow this place sky high."
-:-
Jim sees Gaila and Cadet Rand running across the hanger bay just as he finishes his explanation to McCoy and T'Loren. Reunited, the five of them form a loose semi circle.
"Okay," Jim begins, then stares pointedly at Rand.
"She's with me," Gaila says supportively, slinging an arm around her.
"Uh, welcome?" says Jim. "File your transfer paperwork later; right now, we have to get these cadets into shuttles and those shuttles into the air. Spread out, all of you, and get these birds in the air. Gaila, how long until the signal?"
She glances at her chrono. "Fifty seconds."
"Now," Jim orders. "Move."
-:-
Fifty seconds later, the Earth's largest signal transmitter tells everyone within parsecs that Earth is under attack and is being evacuated. Spock watches from the Tat'sar's sickbay as millions of small craft take to the planet's skies like a flock of migratory birds. Somewhere amongst them, camouflaged in their number, will be Jim and his team.
"Take a deep breath in," the Vulcan Healer urges, "now exhale."
Spock finally can.
-:-
"Gailaaaaa!" Jim protests from his seat behind the pilot's bulkhead.
"Sorry, but there's a crap load of Romulans out here, sir," she replies, deftly weaving between two exploding Academy shuttles and the Romulan cruiser responsible for that carnage.
"Just get us to Luna in one piece, will you?" Jim bitches, mostly to distract himself from the red-uniformed bodies that fly past them as they clear the explosion.
"No can do, sir," Gaila sounds entirely too chirpy for someone with a look of bloody determination on her face. "According to long range scanners and comm chatter, the dome is breached. Anyone not in an escape pod has been sealed in by the emergency decompression system. They're broadcasting a mayday."
Jim curses and unclips his seatbelt, pulls himself to his feet and uses the hand loops to make his unsteady way from the passenger section to the cockpit bulkhead.
McCoy makes a desperate grab for him on the way past. "Sit down before you give yourself a concussion!" he growls, as the shuttle leaps and bucks under their feet.
Jim fends him off, using his arms to lift himself over the centre console and into the copilot's seat. "Talk to me, Gaila."
"Our best option is to make straight for the Enterprise," she mutters, hands knuckle-white on the yoke. "There's simply no clear trajectory up there, but Luna is taking a concentrated pounding. Even if I manage to land us, we'd be lucky to be able to reach the transporters given the degree of damage to the biosphere. Airlocks will be closed all over the place."
"What about Chekov, Uhura, Hannity and the rest of them?"
"If they were clever, they got out with Pike or earlier."
"Do we even know if Pike got out?"
"No." She turns to glance at him. "But he had to know this was coming. If he stayed, it's because he has a reason."
Jim straps in and takes control of communications, navigation and shields, freeing Gaila to do all the flying. "Okay, let's get to the ship. I'll comm Scotty on the secure line; let him know we're coming."
In the rear of the shuttle, Janice Rand turns to McCoy and asks, "is it always like this?"
Leonard swallows heavily and nods, perspiration glistening on his brow. "Yeah, pretty much."
She takes in his death grip on the chair and his determinedly closed eyes. "Is it bad?"
"No worse than usual. I just hate flying."
She pats him comfortingly on the knee. "What's the worst that could happen?"
McCoy groans. "You ask me that question and now I'm thinking about it!"
-:-
Spock beams directly to the bridge of the Enterprise. It gleams white around him, and for a moment the glinting reflections blind him to the exposed conduits and missing fixtures. Lieutenants Hannity and Scott look up as the transporter field fades away, their hands deeply embedded in the main propulsion console.
"We must get under way," Spock tells them. "Immediately."
Scotty shakes his head miserably. "No can do, Captain. We've got no power to main thrusters."
"Can you fix the drive?"
"There's nothing wrong with the bloody thing," he clarifies. "It's the actuators. One of the junctions must be faulting out, but there are hundreds of these between here and the engine room."
Spock's hands curl into fists at his sides. "How long?"
"Could be anywhere from three minutes to thirty, sir."
"Make it three."
Scotty sighs heavily and delves back inside the console. "I'll do what I can."
-:-
An Academy shuttle touches down in the Enterprise's main hangar pitted with phaser burns and smoking hot to the touch. Techs and junior staff leap out of the way, their faces filled with consternation as the hatch pops and twenty Starfleet cadets pile out, followed by three EPAS personnel and a Vulcan.
“Okay,” Jim hollers, running up a ladder to attract attention, “everyone, get the hell off this boat or you’re coming with us whether you like it or not!”
A few people at the fringes scamper down the docking ramps to escape pods but the vast majority of techs, tradespeople and cadets remain fixed in place, staring up at him on the gantry.
Jim blinks. “One way trip, last stop before the firefight!” he tries again.
One or two more people scatter, tools abandoned in their haste to leave, but the vast majority remain. Jim estimates at least one hundred and eighty of them, clad in a mix of cadet red, officers uniforms, baggy tech coveralls and black undershirts that don’t give away their specialities.
“Are you guys deaf?” Jim demands, growing impatient.
A burly technician steps forward. “With all due respect, sir, are you?”
Jim gapes like a fish. “You haven’t said anything!”
