Fic: "Crossfire" (5/19)
Title: "Crossfire, Part 5"
Author: Mijan
Series: ST: XI
Character/Pairing(s): Kirk&McCoy, Pike, Scotty
Rating: PG-13
Author’s Notes: This story is part of the Academy-era story arc, which includes “Convergence” and “And All the King’s Men.” “Crossfire” is a direct sequel. Several things in this story will not make sense unless you’ve read AAtKM first.
Summary: Jim Kirk and Leonard McCoy are on top of the world at the academy until it all comes crashing down around them. Trapped in their own mystery of politics, sabotage, and possible murder, it quickly becomes impossible to know who to trust. Worse, Jim might still be a target. With a dangerous criminal on the loose and Academy leadership not doing enough, Jim and Bones have to get their lives back together and find out what happened... before it happens again.
*********
CROSSFIRE, Part Five
It took Jim a few seconds after waking up to remember where he was. He could tell that there was daylight in the room, which meant he’d slept in, and he could hear the familiar and reassuring sound of Bones snoring, which meant he'd crashed on Bones' couch last night. Must have had some good drinks, because he had one hell of a hangover. He'd get a lecture from his friend about proper hydration while drinking when Bones woke up, but the man was still asleep, which meant that maybe Jim could start a pot of coffee brewing before the morning-after storm hit, warding off the wrath of a decaffeinated Leonard McCoy with freshly brewed java. That was, he would do it if he felt inclined to move right now, which he really didn’t.
The snoring continued.
Bones only snored when he was horribly overtired, usually after pulling double-shifts in the clinic. But Jim didn't recall Bones saying anything about extra clinic hours this week. In fact, Jim didn't remember drinking last night, so there was no reason for the hangover. And this didn't feel like the couch in Bones' dorm room.
It was the beeping of a cardiac monitor that broke the bubble of his illusion and brought everything back. Suppressing a groan, Jim opened his eyes. The window to his left was wide open, revealing a surprisingly bright day outside, with the sunlight streaking in at a high angle. It had to be close to mid-day on... Saturday, now? Hadn't Bones said it was Saturday? Three days since the crash, and he was still at Starfleet Medical, perched on a biobed, with a dozen different sensors trained on every damned bodily function he had. Invasive and out of his control... like a fucking shuttlecraft out of control. This was ten kinds of obnoxious. For a moment, he wondered sarcastically whether or not the biobed sensors would even tell him when he needed to pee... then he realized that he'd been in that bed for days without once going to the bathroom, and he decided he'd rather not think about that.
I don't care what Bones says about the wonders of modern medicine - it's still barbaric.
Generally, though, he supposed it wasn't too awful. Despite his instinctive complaints, he wasn't in too much pain. Just a few faint aches, and his head felt funny. Really, he didn't see why he couldn't just leave.
He turned his head to see where Bones was sitting, sprawled awkwardly on the chair next to the biobed, head flopped back. That would certainly cause a neck-ache, and for a moment, Jim felt something warm and undefinable swell in his chest at the thought that Bones really was sitting up with him... followed by guilt over asking the guy to stay... followed by anger that this had happened at all.
How the hell had this happened, anyway? It would be nicer to conclude that it had been nothing more than an accident. A simple mechanical glitch would have no more sinister implications, but that just didn't work. He'd seen... something in the engine. He couldn't remember for the life of him what it was, but there had been something. Boxy, not too big, tucked into the wires and circuits - he could almost visualize it. Almost reach out and touch it. He'd just been about to reach for it when the shuttle had lurched... he'd crashed back into the wall... scrambled to his seat. The shuttle tilted and rocked around him as he strapped himself back into his pilot's chair, and was shouting for the emergency beam-out that never came as the shuttle raced towards the ground...
"Jim! Goddammit, look at me, Jim!"
He blinked a few times and finally managed to focus on Bones' face, hovering over his own, fixed in the familiar scowl that Jim recognized as concern. "I... sorry, Bones. Didn't mean to wake you up."
Bones glared at him incredulously. "You're sorry because you had a nightmare? Now that's just ridiculous."
"Wasn't a nightmare," Jim mumbled. “I was awake already.”
Bones leaned back, folding his arms over his chest, but his expression was openly sympathetic. "You had a flashback."
"No! I didn't... I..."
"If it wasn't a nightmare or a flashback, then do you care to give me a better reason why you were yelling for an emergency beam-out?"
"Because I want to get out of this ridiculous biobed?" he asked hopefully.
Bones glared at him. The man seemed to have the unique power to cut through the bullshit and force Jim to face reality, regardless of the situation. No matter how harsh his approach, Jim couldn't resist it, and even when it stung a bit, it was the best thing for him and he knew it.
Jim blew out a breath through pursed lips. "Well, maybe I did. I don't know." He really didn't know, and that was the worst part. "I was trying to remember what I saw in the engines. You said you'd help me."
"I will, Jim." He sighed. "But first things first." He reached over and hit the comm panel. "Nurse Aldrich? Can you page the duty neurologist?" The confirmation came over the comm, and Bones tapped the channel off. "Before you do anything else, they're going to check you over - don't give me that look, Jim - and probably start you on physical therapy. You should be happy about that - it means you'll get out of here faster. And they'll probably do a few nerve function and cognitive tests."
"No way." It was out of Jim's mouth before he could stop it. And he didn't care. "Cognitive tests? I can't remember one little thing and so they want to do cognitive tests? Am I brain-damaged or something?"
Bones flinched. He actually flinched, and Jim knew that wasn't good.
Frowning, Jim reached up and rand his hand along his head. Everything seemed normal. Hair was still there... no major bumps... a bit tender right there... and then, just above the base of his skull, he found a hairless circle, and a small bandage with a nub of some sort underneath. "What the hell is that?"
"Drainage shunt, Jim." Bones' voice was steady, but he looked distinctly uneasy, which was even more disconcerting. Nothing medical ever bothered that man. He glanced back at Jim sideways. "Now that you're fully awake and lucid, they'll remove it. They just wanted to make sure you were stable before they did. It'll come out today."
"Drainage...?" A slow set of dawning realizations hit Jim in sequence. He must have been bleeding. Badly. There actually could be brain damage. He might be forgetting things he didn't even realize he'd forgotten. There was a fucking hole in his head. And finally... he was probably looking at the man who'd put it there, and he suddenly got the sick feeling that it bothered Bones far more than it bothered him.. "Bones... it's okay. I mean, you..."
"It's barbaric, Jim, and no, it's not okay. I'm sorry. Some injuries... we've just never found a better way to handle them." He sighed heavily. "I'm working on it, though."
The defeated look on Bones' face didn't sit well with Jim. A lot of this didn't sit well, to be honest. "Was it really that bad?" He didn't want to hear the answer, but he had to.
Bones nodded. "Jim, you crashed at several hundred KPH and, based on what we can figure out, you snapped your harness and slammed directly into the control console. I just took a rifle butt to the head last year. That was nothing compared to this." His eyes were wide and haunted, and something in his expression struck home sharply.
Jim swallowed tightly. He remembered Bones, lying on the biobed a year ago, pale and motionless, and it had seemed like the end of the world. If this had been worse... he couldn't even imagine what Bones had been going through, watching and waiting. But for now... "So, what do I do next?" he asked, but before Bones could answer, the door to the room slid open, and another doctor walked in. Gray-haired and pink-faced, his primary dimension seemed to be round.
"Cadet Kirk," he began with a gentle smile, "it's good to see you awake. McCoy," he acknowledged with a curt nod. He immediately pulled out a tricorder and began scanning. "Kirk, my name is Doctor Livingston.”
“I presume.” It slipped out of Jim’s mouth before he could stop it, a brief sarcastic quip. He could already see Bones getting ready to chastise him, but the old doctor waved it off.
“Humor is a higher brain function, McCoy, especially sarcasm,” he said with a light chuckle, “so it’s a good sign.”
