Fic: Captain Tiberius and Doctor Horatio's Adventures in Space Travel (1/3)
Title: Captain Tiberius and Doctor Horatio’s Adventures in Space Travel
Author: Gixxer Pilot
Summary: Preconceived notions are tough to break, even for someone as analytical as Spock. But when he observers a certain doctor interacting with two young, frightened children, Spock realizes that to err is human; to admit it is divine.
Author’s Notes: *waves her arms excitedly* Look, everyone! I wrote AOS canon!Trek. Seriously, it’s a bloody miracle I was able to get the cop!verse muses to shut up long enough for me to finish this piece (you know, since they seem to own my brain...). This idea hit me while I was cleaning up the yard, and the prospect made me laugh out loud. Usually, that’s a good sign in my world. Hopefully you all like it, too. As always, comments are loved but of course never required.
Disclaimer: I do not, sadly, own Star Trek. I make no money from my writing and do it only for the enjoyment of it all. Please don’t sue me - it’s hard enough to make ends meet without Paramount breathing down my neck in a lawsuit. I promise to return your characters in good working order, though readers may end up with cavities.
Chapters | 1 | 2 | 3 |
========
Chapter 1
First Officer’s personal log, stardate 2258.86
I believe I now fully understand my human counterparts in their constant use of the phrase, ‘It’s been a hell of a week.’
Though it has always been my wish to grasp my adoptive culture with more fluidity, I have learned that there are many instances in which discovery does indeed come with a price. This is one of those unfortunate circumstances. After the events of the past day, I would gladly trade all my human knowledge if it meant the Enterprise might have arrived a few hours earlier to our current position.
I suppose some explanation is in order. We received a distress call from science station Bravo-6, located on the edge of Sector 97. Using the nearby black cluster as their research specimen, the station’s occupants were tasked with improving Federation senor arrays to fully compensate for gravitational anomalies. As such, they were lightly armed with only a small handful of phasers, and the station itself thinly defended from hostile threats. (Incidentally, it will be my recommendation that going forward, all stations, regardless of purpose, be staffed by fully competent security forces.)
Reports coming into the ship were scattered; communications were infrequent at best. The station’s head science officer, Commander Skellick, managed to relay that a Klingon Bird of Prey had de-cloaked off the port side only moments before he sent the message. At nearly the same second, a boarding party beamed across from the enemy vessel. Any occupants near or at the command center were killed instantly. Only a small handful of scientists were able to make their way to the airlocked contamination room in the bowels of the station, sealing themselves inside. It was from that position Dr. Skellick made his call.
The Enterprise proceeded at maximum warp towards the station, but even at such speed, we did not arrive in time. An away team was assembled as we approached the sector.
(At this point, I feel it prudent to mention that, even though we are just months into this first five-year mission, it has become an unspoken custom for Captain Kirk to ignore regulations concerning the importance of the ship’s captain. I should have grown accustomed to this; alas, I have not been able to fully appreciate his ever-present need to personally lead his subordinates into potentially hostile territory. He is illogical and completely insatiable in his hands-on approach. I have heard the term ‘adrenaline junkie’ used in description, though a precise definition confounds me. I endeavor to find out, however, just at a more appropriate juncture.)
But I digress. Our away team consisted of myself, Chief Giotto and three of his men - Lt. Evans, Ensign Holder and Ensign Freeman - along with Dr. McCoy and Captain Kirk. We beamed aboard to find the station in ruin. It was plain to my eyes that a very one-sided fight had occurred. Phaser burns were habitually present on the wall, mixed with blood and fluids from the various experiments and equipment on board. The station’s schematics were useless, as fallen metal beams inhibited our every attempt to move deeper into the complex. The smoke, along with the fact the power grid was compromised, made it nearly impossible to see, even with the high-powered lights we carried. Several times I remember righting a falling teammate or advising they step over whatever debris was littered in our paths.
From the level of damage inflicted, it was clear that the station’s assailants held little regard for the occupants they attacked. Death, in most cases, was not quick, nor was it painless. The Klingons, if it was indeed a Klingon attack, were looking for something they deemed of importance. Whatever it was, we are unsure if they were able to retrieve it. Ensign Chekov and his team are decoding the data at this very moment. My hope is that the results are positive in our favor.