The tech just folds his arms and plants his feet, glancing over his shoulder as the ripple of obstinacy spreads out from him like a pebble thrown into still water. They’re all staring up at Jim, actions speaking so much louder than words ever could. Jim feels his throat tighten and he clenches his jaw in response. These people, these brilliant fucking people.
With the ease of long practice, he turns, frames the access ladder with his gloves and boots, and slides down to their level, sticking the landing neatly. There’s wariness and apprehension evident in every expression that greets him. Jim is an enlisted officer, a DivCO who’s used to giving orders, and what they’re doing is paramount to insubordination.
Jim approaches their self-nominated leader and extends his hand. “Jim Kirk, Divisional Commander, EPAS, USS Enterprise.”
“Senior Tech Charles W. Pittern,” the grease-stained man returns, engulfing Jim’s hand in the firm grip of his own. “Chief Installation and Refit Supervisor, USS Enterprise, at your service, Commander.”
“Right then,” Jim releases his hand and sneaks a glance over his shoulder. “We have a skeleton command crew in place, a Chief of Engineering, Tactical, Ops and Communications. Science is vacant and so are many of the Lieutenant, Lieutenant Commander and Ensign positions in all fields.”
Pittern turns to the motley group and cups his hands around his mouth. “Ranking officers step forward, engineers and techs to my left, sciences to my right.” Questions begin as murmurs and quickly escalate into a confusing avalanche. Pittern raises and lowers his arms repeatedly, shushing them. “I don’t have time to sort you individually. You’re smart people or you wouldn’t be working on this boat. Think about your strengths, not just the scope of your qualifications. Go and find a vacant position in a field you’re good at.”
“Seconded,” Jim affirms. “But right now, I need a small team of transporter and science people, heavy on the applied math and sensor relay expertise.”
Several science track officers step forward and a handful of techs. One blue-shirted Lieutenant glances at the techs and points them out to Jim. “Sir, Skia and White should take sensors, they installed the damn things. I haven’t even laid eyes on them yet.”
“Okay,” Jim agrees, but points at the blue shirt. “You, what’s your name?”
“Nathan van Looy, sir, Lieutenant, First Class.”
“van Looy, I like you.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“You’re the new head of our science department.”
van Looy’s eyes widen in disbelief. “There are people here with more expertise, sir, and I’ve never held a command position, so...”
“I need honesty and quick thinking,” Jim snaps. “I need someone who knows the talents of the officers on this ship and can help me put them where we need them, think you can handle that?”
van Looy smiles wryly. “Yes, sir. That I can do.”
“Okay then.”
Pittern herds the sensor techs and three or four other people towards Jim. “Navigation calibrator, logic board integration specialist, this girl is technically a comms person but she minored in astrophysics at college, and then you have Wardell.” Pittern’s weathered face breaks into a toothy grin. “Wardell is an all-round transporter genius, sir.”
“I’ll take all the genius I can get,” Jim grins, ushering them on towards the bridge. “Oh, and Pittern?” he calls, turning back momentarily.
“Aye, sir?”
“Not sure if this is legal or not, but as of now, you’re our Second Officer.”
The Senior Tech grins wider. “Pretty sure I have to graduate the Academy for that, sir.”
“There’s a regulation to cover it,” Jim smirks. “At least, I hope there is. Get to work, I need this ship in the air yesterday.”
-:-
Two minutes later on the bridge, Spock receives the all clear from Scotty in Engineering. He doesn't question how the works were completed in such a small fraction of the estimated time, he just folds himself into the center seat and glances over at navigation. "Take us out, Lieutenant Uhura."
As the ship starts to inch forward under her own power, various people begin to take their stations. Hannity takes Ops, seated beside Chekov at navigation. Ashe has Tactical, and the weapons and sensor seats next to hers are filled by people in tech uniforms who flood out of the turbolift. More non-enlisted people appear on the bridge, prompting Spock to turn his chair.
Jim appears from amidst a motley array of uniforms, stepping forward just as Spock rises to meet him. "Looks like revolutions are popular today," he grins. "Meet the first volunteer Constitution Class crew in history, sir." Then more softly, as he draws closer. "Is everything okay?"
Spock acknowledges his battered face and bloodstained uniform with the barest motion of one hand. "I estimate we have approximately eighteen point six minutes before the drill reaches the planet's core."
Jim studies him for a second longer, then nods. "I'll prep one of the new shuttles. I'll need a crew."
He turns to leave but Spock steps forward, halting him instantly. "Jim, the statistical likelihood that ..."
"It'll work, Spock," he replies in an urgent undertone, indicating the meld points on his face. "I know it."
The tableau holds as the Enterprise finally begins to pick up speed, the spacedock falling away to reveal the vicious dogfights and pinwheeling wreckage orbiting the Earth.
"Heading, Captain?" Chekov requests.
Spock hesitates, eyes locked with Jim's
"It'll work," Jim insists. "We've talked this through a thousand times."
"Captain, your orders?" Chekov insists a little apologetically.
Spock tears his eyes away and pivots, unable to look Jim in the eye and give the order. "The Narada," he says simply. "As close as you can, Mr. Chekov."
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