“Trust me,” Bones said, “you’ll get more than enough of that from Jim.”
“Thanks, Bones,” Jim said, chagrined.
“Good to know, good to know.” The plump doctor seemed to mostly ignore their exchange and got right back to staring at his tricorder, speaking as he scanned. “I'm sure McCoy here has given you some information on your condition, but let's get you up to speed. First, you should be pleased to know that everything seems to be healing as fast as or faster than expected. You're quite resilient, young man. We've got a few rounds of basic therapy we want to start today..."
Jim wondered if doctors were incapable of talking without a damned tricorder in their hands. Or, more to the point, he wonderd if they ever looked up from the tricorders while talking to their patients. Maybe that's what he liked about Bones. As annoyingly quick as Bones could be to scan people at the earliest sign of a sneeze, ache, or sniffle, he always looked at people when he talked to them. "I'm up here," Jim finally interrupted.
The doctor’s jovial monologue faltered, and he looked up at him, blinking once in confusion. "Come again?"
Feeling like he was speaking to a very naive or slow person, Jim pointed. "That's a tricorder. You're talking to me, right? Well, I'm up here."
But the doctor only smiled with a simple sort of pleasantry. "Right you are. Sorry about that, Mr. Kirk. Quite sorry." He patted Jim's leg gently, and as far as Jim was concerned, patronizingly. "I'm going to go grab a couple of pieces of therapy equipment and one of the PT nurses, and I'll be right back."
Jim let out a groan as soon as the door slid shut behind the doctor, and looked over at Bones imploringly. "Do I have to?"
"Do you want to get out of here with all your functions intact?"
Jim scowled. "Yeah."
"Then you listen to Doctor Livingston. He's actually really good - just a bit old, but that means years of experience." He chuckled. “You know, I’ve been wanting to make that joke ever since I met the guy. Nobody around here has a sense of humor.”
“Then I’ll do my best to make up for that,” Jim deadpanned.
“You always do.” Bones’ voice turned melancholy, and he glanced back at the door, then sighed. "I've got a few things I need to do, actually."
"Wait - you're leaving?" That twisted Jim's stomach in a way he hadn't expected. "Why can't you stay? And can’t you do this stuff?"
Bones glanced at the door, then leaned against the biobed heavily. "Jim... my specialty is trauma surgery. Livingston is actually better at the follow-up care than I am. And besides... you listed me as your next-of-kin. Did you expect them to let me act as your primary doctor?"
Jim's gut was screaming YES, but what little rationality was left in his brain was berating his gut with a condescending "you idiot," in a tone which sounded far too much like Bones in his mind for comfort. "I guess not."
“Exactly,” Bones said. “And Jim... I...” He shook his head. “Even if you hadn’t listed me as next-of-kin, I can’t handle being your doctor right now. Not for the big stuff.” His eyes seemed to be begging for something. It looked like a plea for forgiveness, but Jim couldn’t understand why. “Trust me, kid, I won’t let anyone near you that I don’t trust completely. The doctors on your case are the best we’ve got.”
“What about other people?” The question burst out before Jim could stop it, bringing with it a surge of fear. “I told you... what if it’s not safe?”
Bones rested a hand lightly on Jim’s shoulder. “You’re in the ICU, Jim. Nobody other than your attending physicians and support staff can get into this room without express permission from you or me. Starfleet policy.”
That made Jim feel a little bit better, and he nodded blankly to himself, trying to ignore the odd feeling of helplessness that seemed to be curdling his stomach anyway. This was a type of fear he hadn’t felt in years. His normal way to deal with something was to tackle it head-on, to fight it, to challenge it; not to cower or cringe. However, fighting back was something he usually did on his own two feet, and based on the fact that his pelvis wasn’t fully fused back together - a thought which he didn’t much like considering - he wasn’t going to be back on his own two feet for a couple more days. The helplessness and unavoidable vulnerability was making him nervous in a way he’d not felt in... well... a long time.
Even after the mess with Terra Prime the previous year, it hadn’t been nearly this bad. He was up and walking around the next day. His head hadn’t hurt. He wasn’t forgetting things. And he had been more worried about Bones than himself.
This time, the only other person involved... was dead. Had been killed. Murdered. And the amazing James T. Fucking-Useless Kirk hadn’t been able to do a damned thing to save her.
He was still thinking it over when there was an insistent beep from Bones’ messenger bag. Jim looked up, forcibly unclenching his jaw as he furrowed his eyebrows at Bones in query.
For a moment, Bones stared at his PADD, eyes rapidly scanning whatever message he’d just received.
“Bones?”
Bones looked up, his face unreadable. “I’ve got to run, Jim.”
“Wait, what was in the message?”
But Bones was already stuffing his PADD back into his bag. “Appointment with one of my instructors.”
Jim frowned. “You’re not… it’s a Saturday, right?”
“Yeah… study session,” he said, sounding… not exactly nervous, but definitely not calm either. He quickly slung his bag across his shoulders. “Can’t be late. The Lieutenant changed his schedule around for me.”
“Oh… okay.” The rapid changes were coming faster than Jim could quite process, as if his brain was running too slowly for normal life. “I’ll see you later, then.”
Bones froze, one foot facing the door and the other still turned back towards Jim, then his shoulders slumped. “I’m sorry, Jim. I know you hate it here, but I promise… you’re in good hands. I’ll be back in a little while. I can’t miss this.”
On one level, he knew that everything was fine, and that Bones couldn’t stay there all day. He was also sure that if Bones said he couldn’t miss… whatever the hell he was doing… then it must be important.
On another level, Jim couldn’t quite squash the thick feeling of isolation that descended over the room as he watched Bones hurry out the door. The room was dead silent, and it left Jim with an eerie sense of helplessness that he hadn’t felt in a very long time.
The silence was interrupted quickly enough, though, as Doctor Livingston (he presumed) bustled back into the room with an unfamiliar nurse in tow.
With another falsely brave smile, Jim set himself to the task of being as cooperative as humanly possible, if not for himself, then for Bones. The man was right about many things, more often than Jim usually wanted to admit, but he’d nailed one thing without question - Jim wanted to get out of the damned hospital as soon as they’d let him escape. So, he didn’t fuss, didn’t fidget, and didn’t flinch as he obediently followed every direction the doctor gave him.
To be honest, he felt like a dog being asked to do tricks. Wiggle your toes, tell me if you can feel this, close your eyes and touch your index fingers together - sorry if that hurt your shoulder. Read this paragraph aloud. Follow my finger with your eyes. Jim almost asked if he needed to jump through a hoop or fetch a pair of slippers before they’d let him out, but he bit his tongue and smiled with artificial acquiescence. The sooner he got out of there, the sooner he could start his own investigation. Then he could get to the bottom of this, and find the person who almost killed him... who had killed Tambe.
After a highly unpleasant test that had Jim’s muscles twitching in ways that no human muscles should twitch, the doctor announced that his progress seemed excellent. Jim hoped that meant they’d go away, but no such luck. He tried not to panic as they announced they were taking him out of the room, but it was just for a few scans, the doctor said. Cellular-level imaging, more detailed than the biobed could handle, so Jim found himself trying not to feel claustrophobic as they lowered the imaging scanner over his head and torso. He’d never been claustrophobic before in his life, but hey, none of this was exactly normal for him, so he figured it was all part of being miserable and uncomfortable by sheer virtue of being stuck in his own personal hell.
The imaging device sounded noisy and hollow, and as it powered up before each pass, Jim swore it sounded like the engine of a shuttlecraft powering up. The mild claustrophobia turned into something else, and Jim found himself digging the fingers of his good hand into the pad of the biobed. He fought the images threatening to push to the forefront of his thoughts - the engine of the shuttlecraft struggling to push power to the impulse drive, powering up and failing, failing, failing. The hollow sound of the dead ship spiraling through the vacuum towards the barren surface of another planet. Jim refused to let those thoughts claim him, so he clenched his teeth and forced himself to think about every stupid distracting thing he could imagine, clinging to both his narrow thread of sanity and to the mattress until the shadow over his face retreated and he opened his eyes to find the imaging device being pulled away.