A full search of the premises, from the proverbial stem to stern, yielded no life signs. We were able to recover the remains of all twenty-six scientists aboard the station for transport aboard the Enterprise back to Earth. Once the location was deemed secure, I order Chief Giotto to conduct a comparison check of the duty roster pulled from the station’s mainframe against the records possessed by Starfleet. His discovery was both startling and disheartening, as it showed two of the scientists, Dr. Skellick and one of his researchers, Dr. Sandra Carter, married shortly after their assignments to Bravo 6. Their union produced two human children, Max and Anna, ages six and four.
At that point, we had not yet recovered the remains of any human children.
I have no logical explanation for the chain of events in the succeeding moments. It has been well noted that Dr. McCoy, while a proficient leader in his own sickbay one of the finest surgeons in Starfleet, struggles to take command during missions away from the ship. Whether this is a byproduct of fear or of something else entirely, I could not say with any certainty. But there was a visible change the moment Dr. McCoy was informed the children were missing. He was, as Admiral Pike used to say, ‘A man on a mission’, determined to find the pair. He singlehandedly began his own search. In the few seconds he was not working, he vehemently encouraging the remainder of the landing party to follow his lead. I do believe we were all so shocked that we simply complied, though I may have raised an eyebrow or two in Jim’s general direction.
As we began, I calculated the probability of finding the children alive at nine point two-four percent. After three hours, Chief Giotto was vocally unoptimistic about our chances, going as far as informing the CMO of that very fact. Dr. McCoy was…less than receptive to the suggestion that we abandon the search. We continued on for another hour before even the captain’s normally chipper outlook grew bleak. All attempts to convince Dr. McCoy to cease and desist were rebuffed, and we were told that we could, “Take our sorry asses back to the ship by our damned selves,” should we feel the search was hopeless.
On most occasions, I am displeased to have been proven wrong. My conclusions are always based on fact, logic and tactical evidence. In ninety-nine cases from one hundred, I am correct in my assertions. It was in this instance that I was mistaken. In this case, dare I say it, I preferred to have been incorrect. Dr. McCoy, after delivering a second and much more comprehensive lecture on proper human nature, spotted a sliver of movement in an air duct. Over the protests of Chief Giotto, he somehow managed to wedge his rather broad frame into a space less than three meters wide before he disappeared inside the air ducts. He was out of sight for ten minutes, fifty-six seconds before he emerged with two small children.
While Max and Anna were clearly terrified, they were otherwise unharmed. I am optimistic for their long-term prognosis, though I admit to feelings of trepidation at their reaction once they learn the fate of their parents. According to Dr. McCoy, they have not been told at this juncture. My experience with human children is limited at best; however, it has been my observations that they are very intuitive little creatures. I doubt Dr. McCoy’s withholding has escaped their prevue. But, it can be a small consolation to him, as well to the rest of the crew, that the children remain blissfully ignorant at this point in time.
It is not in my nature to resort to spirituality, though I understand some onboard the Enterprise practice their individual brand of worship. But the word ‘miraculous’ comes to the forefront of my mind as I think about the events as they transpired today. If I was indeed divine intervention that saved two children, I give nothing but humble thanks.
Spock clicked off the recording just in time to hear his communicator’s telltale chirp. Sighing, he answered a curt but polite, “Spock.”
Nyota’s excited voice met his from the other end of the comm. “Spock! You need to come to sickbay. Right now! We have a situation.”
Instantly alert, the first officer replied with, “Has something happened to the children from Bravo 6?” while he pushed himself away from his desk. He grabbed a cleaned and pressed uniform tunic off the hanger in the closet, slipped it over his head and headed straight out the door. Hanging a left outside his quarters, he said curtly, “I am on my way.”
Spock double-timed his normal rapid pace from the quarters he shared with Uhura towards the turbolift. Nestled in the heart of the ship, sickbay was strategically placed as to mitigate the effects of any direct hits the ship might absorb during a firefight. As the former location hadn’t been enough to save Dr. Puri or the countless others who’d died during Nero’s initial attack, Dr. McCoy insisted that sickbay be relocated aft and down a few decks for optimum protection from enemy attacks. It was a logical decision in Spock’s mind, even if it meant an increased travel time of thirty-six point two eight seconds to his destination.
While he was walking, Spock’s brilliant mind was semi-occupied cataloguing the thousands of different ways his life had just gone pear-shaped. Again. Did one of the children correctly deduce the fate of their parents? Was there some sort of delayed stress reaction from one of Giotto’s young subordinates who were seeing real death for the first time? Or was there something wrong with one of the children that were missed on the initial exam? The likelihood of the third option was slim given Dr. McCoy’s competency, but personal experience told him that adrenaline could do strange things to a human body.
Approaching sickbay, Spock rounded the corner that separated the main hallway from the entrance. Making good use of the motion sensors positioned above each door, he gave the door just enough time to slide open before he slipped through. He stopped in the reception alcove behind the door through which he just came, looking for Uhura.
The secondary set of doors that divided the reception area and the actual sickbay itself whooshed open, and a frantic Nyota ran through. Christine Chapel, McCoy’s head nurse, and the only being in the universe who could truly make the stubborn doctor listen followed her closely. Both women were talking amongst themselves at a mile a minute, the rate fast enough that even Spock’s superior processing skills were being tested as he tried to decode the ‘women speak’.
“Spock!” the lithe, dark-skinned woman exclaimed as she quickened her pace, practically bouncing towards her perplexed boyfriend.
He looked again. He was expecting pensive, tight, drawn faces, prepared to deliver yet another blow of bad news on top of any already bogus week. Instead, both the communications officer and the nurse were smiling, full and toothy. Both women were practically bouncing on their feet as they approached the surprised Vulcan. Reflexively, Spock took a half step back. “I am going to assume that your reasoning for my presence is not a negative one.”
“Hell, no!” Christine Chapel’s Louisiana accent, which thickened like honey when she was excited, practically oozed from her lips. “If I hadn’t seen this for myself, I’d have never believed it. Get in here and watch!”
Now fully intrigued, Spock’s right eyebrow marched up his forehead as he linked his hands behind his back. He took three long strides through the reception alcove, clearing the door when Chapel entered her code.
The Enterprise’s redesigned sickbay was masterful, in both design and function. From a bird’s eye view, the entire bay was shaped like a flower. The entrance through which the trio walked was the proverbial base that led upwards to a long, wide, wavy stem. The ‘stem’, or main service hallway, was the artery of the sickbay, with different sections branching off at various, interspersed points. The critical care sections came first, positioned as if they were leaves sticking off the stalk. The surgery suites were placed to her left; emergency was to the right, both separated by their own airlock from the main thoroughfare. Daisy petals, set up in a circle around supply and administrative offices, made up the look of the general admissions area as well as the preventative care spaces.
In the heart of the flower, Christine wasted no time accessing her office. The door secured behind them, and Chapel punched up the lock and engaged the soundproofing. Walking over to her personal console, she ran her fingers over the hidden buttons in the desk and waited for the screen across the room to illuminate. An image, blurry at first before it cleared to life-like sharpness, populated on the screen.
Spock lowered himself into of the three chairs sitting adjacent to the desk. Noting the ticking white numbers and letters surrounded by a black bar on the bottom of the screen, he studied the image intently.
Sterile lighting gave way to an empty bed, complete with the Federation logo on the pillows. Off to one corner sat a traditional style rocking chair. On the other side of the bed, Spock could make out the edges of a box that hovered over the pillows. When he looked closer, he saw the bed had side rails, though they were collapsed into their parade rest position, and that the box his eyes contemplated moments earlier was a bio readout monitor. He analyzed the carpet, the layout and the colors, concluding, “You have misappropriated the security feed from general admissions in sickbay? Please explain to me how you came into possession of this data.”
Chapel and Uhura exchanged guilty glances. Together, they confessed, “Giotto.”
“Chief Giotto gave you access to a privileged security feed? I do believe I require the reasoning behind this, as I find his actions at this very moment illogical and inappropriate.”
Chapel looked contrite. “I might have promised him that his physical will be done by M’Benga this year instead of Len as tradeoff for letting us in on this little moment.” She shrugged, a piece of blonde hair falling from the bun secured at the nape of her neck. “What can I say? It was too good of an opportunity to pass up.”
Forehead crinkling in confusion, Spock’s head tilted to the side in one sharp, angular moment. “While I am certain your intentions are fair, I do not see justification for such a breech. This is a serious offense. For what purpose have you broken regulations?”