“So, do I still have a brain in there, doc,” he began shakily, “or were they right when they told me I’d lost my mind ages ago?”
Doctor Livingston smiled down at him as he walked alongside the gurney as it was pushed down the hall. “Your brain is doing wonderfully, and so is your spinal cord, Cadet Kirk. Amazingly well, really. Everything looks excellent, and you’re ready to have that shunt removed. You’ll be out of here before you know it. I should like to do a case study on you, I believe, for comparative therapy techniques for traumatic brain injury.”
“I’d rather you didn’t,” Jim said flatly, but the doctor just smiled that same patronizing grin and patted his knee again. If Jim’s hip hadn’t still been in an immobilizer, he’d have kicked the guy. Livingstong was pleasant, sure - kind of a sweet old man, really - but it was driving Jim nuts.
“It would help advance the field of trauma medicine, Kirk,” he said with a jolly tone that made Jim scowl. “The data from your case could help someone else someday.”
“I’ll let you know if I’m willing later,” Jim said darkly, even though he was certain that his tone would be lost on the old doc. Then he blinked and looked around as they wheeled him into a room that was most decidedly not the room he’d been staying in. “Where am I?” He tried to sit up, but Livingston gently pressed a hand against his chest, holding him down with surprising ease.
“Surgical Ward Three,” he said lightly, as if announcing something as mundane as the weather forecast. “Your imaging scans were excellent, so we can remove that shunt now. I told you before we took you into the imaging suite, that if everything was right as rain, we’d be able to take it out right away. You seemed pleased with that prospect.”
“Wait… you mean, right away, right away?” Jim stammered, only now putting his current situation together with what Doctor Livingston had told him earlier.
“What other sort of right away is there?” he asked cheerfully. Too fucking cheerfully. “As I said, your scans were excellent. Couldn’t have hoped for better. You’ll wake up without a hole in your head, young man.”
On one level, having them remove the thing that was poking into his brain sounded like a great idea. On another level, a much more immediate and urgent level, Jim realized that they were dragging him into surgery and he wasn’t ready for it. Yes, they’d told him, but he hadn’t actually remembered them telling him, and suddenly he was stuck there. It was all too sudden.
“Wait... wait! Can’t we just... how about a moment here? A bit of warning?” Jim felt his words stumbling and blurring together in his mouth.
“Relax, Kirk,” Livingston said gently, soothingly. “It’s okay. There’s no reason to delay this. It’s a very simple procedure, and you’ll be back in recovery in no time. You won’t remember any of this.”
Even as Jim felt his panic begin to rise, he felt something else... a bizarre sense of weight beginning to grip his body, like the blood in his own veins was too heavy. It was like drunkenness without the euphoria, exhaustion without the relaxation. He turned his head to the side, which took far more effort than it should have, and saw that the nurse was doing something to that fucking tube in his arm, and Jim knew she had already started the sedatives. “No… I don’t want to sleep. I want to remember... need to... remember...” His words were heavy, too, and felt distant and numb in his mouth.
“Now why would you want to remember something like this? You’ll wake up in a little while, and it will feel like no time has passed at all. Just a quick nap. That’s not so bad.”
Why did he sound so happy about this? Couldn’t he see that Jim was frantic? But no, Jim couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, and the Doctor merely patted his shoulder with what he suspected was supposed to be a reassuring touch. “We’ll take good care of you. Just relax.”
Don’t fucking want to relax, you goddamned bastard, Jim’s brain supplied, but his mouth wouldn’t form the words.
“Good, good,” he heard the doctor say. “Just breathe, Kirk. No need to worry.”
How the hell am I supposed to not worry, Jim thought frantically, when I feel like I want to jump out of my skin... if I could move... I can’t move...
Sure, they were trying to help him. Bones said that, and he trusted Bones. And it would all be fine... but who gave a shit about the outcome when right now, he was hurtling beyond his control towards a heavy crash and oblivion? Coherent thought slipped away from him as darkness closed in, muffling and finally extinguishing the burning panic and unbridled betrayal.
*********
“Ah good, yeh made it, McCoy!” Despite the enthusiasm in Lieutenant Scott’s voice, it was the quietest Leonard had ever heard him speak. It was almost difficult to hear what he was saying above the wind off the bay. “Didn’t know if you’d figure out that I wasn’t just trying to schedule a tutoring session.”
“Yeah, I did.” Leonard heaved his bag onto the old picnic table and took in their location. It was one of the old walking paths between the main campus on the Presidio and the hangar and equipment facilities down on the East campus. Feeling distinctly uneasy, he sat down. “To be honest… I didn’t know if you were pulling my leg or not. Why are we meeting out here?”
“Figured it was a good spot between the hangar and the main campus.” He leaned in closer. “Plus, not so many prying eyes. Same reason I made the message so cryptic.”
“And there are only so many reasons for cryptic messages,” Leonard said cautiously.
“Aye, and only one you’d probably care about.”
“So you’ve got new information about the crash?” Leonard asked in a rush. He’d been pretty sure that’s why Scott had called him down, but he couldn’t keep calm any longer. “Something you figured out from the recording?”
“Nae, McCoy. Bigger.” He pulled out his own PADD, placed it on the table between them, and activated it. “Well, perhaps I was looking for it because of what yeh told me, but… oh hell, yeh know I shouldn’t be tellin’ yeh any of this.”
Leonard held up one hand in oath. “Not a word, Scott. I just need to know what happened to my friend.”
Scott nodded. “Aye, and that’s why I want to help yeh. Yer an honourable soul.” His expression turned darker. “Not everyone has the same sense of ethics, yeh know.” He shook his head. “But that’s why I trust I can tell you… that I’m on the engineering investigation team for the crash now.”
It shouldn’t have surprised Leonard - Lieutenant Scott was engineering faculty at the Academy, and was brilliantly insightful - but he still felt a jolt of surprise run through his stomach. “What have you seen?” he asked eagerly.
He held out his hands, indicating for Leonard to slow down. “Easy there, laddie. Before I tell you, yeh have to know that I’m not privy to everything. Just examinin’ what physical evidence they’ll let me have - which, by the way, isn’t much - and reviewing the computer models for accuracy.”
“Computer models?” Leonard asked cautiously.
Scott’s face perked up slightly, and his eyes glinted deviously. “Ah yes. I had a wee chat with the computer last night after scavenging through the shoddy bits of wreckage they want us to analyze.” His eyes went deadly serious. “There’s almost nothing left, McCoy. Yer friend is a lucky bastard.”
A sick feeling which was becoming too familiar twisted in Leonard’s gut. As damaged as Jim was, it could have been far worse. “Yeah, I know.”
Scott nodded. “So… here… I want you to take a look at this computer model.”
Leonard leaned over the PADD. “What am I seeing here?” The display was a mess of symbols and physics equations that he could only vaguely recognize as anything penned by a human hand.
“This is a momentum analysis of the shuttlecraft’s trajectory as it approached Mars,” Scott said evenly, sounding almost the way he sounded when he was teaching in class.
For a moment, Leonard had a sudden surge of distrust and fear - Scott was an officer and a member of the Engineering staff - but that was ridiculous. He wasn’t about to turn paranoid. He’d decided that he trusted Lieutenant Scott. Besides, in reality, the man was actually risking his career to discuss classified information. Leonard nodded slowly. “Okay… so what can you tell from it?”
“Well,” Scott said as he pointed to one part of the graph, “if yeh analyze the course the shuttle took as it approached the planet, taking into account the gravity from the planet and the mass of the shuttle, you can match the actions of the engines to the precise course variations.”
“In English, sir?”
Scott gave him an impatient look. “The shuttle should move a certain way based on its exact mass.”
“How would you know the mass of a shuttle?” Leonard asked, frowning.
“Well, in the earliest shuttles, the poor blokes weighed every nugget they brought on board. But these days, its part of the shuttle’s internal sensors and the pre-flight checks. And that gets recorded and transmitted automatically before the shuttle gets clearance to depart.”
Leonard got an odd feeling. “Where are you going with this?”
“Simple, McCoy. Too damned simple. We figure Kirk saw something in the engine, but we had no proof. I needed to find something that shouldn’t have been there. The shuttle recorded the payload of the two passengers… oh to hell with it… the shuttle was just about four kilos too heavy!”
Leonard blinked. “Wait… what… how?”
“Hell if I know. But look here… watch. This is what the shuttle would have done at the reported total mass.” He tapped the screen of the PADD and a simulation activated. One frame showed a generated image of a shuttle, overlaid on a grid showing roll, pitch, and altitude. Next to it, another frame summarized the data into a three-dimensional line graph. The line grew across the screen as the shuttle pitched and rolled. When it finally stopped, Scott ran his finger along the line and said, “This represents what we should have seen, based on the total mass we thought the shuttle had. Now this...” He tapped the screen again, and another line began to move. It started out similarly, but after about 1/3 of the simulation, it was clear that the movement was following a different course. Not grossly different, but...
“It’s enough to prove something was on that shuttle that shouldn’t have been there?” Leonard asked, feeling his gut clench.
“Aye. That’s exactly what it proves.” His fierce look of determination faded into a grimace. “But there’s not a damned way to find out what added the extra mass to the shuttle.”
The tight clench turned into a nauseating hollow sensation. “No way at all? Wouldn’t there be spare pieces in the wreckage? Something that isn’t part of the shuttlecraft itself?”
Scott’s mouth twisted grimly. “McCoy... when I said that most of the shuttle was vaporized... I really wasn’t making a play for melodrama. Aside from that... I’ve not been in the hangar myself.” He hunched in even closer towards Leonard. “I’ve received trajectory data, engine readings, and a few wires they wanted me to test for trace radiation. I’ve not really seen the damage with my own eyes. They’ve got that hanger locked up tighter than my grandfather’s bagpipes.”
Despite the topic of conversation, Leonard raised an eyebrow questioningly.
“Better not to ask. But anyway, if you’ll pardon the saying, we’re flying blind.”
Leonard looked at Lieutenant Scott’s sincerely remorseful expression, and considered his options. Clearly, this was a man who valued truth over protocol, and respect over rank. They were both already pushing their luck, and Leonard knew he was about to push further.
“Can we get into the hangar?”
*********
Jim swam through the fog of sleep, and the first thing he was aware of was the fact that he should be furious at something. Or somebody. He wasn’t quite sure why, and if he could just think past the fog wrapped around his brain, he’d figure it out and give someone hell. Still, he was sleepy enough that it would have been so easy to drift back down into the fog, to let sleep reclaim him before he climbed out of the quiet darkness.
But he couldn’t. It wasn’t quiet.
Somewhere beyond the fog, there were voices, and he wondered if those were the people who had pissed him off. The voices were muffled and vague. Unfamiliar. He tried to say something, but his mouth wasn’t working.
“... not going to wake him up so you can interrogate him, Admiral.” A man’s voice cut through the fog. Gentle, even though Jim was sure he didn’t like it for some reason.
“He’s out of the ICU, doctor, and this investigation is a matter of pressing concern... Starfleet security hinges on the findings of this investigation, and Kirk is our only eye witness.” A deep voice, this time. Rough. He could hear the words, but they weren’t really making sense. He recognized his own name, though; they were talking about him.
“Well, he’ll still be here in an hour, when he wakes up naturally. There’s still a lot of sedative in his system.” That was the first voice again, and it was almost familiar, Jim noted.
“And is there any risk to him if you administer a stimulant to wake him up now?”
Something in that sentence finally solidified into a meaningful thought. Don’t give me anything else, Jim thought distantly. He would have protested, but his body was heavy and numb, and his mouth just didn’t want to turn his thoughts into words. Sleep was still clinging to him thickly, and while he could hear the words around him, only some of them made sense. If nothing else, he was aware enough to realize that he was sick and tired of people poking at him. And whoever these people were, he knew one thing - none of them was Bones. And that being the case, they could all fuck off and leave him in peace to sleep off the damned drugs they’d already given him.
But the voices didn’t leave. In fact, the one he thought was familiar spoke again, closer this time. “No, it won’t put him at any risk.” He sounded resigned. “It would just be preferable to let the young man get some rest. He’s had a busy day.”
“He can rest after we speak to him.” That was a different voice. A woman this time. “Do it.”
If he’d been able to move at all, he would have ducked to avoid the hypospray that his instinct told him was coming, but it never came. However, the heavy feeling in his arms and legs started to dissipate, and he was suddenly able to blink and open his eyes.
The world slowly swam into focus. There were two officers in the room, and as the blurriness resolved, he could make out the ranks of Admiral and Captain on their uniforms. Off to the side was that pudgy old doctor who had - Oh, I remember now, Jim thought bitterly. That’s why I’m pissed at him. Ignoring the two officers for the moment, he turned his head towards the doctor. “So, did you plug the hole in my head, doc?” His voice cracked, and his throat felt thick and scratchy, and he coughed to clear it.
“Your head is right as rain, Cadet.” He offered a warm smile along with a glass of water, complete with a straw. “You might feel some disorientation for a while. And that’s not to dismiss the fact that it still takes time to recover from a head injury anyway, but you’re doing as well as could possibly be expected.” He held the glass out.
Jim accepted the glass of water and took a long, cool sip, and for a moment, he was almost ready to forgive the old doctor for springing a surprise like that on him earlier. But then the doc’s smile faded, and it was clear he was quite uneasy about something. “If you’ll excuse me though, I believe these officers wish to speak to you.” He glanced up at the two officers, and something angry darkened the man’s usually jolly features. Then he turned and hurried out the door.
Jim swallowed thickly and turned to look at the two officers who were hovering at the end of the biobed. The Admiral was a fairly tall man with a slightly thickset frame, hair that had once been dark brown or black but had mostly given over to grey, and was sporting a moustache that had to be longer than regulation allowed. The female Captain standing just behind him was actually taller, with blond hair pulled into a severe bun, and an icy gaze to match.
Despite the fact that he’d wanted to speak to someone about the crash, the sabotage, and the possible threat… he suddenly wanted nothing more than to be left the hell alone. With the two officers seeming to hover over him, and the sudden change of scenery and events, Jim was suddenly really fucking uncomfortable with all of this. He didn’t know these people, and he didn’t like the vibe they were giving off. Besides, Bones had said that nobody could get to him without his permission, yet here these two people were, with no warning. It felt intrusive and invasive and can they just leave?
Still, neither of them seemed inclined to leave him alone, no matter what perfectly sane excuse he could give them. Damn, last time I checked, brain surgery was a perfectly legitimate excuse to get a note from the doctor. There was no avoiding this, so he’d best be on his guard. “Sirs?”
The Captain stepped forward, holding out a voice recorder probe, while the Admiral began speaking.
“Cadet Kirk, we need to ask you some questions pertaining to the events leading up to the shuttle crash.”
“I see,” was all Jim dared to say. He had no idea what these two were looking for, but his gut instinct told him not to reveal too much.
“Kirk, we’re sorry to have to do this so abruptly, but I’m sure you can appreciate the urgency of the situation.”
You’re not sorry at all, you bastard, Jim thought bitterly, feeling a rapid surge of irritation overtaking his discomfort. Still, he couldn’t keep his cynicism fully to himself. “Urgency? Where was the urgency when they needed to beam me out? And Tambe. Five seconds! Why was five seconds so hard?”
“We’re reviewing that now, Cadet, and I assure you, every action taken by the transporter staff at the Mars Orbiter II will be thoroughly investigated.”
“How nice. Let me know what Tambe’s parents and girlfriend say about that.”