Chapel, completely ignoring the first officer’s observation on good ship’s discipline, smiled and said, “Just watch, and you’ll figure out why.”
Pursing his lips, Spock turned his head back towards the screen as he thought about why, exactly, the chief would have helped the two women stream a closed-circuit camera footage. His disciplinary thoughts were interrupted by a set of childlike giggles, audible from the feed. Spock suppressed a smile as two small figures, shrieking and laughing, clambered up the foot of the biobed as they raced for the head. As they moved closer to the camera’s lens, the Vulcan recognized the tiny faces as Max and Anna Skellick, identifiable by their tufts of blonde hair and bright blue eyes. Max crawled up first, throwing his hands up over his head in victory and he leaned up against one of the pillows. Encouraging his sister with a couple of emphatic hand waves, Anna bravely fought the plethora of fluffy softness the final two feet before she all but collapsed against her older sibling. Exhausted and panting, she folded herself up like a cat as she huddled against her brother.
Spock was about to cite human nature’s propensity for over exaggeration to the two women, but movement to the right of the security feed stopped him. He snapped his jaw closed when a much larger figure dropped into the old rocking chair adjacent to the bio. Dr. McCoy’s strong jaw and dark hair was easily discernible in profile, despite the fact he was out of uniform in a grey hooded sweatshirt and a pair of comfortable track pants. He reached down off camera, and when his left arm returned, his fingertips held the edges to a thick, handmade afghan. He pulled it over his two charges, tucking it in with tenderness and concern Spock honestly didn’t know he possessed. A tender, rare smile graced the normally caustic CMO’s lips, and the first officer found his own face softening at the sight.
Next to him, Chapel and Nyota practically exploded in a gushing sea of motherly squeals. The first officer barely restrained the urge to put a finger to his left ear, lest the women deafen him. Clearing his throat, Spock folded his hands in his lap, straightened his posture, and said simply, “I see.”
Nyota recovered her speech abilities first, though she wore a grin just as large as Christine’s as she decoded ‘Spock Speak’. “I knew you’d understand,” she said, placing a chaste kiss on his cheek.
“I am uncertain as to what you seem to be insinuating,” he replied innocently.
Uhura fixed her boyfriend with a stare she most definitely learned from her mother, the one that said, ‘Don’t you dare contradict me when you know I’m right,’ in bright, bold letters. “That sometimes bending the rules is an okay thing to do.”
“I do believe that service on this particular vessel does test my ingrained sense of good order,” he began, feeling the tips of his ears grow a bit warm from Uhura’s public display of affection. “However, if this breach in etiquette is in the name of ‘doing the right thing’, I see no reason to disallow the action. As long as the consequences are not detrimental the safety of the ship or her crew, I find no fault with it.”
“Thank you,” Christine breathed out genuinely. “I admit I was a little worried about you - being a little bit stuffy and all. But, you seem like an okay guy, all things considered. At least that’s what she tells me,” the nurse concluded with a sideways jerk of her thumb toward Uhura.
“Hey!” the communications officer exclaimed, lightly pushing her friend’s arm.
Chapel’s eyes moved over her shoulder, towards her friend as she smiled, though the expression didn’t reach her eyes. Fiddling with the silver antique rolling ring on the thumb of her right hand, she said, “In all honesty, my plan wasn’t to spy on Len. He was upset after you guys came back from Bravo 6, but he wouldn’t talk to me. Typical, stubborn asshole that he is…Sir,” she said with a glare towards McCoy’s candid camera image. “I just wanted access to the feed to check up on him. But those two kids wouldn’t let him out of their sight, so I called your girlfriend down to watch; then she called you. You got here just in time.”
“For what?” Spock asked, confused.
Uhura scooted closer to the screen, toed off her black boots and propped her feet up on Chapel’s desk, crossing her legs at the ankle. She snagged the bucket of popcorn off the surface with one finger and tossed a couple of kernels into her mouth. She laid one hand on Spock’s arm and answered matter-of-factly, “Story time.”
“Story time?” he questioned. “I am unfamiliar with this custom. Please explain it.”
Christine and Nyota exchanged knowing glances as they settled in. “Oh, we will. Believe us - we will. Now, just sit back, relax and enjoy the show.”
========
Next Up: McCoy gleefully takes pot shots at Kirk, fully knowing the captain isn't there to defend himself. Sucks to be Jim.