The Admiral’s face tightened. “Kirk, I understand what you might be going through.”
“Do you now?” He knew he was starting to cross a very distinct line, if he hadn’t already crossed it, and soon, even his physical condition wasn’t going to be enough of an excuse. Still, he didn’t much care.
“You’re not the first person who’s lost a comrade in the line of duty, Kirk,” he said dourly, and Jim realized that the man couldn’t have made the rank of Admiral without suffering some losses along the way. “It doesn’t get easier, but I’m sorry your first loss came like this.”
“It’s hardly the first loss I’ve had in space, sir.” It was out of his mouth before he could stop it.
Briefly, the Admiral looked like he’d been slapped, and Jim felt a flash of satisfaction at the sight. “I stand corrected, Cadet Kirk,” he said, with a marked emphasis on the last name. Jim wished he’d kept his mouth shut, but it seemed that the Admiral wasn’t going to harp on it. “But then, as a man cut from Starfleet cloth, you understand that we must still do our duty, even in the physical and emotional aftermath of such tragedies. We still need to get to the truth behind this incident.”
With obviously faked casualness, he leaned on the arm of the guest chair next to the biobed, folding his hands over his knees. “Kirk, it was reported that you said the shuttle was sabotaged. According to the statements by the medics from the Mars Orbiter, you were insistent, despite being severely injured.” He leaned in, just a few inches, but enough that Jim felt he was closing on his personal space. “Now that you’re awake and lucid, we need your official statement.”
The Captain was still hovering there with the voice recorder, and Jim’s bold irritation rapidly dissolved back into discomfort, and he felt claustrophobic for the second time that day. It was like a roller-coaster ride, where directions and sensations were changing too rapidly, and he had no control over it. And suddenly, the last thing he wanted to do was to discuss the nightmare of his last shuttlecraft flight. Didn’t want to think about it. Certainly didn’t want to go over it in detail with these two people he didn’t know and didn’t trust. It was too painful, too fresh, too much.
He pushed his back deeper into the pillows, wishing that his hips were out of the immobilizer so he could at least bring up his knees. He felt far too exposed. “My official statement?” he parroted uneasily. “I...”
The Admiral affected what Jim guessed was supposed to be an encouraging smile. It looked far too forced. “We just need to know what you saw, from your point of view.”
“You have the flight recorder data, don’t you?” Even though he’d meant it to sound firm, his voice sounded tight in his own ears.
“We do.”
“Then you know as much as I know. More, probably.” Why do we have to do this now? Bones said nobody would come in without my say-so. “Can we do this later?”
“I’m sorry, Kirk, but no.” The Admiral leaned forward, just an inch. “I know you’re not in the most comfortable of situations, so don’t worry about sounding formal. Just tell us what you saw. In your own words, Cadet Kirk, if you would, please.” It wasn’t a question.
Uncomfortable isn’t the half of it. Taking a deep breath and wishing that something - anything - would interrupt this conversation, he launched into the most detached rendition of the flight he could manage. From breaking orbit, to his final, last-ditch efforts to save himself and Tambe, he rattled it off as if he was reading someone else’s mission report, or the contents of a tricorder’s technical manual, or even the weather forecast. Anything to pretend it wasn’t his own memory he was drawing from. It almost worked, too.
No, it didn’t.
The memories came flooding back as he spoke, garbled and frantic. Burned into his thoughts, unavoidable. His voice sounded detached and steady to his own ears, but he could also hear the creaking and groaning of the shuttlecraft’s hull… the voices from the Mars Orbiter… his own voice yelling back… and knowing that the deafening crash was only moments away. It was only his desperate clinging to his irritation and defensiveness that kept him steady.
“And at that point,” Jim finally said, “I cut power to all systems except life support and the inertial dampeners... and waited.”
“Why did you maintain power to the inertial dampeners when the crew from the Mars Orbiter II instructed you to cut power to all non-essential systems?” the Captain asked.
Jim wasn’t sure if she was scowling at him, or if that was just her permanent facial expression. At this point, he was almost shaking with pent-up emotions that he was desperately trying to bury, and didn’t much care about this Captain’s attitude. “Because if we crashed, sir, then it seemed like the only chance we’d have to survive the impact.”
“That seems sensible,” the Admiral cut in. “But Kirk, we need more information to support your claim of sabotage.”
“I told you what I remember.”
The Admiral shook his head. “It’s not enough.”
Cynicism caused his teeth to clench, which elicited a wave of pain in his head. Dammit. “What I saw...” His mouth was open, but suddenly there were no words. And that was just it - he knew he’d seen something that shouldn’t have been there, but he couldn’t recall what. “I told you... there was something in the engine,” he finally said, weakly, uncertainly.
“Would you care to define ‘something,’ Cadet?” The Captain was still scowling down at him.
Not appreciating the imposed power dynamic of this sour-tempered woman hovering over him, Jim shot a glare at her. “I’d love to, Captain,” he said acerbically, “but I think having my head slammed into the control board in the shuttlecraft, when I... you know... crashed, has left the details a little bit fuzzy.”
“Captain Weise,” the Admiral cut in, “give the young man a chance to remember. This hasn’t been easy on him.”
For a split second, Jim was almost tempted to say ‘thanks,’ but quickly realized he had nothing to thank either of them for. They were trying to play good-cop, bad-cop with him. Frowning, he looked at the Admiral. “Listen, I remember that there was something in the engine. Something that wasn’t supposed to be there. It was small, maybe a bit bigger than a tricorder.”
“Was it attached to anything?” the Captain asked coldly.
“I don’t know! I don’t remember anything else.” He glanced sideways at the Admiral, eyes narrowed. “Is there a reason this feels like an interrogation?”
Surprise blossomed across the Admiral’s face, only to be quickly covered with a look of solemn neutrality. “This wasn’t meant to feel like an interrogation, Kirk. You’ll have to forgive Captain Weise’s approach. We’ve been working on this investigation since the day of the crash, and everyone is quite upset by this.”
“Really, now?”
Something in the Admiral’s face shifted, and he gave what looked like the first open and honest expression he’d worn since Jim had opened his eyes. “Really, Kirk. The entire campus is mourning for Cadet Tambe. There will be a memorial service for her tomorrow, closed to the public - no media coverage. And while we’ve managed to keep your name out of the media, everyone on campus knows you were in the shuttlecraft that went down.” His face cracked a broken but seemingly authentic smile. “You must have some good friends on campus, Kirk. The reporters would have a field day if anyone had leaked your name, but there hasn’t been a peep.”
Jim wasn’t sure if he should feel relieved by the knowledge that people were being respectful of his privacy, uneasy that the whole campus knew anyway, or completely appalled at the idea that the media would have a feeding frenzy over him if they caught a whiff of his name attached to this fiasco. Better not to think about it at all, he figured. Right now, his problem was dealing with the two officers in the room. “Glad to hear it,” he said slowly, then clarified, with emphasis, “You know… that I’ve got some privacy left.”
If the Admiral understood the hint, he didn’t show it. “And friends, Kirk.” He nodded slowly. “Despite early misgivings over your psych profile and personal history, you’ve performed admirably here. And it seems people respect that.”
I should hope so, Jim thought warily, distantly grateful that his psych profile didn’t have half the things on it that probably should have been there - Pike had managed to keep last year’s discovery of his history on Tarsus IV off his permanent record, and it would stay that way... provided there were no issues that interfered with his training. He’d done so well, too, he thought wistfully. He really had. “Well, I’m glad I’ve managed to overcome people’s ‘misgivings’,” he said with mock-appreciation. Really, he just wanted these people to leave now. “But that’s all I remember, sir. And really, I’m tired, and my head hurts, so I’d like to -”
The Admiral held up one hand, silencing him. “Kirk, that’s not everything we came to ask you.”
Trying to keep his nerves in check, Jim blew out a slow breath. “Okay then... how about we cut to the chase.”
The Admiral nodded once. “You’ve got friends, Kirk. What I need to know is if you have any enemies.”
Jim frowned. “I don’t think so...” Then he shook his head. Sure, he’d pissed off a few instructors with his antics - he almost cracked a smile when Commander Toland came to mind - but his record was actually flawless. And there were a few cadets who would love to best him in hand-to-hand or tactics, but that was all friendly competition. Really, there was nobody.
“Kirk?”
Nobody... well... maybe somebody. There was some damned unidentified madman who’d killed his father, but that would be an impossible connection. No, that ship was never seen or heard from again. Oh, and there was a genocidal maniac who’d had him tortured as boy - don’t think about it, don’t think about it - but Kodos was dead. And Jim had dealt with that trauma. He wasn’t going to re-visit it. He’d done enough of that last year when -
And he froze. It was like a kick in the gut. Actually, more like a stab to the chest. “Terra Prime.” It came out like a gasp, as if he was being strangled. Maybe he was - the air was too thick, and his chest was too tight. The Captain was hovering over him with the recorder, and the Admiral was staring at him. He’d never quite felt so trapped before. Hell, just a year ago, he’d been taken hostage by terrorists, but this time, he really felt caged. Tethered to a biobed, immobilized, and injured - he couldn’t even walk away if he wanted to. Still trying to breathe through the air that was too thick and too hot, he looked back and forth between them. “Is there... do you think it could have been Terra Prime?”
“Terra Prime?” the Admiral asked, his tone authentically confused. “Why on earth would you suspect them?”
Jim blinked, realizing distantly that maybe these two officers didn’t know he’d been involved. And he wasn’t sure if he should tell them. “I… I know they attacked the campus last year.”
“But why would you believe they would be involved in this?” The Admiral was digging now.
And Jim was even less sure of himself. He shook his head and whispered, “I don’t know,” but his mind was spinning.
The possibility that a terrorist had infiltrated the campus... had sabotaged his shuttle... had killed his classmate and friend... it was overwhelming. And he wasn’t safe. If Terra Prime had done it, then none of them were safe. And he was helpless. Trapped, and helpless.
*********
(To Part Six...)
Author: Mijan
Series: ST: XI
Character/Pairing(s): Kirk&McCoy, Pike, Scotty
Rating: PG-13
Author’s Notes: This story is part of the Academy-era story arc, which includes “Convergence” and “And All the King’s Men.” “Crossfire” is a direct sequel. Several things in this story will not make sense unless you’ve read AAtKM first.
Summary: Jim Kirk and Leonard McCoy are on top of the world at the academy until it all comes crashing down around them. Trapped in their own mystery of politics, sabotage, and possible murder, it quickly becomes impossible to know who to trust. Worse, Jim might still be a target. With a dangerous criminal on the loose and Academy leadership not doing enough, Jim and Bones have to get their lives back together and find out what happened... before it happens again.
*********
CROSSFIRE, Part Five
It took Jim a few seconds after waking up to remember where he was. He could tell that there was daylight in the room, which meant he’d slept in, and he could hear the familiar and reassuring sound of Bones snoring, which meant he'd crashed on Bones' couch last night. Must have had some good drinks, because he had one hell of a hangover. He'd get a lecture from his friend about proper hydration while drinking when Bones woke up, but the man was still asleep, which meant that maybe Jim could start a pot of coffee brewing before the morning-after storm hit, warding off the wrath of a decaffeinated Leonard McCoy with freshly brewed java. That was, he would do it if he felt inclined to move right now, which he really didn’t.
The snoring continued.
Bones only snored when he was horribly overtired, usually after pulling double-shifts in the clinic. But Jim didn't recall Bones saying anything about extra clinic hours this week. In fact, Jim didn't remember drinking last night, so there was no reason for the hangover. And this didn't feel like the couch in Bones' dorm room.
It was the beeping of a cardiac monitor that broke the bubble of his illusion and brought everything back. Suppressing a groan, Jim opened his eyes. The window to his left was wide open, revealing a surprisingly bright day outside, with the sunlight streaking in at a high angle. It had to be close to mid-day on... Saturday, now? Hadn't Bones said it was Saturday? Three days since the crash, and he was still at Starfleet Medical, perched on a biobed, with a dozen different sensors trained on every damned bodily function he had. Invasive and out of his control... like a fucking shuttlecraft out of control. This was ten kinds of obnoxious. For a moment, he wondered sarcastically whether or not the biobed sensors would even tell him when he needed to pee... then he realized that he'd been in that bed for days without once going to the bathroom, and he decided he'd rather not think about that.
I don't care what Bones says about the wonders of modern medicine - it's still barbaric.
Generally, though, he supposed it wasn't too awful. Despite his instinctive complaints, he wasn't in too much pain. Just a few faint aches, and his head felt funny. Really, he didn't see why he couldn't just leave.
He turned his head to see where Bones was sitting, sprawled awkwardly on the chair next to the biobed, head flopped back. That would certainly cause a neck-ache, and for a moment, Jim felt something warm and undefinable swell in his chest at the thought that Bones really was sitting up with him... followed by guilt over asking the guy to stay... followed by anger that this had happened at all.
How the hell had this happened, anyway? It would be nicer to conclude that it had been nothing more than an accident. A simple mechanical glitch would have no more sinister implications, but that just didn't work. He'd seen... something in the engine. He couldn't remember for the life of him what it was, but there had been something. Boxy, not too big, tucked into the wires and circuits - he could almost visualize it. Almost reach out and touch it. He'd just been about to reach for it when the shuttle had lurched... he'd crashed back into the wall... scrambled to his seat. The shuttle tilted and rocked around him as he strapped himself back into his pilot's chair, and was shouting for the emergency beam-out that never came as the shuttle raced towards the ground...
"Jim! Goddammit, look at me, Jim!"
He blinked a few times and finally managed to focus on Bones' face, hovering over his own, fixed in the familiar scowl that Jim recognized as concern. "I... sorry, Bones. Didn't mean to wake you up."
Bones glared at him incredulously. "You're sorry because you had a nightmare? Now that's just ridiculous."
"Wasn't a nightmare," Jim mumbled. “I was awake already.”
Bones leaned back, folding his arms over his chest, but his expression was openly sympathetic. "You had a flashback."
"No! I didn't... I..."
"If it wasn't a nightmare or a flashback, then do you care to give me a better reason why you were yelling for an emergency beam-out?"
"Because I want to get out of this ridiculous biobed?" he asked hopefully.
Bones glared at him. The man seemed to have the unique power to cut through the bullshit and force Jim to face reality, regardless of the situation. No matter how harsh his approach, Jim couldn't resist it, and even when it stung a bit, it was the best thing for him and he knew it.
Jim blew out a breath through pursed lips. "Well, maybe I did. I don't know." He really didn't know, and that was the worst part. "I was trying to remember what I saw in the engines. You said you'd help me."
"I will, Jim." He sighed. "But first things first." He reached over and hit the comm panel. "Nurse Aldrich? Can you page the duty neurologist?" The confirmation came over the comm, and Bones tapped the channel off. "Before you do anything else, they're going to check you over - don't give me that look, Jim - and probably start you on physical therapy. You should be happy about that - it means you'll get out of here faster. And they'll probably do a few nerve function and cognitive tests."
"No way." It was out of Jim's mouth before he could stop it. And he didn't care. "Cognitive tests? I can't remember one little thing and so they want to do cognitive tests? Am I brain-damaged or something?"
Bones flinched. He actually flinched, and Jim knew that wasn't good.
Frowning, Jim reached up and rand his hand along his head. Everything seemed normal. Hair was still there... no major bumps... a bit tender right there... and then, just above the base of his skull, he found a hairless circle, and a small bandage with a nub of some sort underneath. "What the hell is that?"
"Drainage shunt, Jim." Bones' voice was steady, but he looked distinctly uneasy, which was even more disconcerting. Nothing medical ever bothered that man. He glanced back at Jim sideways. "Now that you're fully awake and lucid, they'll remove it. They just wanted to make sure you were stable before they did. It'll come out today."
"Drainage...?" A slow set of dawning realizations hit Jim in sequence. He must have been bleeding. Badly. There actually could be brain damage. He might be forgetting things he didn't even realize he'd forgotten. There was a fucking hole in his head. And finally... he was probably looking at the man who'd put it there, and he suddenly got the sick feeling that it bothered Bones far more than it bothered him.. "Bones... it's okay. I mean, you..."
"It's barbaric, Jim, and no, it's not okay. I'm sorry. Some injuries... we've just never found a better way to handle them." He sighed heavily. "I'm working on it, though."
The defeated look on Bones' face didn't sit well with Jim. A lot of this didn't sit well, to be honest. "Was it really that bad?" He didn't want to hear the answer, but he had to.
Bones nodded. "Jim, you crashed at several hundred KPH and, based on what we can figure out, you snapped your harness and slammed directly into the control console. I just took a rifle butt to the head last year. That was nothing compared to this." His eyes were wide and haunted, and something in his expression struck home sharply.
Jim swallowed tightly. He remembered Bones, lying on the biobed a year ago, pale and motionless, and it had seemed like the end of the world. If this had been worse... he couldn't even imagine what Bones had been going through, watching and waiting. But for now... "So, what do I do next?" he asked, but before Bones could answer, the door to the room slid open, and another doctor walked in. Gray-haired and pink-faced, his primary dimension seemed to be round.
"Cadet Kirk," he began with a gentle smile, "it's good to see you awake. McCoy," he acknowledged with a curt nod. He immediately pulled out a tricorder and began scanning. "Kirk, my name is Doctor Livingston.”
“I presume.” It slipped out of Jim’s mouth before he could stop it, a brief sarcastic quip. He could already see Bones getting ready to chastise him, but the old doctor waved it off.
“Humor is a higher brain function, McCoy, especially sarcasm,” he said with a light chuckle, “so it’s a good sign.”
“Trust me,” Bones said, “you’ll get more than enough of that from Jim.”
“Thanks, Bones,” Jim said, chagrined.
“Good to know, good to know.” The plump doctor seemed to mostly ignore their exchange and got right back to staring at his tricorder, speaking as he scanned. “I'm sure McCoy here has given you some information on your condition, but let's get you up to speed. First, you should be pleased to know that everything seems to be healing as fast as or faster than expected. You're quite resilient, young man. We've got a few rounds of basic therapy we want to start today..."
Jim wondered if doctors were incapable of talking without a damned tricorder in their hands. Or, more to the point, he wonderd if they ever looked up from the tricorders while talking to their patients. Maybe that's what he liked about Bones. As annoyingly quick as Bones could be to scan people at the earliest sign of a sneeze, ache, or sniffle, he always looked at people when he talked to them. "I'm up here," Jim finally interrupted.
The doctor’s jovial monologue faltered, and he looked up at him, blinking once in confusion. "Come again?"
Feeling like he was speaking to a very naive or slow person, Jim pointed. "That's a tricorder. You're talking to me, right? Well, I'm up here."
But the doctor only smiled with a simple sort of pleasantry. "Right you are. Sorry about that, Mr. Kirk. Quite sorry." He patted Jim's leg gently, and as far as Jim was concerned, patronizingly. "I'm going to go grab a couple of pieces of therapy equipment and one of the PT nurses, and I'll be right back."
Jim let out a groan as soon as the door slid shut behind the doctor, and looked over at Bones imploringly. "Do I have to?"
"Do you want to get out of here with all your functions intact?"
Jim scowled. "Yeah."
"Then you listen to Doctor Livingston. He's actually really good - just a bit old, but that means years of experience." He chuckled. “You know, I’ve been wanting to make that joke ever since I met the guy. Nobody around here has a sense of humor.”
“Then I’ll do my best to make up for that,” Jim deadpanned.
“You always do.” Bones’ voice turned melancholy, and he glanced back at the door, then sighed. "I've got a few things I need to do, actually."
"Wait - you're leaving?" That twisted Jim's stomach in a way he hadn't expected. "Why can't you stay? And can’t you do this stuff?"
Bones glanced at the door, then leaned against the biobed heavily. "Jim... my specialty is trauma surgery. Livingston is actually better at the follow-up care than I am. And besides... you listed me as your next-of-kin. Did you expect them to let me act as your primary doctor?"
Jim's gut was screaming YES, but what little rationality was left in his brain was berating his gut with a condescending "you idiot," in a tone which sounded far too much like Bones in his mind for comfort. "I guess not."
“Exactly,” Bones said. “And Jim... I...” He shook his head. “Even if you hadn’t listed me as next-of-kin, I can’t handle being your doctor right now. Not for the big stuff.” His eyes seemed to be begging for something. It looked like a plea for forgiveness, but Jim couldn’t understand why. “Trust me, kid, I won’t let anyone near you that I don’t trust completely. The doctors on your case are the best we’ve got.”
“What about other people?” The question burst out before Jim could stop it, bringing with it a surge of fear. “I told you... what if it’s not safe?”
Bones rested a hand lightly on Jim’s shoulder. “You’re in the ICU, Jim. Nobody other than your attending physicians and support staff can get into this room without express permission from you or me. Starfleet policy.”
That made Jim feel a little bit better, and he nodded blankly to himself, trying to ignore the odd feeling of helplessness that seemed to be curdling his stomach anyway. This was a type of fear he hadn’t felt in years. His normal way to deal with something was to tackle it head-on, to fight it, to challenge it; not to cower or cringe. However, fighting back was something he usually did on his own two feet, and based on the fact that his pelvis wasn’t fully fused back together - a thought which he didn’t much like considering - he wasn’t going to be back on his own two feet for a couple more days. The helplessness and unavoidable vulnerability was making him nervous in a way he’d not felt in... well... a long time.
Even after the mess with Terra Prime the previous year, it hadn’t been nearly this bad. He was up and walking around the next day. His head hadn’t hurt. He wasn’t forgetting things. And he had been more worried about Bones than himself.
This time, the only other person involved... was dead. Had been killed. Murdered. And the amazing James T. Fucking-Useless Kirk hadn’t been able to do a damned thing to save her.
He was still thinking it over when there was an insistent beep from Bones’ messenger bag. Jim looked up, forcibly unclenching his jaw as he furrowed his eyebrows at Bones in query.
For a moment, Bones stared at his PADD, eyes rapidly scanning whatever message he’d just received.
“Bones?”
Bones looked up, his face unreadable. “I’ve got to run, Jim.”
“Wait, what was in the message?”
But Bones was already stuffing his PADD back into his bag. “Appointment with one of my instructors.”
Jim frowned. “You’re not… it’s a Saturday, right?”
“Yeah… study session,” he said, sounding… not exactly nervous, but definitely not calm either. He quickly slung his bag across his shoulders. “Can’t be late. The Lieutenant changed his schedule around for me.”
“Oh… okay.” The rapid changes were coming faster than Jim could quite process, as if his brain was running too slowly for normal life. “I’ll see you later, then.”
Bones froze, one foot facing the door and the other still turned back towards Jim, then his shoulders slumped. “I’m sorry, Jim. I know you hate it here, but I promise… you’re in good hands. I’ll be back in a little while. I can’t miss this.”
On one level, he knew that everything was fine, and that Bones couldn’t stay there all day. He was also sure that if Bones said he couldn’t miss… whatever the hell he was doing… then it must be important.
On another level, Jim couldn’t quite squash the thick feeling of isolation that descended over the room as he watched Bones hurry out the door. The room was dead silent, and it left Jim with an eerie sense of helplessness that he hadn’t felt in a very long time.
The silence was interrupted quickly enough, though, as Doctor Livingston (he presumed) bustled back into the room with an unfamiliar nurse in tow.
With another falsely brave smile, Jim set himself to the task of being as cooperative as humanly possible, if not for himself, then for Bones. The man was right about many things, more often than Jim usually wanted to admit, but he’d nailed one thing without question - Jim wanted to get out of the damned hospital as soon as they’d let him escape. So, he didn’t fuss, didn’t fidget, and didn’t flinch as he obediently followed every direction the doctor gave him.
To be honest, he felt like a dog being asked to do tricks. Wiggle your toes, tell me if you can feel this, close your eyes and touch your index fingers together - sorry if that hurt your shoulder. Read this paragraph aloud. Follow my finger with your eyes. Jim almost asked if he needed to jump through a hoop or fetch a pair of slippers before they’d let him out, but he bit his tongue and smiled with artificial acquiescence. The sooner he got out of there, the sooner he could start his own investigation. Then he could get to the bottom of this, and find the person who almost killed him... who had killed Tambe.
After a highly unpleasant test that had Jim’s muscles twitching in ways that no human muscles should twitch, the doctor announced that his progress seemed excellent. Jim hoped that meant they’d go away, but no such luck. He tried not to panic as they announced they were taking him out of the room, but it was just for a few scans, the doctor said. Cellular-level imaging, more detailed than the biobed could handle, so Jim found himself trying not to feel claustrophobic as they lowered the imaging scanner over his head and torso. He’d never been claustrophobic before in his life, but hey, none of this was exactly normal for him, so he figured it was all part of being miserable and uncomfortable by sheer virtue of being stuck in his own personal hell.
The imaging device sounded noisy and hollow, and as it powered up before each pass, Jim swore it sounded like the engine of a shuttlecraft powering up. The mild claustrophobia turned into something else, and Jim found himself digging the fingers of his good hand into the pad of the biobed. He fought the images threatening to push to the forefront of his thoughts - the engine of the shuttlecraft struggling to push power to the impulse drive, powering up and failing, failing, failing. The hollow sound of the dead ship spiraling through the vacuum towards the barren surface of another planet. Jim refused to let those thoughts claim him, so he clenched his teeth and forced himself to think about every stupid distracting thing he could imagine, clinging to both his narrow thread of sanity and to the mattress until the shadow over his face retreated and he opened his eyes to find the imaging device being pulled away.
“So, do I still have a brain in there, doc,” he began shakily, “or were they right when they told me I’d lost my mind ages ago?”
Doctor Livingston smiled down at him as he walked alongside the gurney as it was pushed down the hall. “Your brain is doing wonderfully, and so is your spinal cord, Cadet Kirk. Amazingly well, really. Everything looks excellent, and you’re ready to have that shunt removed. You’ll be out of here before you know it. I should like to do a case study on you, I believe, for comparative therapy techniques for traumatic brain injury.”
“I’d rather you didn’t,” Jim said flatly, but the doctor just smiled that same patronizing grin and patted his knee again. If Jim’s hip hadn’t still been in an immobilizer, he’d have kicked the guy. Livingstong was pleasant, sure - kind of a sweet old man, really - but it was driving Jim nuts.
“It would help advance the field of trauma medicine, Kirk,” he said with a jolly tone that made Jim scowl. “The data from your case could help someone else someday.”
“I’ll let you know if I’m willing later,” Jim said darkly, even though he was certain that his tone would be lost on the old doc. Then he blinked and looked around as they wheeled him into a room that was most decidedly not the room he’d been staying in. “Where am I?” He tried to sit up, but Livingston gently pressed a hand against his chest, holding him down with surprising ease.
“Surgical Ward Three,” he said lightly, as if announcing something as mundane as the weather forecast. “Your imaging scans were excellent, so we can remove that shunt now. I told you before we took you into the imaging suite, that if everything was right as rain, we’d be able to take it out right away. You seemed pleased with that prospect.”
“Wait… you mean, right away, right away?” Jim stammered, only now putting his current situation together with what Doctor Livingston had told him earlier.
“What other sort of right away is there?” he asked cheerfully. Too fucking cheerfully. “As I said, your scans were excellent. Couldn’t have hoped for better. You’ll wake up without a hole in your head, young man.”
On one level, having them remove the thing that was poking into his brain sounded like a great idea. On another level, a much more immediate and urgent level, Jim realized that they were dragging him into surgery and he wasn’t ready for it. Yes, they’d told him, but he hadn’t actually remembered them telling him, and suddenly he was stuck there. It was all too sudden.
“Wait... wait! Can’t we just... how about a moment here? A bit of warning?” Jim felt his words stumbling and blurring together in his mouth.
“Relax, Kirk,” Livingston said gently, soothingly. “It’s okay. There’s no reason to delay this. It’s a very simple procedure, and you’ll be back in recovery in no time. You won’t remember any of this.”
Even as Jim felt his panic begin to rise, he felt something else... a bizarre sense of weight beginning to grip his body, like the blood in his own veins was too heavy. It was like drunkenness without the euphoria, exhaustion without the relaxation. He turned his head to the side, which took far more effort than it should have, and saw that the nurse was doing something to that fucking tube in his arm, and Jim knew she had already started the sedatives. “No… I don’t want to sleep. I want to remember... need to... remember...” His words were heavy, too, and felt distant and numb in his mouth.
“Now why would you want to remember something like this? You’ll wake up in a little while, and it will feel like no time has passed at all. Just a quick nap. That’s not so bad.”
Why did he sound so happy about this? Couldn’t he see that Jim was frantic? But no, Jim couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, and the Doctor merely patted his shoulder with what he suspected was supposed to be a reassuring touch. “We’ll take good care of you. Just relax.”
Don’t fucking want to relax, you goddamned bastard, Jim’s brain supplied, but his mouth wouldn’t form the words.
“Good, good,” he heard the doctor say. “Just breathe, Kirk. No need to worry.”
How the hell am I supposed to not worry, Jim thought frantically, when I feel like I want to jump out of my skin... if I could move... I can’t move...
Sure, they were trying to help him. Bones said that, and he trusted Bones. And it would all be fine... but who gave a shit about the outcome when right now, he was hurtling beyond his control towards a heavy crash and oblivion? Coherent thought slipped away from him as darkness closed in, muffling and finally extinguishing the burning panic and unbridled betrayal.
*********
“Ah good, yeh made it, McCoy!” Despite the enthusiasm in Lieutenant Scott’s voice, it was the quietest Leonard had ever heard him speak. It was almost difficult to hear what he was saying above the wind off the bay. “Didn’t know if you’d figure out that I wasn’t just trying to schedule a tutoring session.”
“Yeah, I did.” Leonard heaved his bag onto the old picnic table and took in their location. It was one of the old walking paths between the main campus on the Presidio and the hangar and equipment facilities down on the East campus. Feeling distinctly uneasy, he sat down. “To be honest… I didn’t know if you were pulling my leg or not. Why are we meeting out here?”
“Figured it was a good spot between the hangar and the main campus.” He leaned in closer. “Plus, not so many prying eyes. Same reason I made the message so cryptic.”
“And there are only so many reasons for cryptic messages,” Leonard said cautiously.
“Aye, and only one you’d probably care about.”
“So you’ve got new information about the crash?” Leonard asked in a rush. He’d been pretty sure that’s why Scott had called him down, but he couldn’t keep calm any longer. “Something you figured out from the recording?”
“Nae, McCoy. Bigger.” He pulled out his own PADD, placed it on the table between them, and activated it. “Well, perhaps I was looking for it because of what yeh told me, but… oh hell, yeh know I shouldn’t be tellin’ yeh any of this.”
Leonard held up one hand in oath. “Not a word, Scott. I just need to know what happened to my friend.”
Scott nodded. “Aye, and that’s why I want to help yeh. Yer an honourable soul.” His expression turned darker. “Not everyone has the same sense of ethics, yeh know.” He shook his head. “But that’s why I trust I can tell you… that I’m on the engineering investigation team for the crash now.”
It shouldn’t have surprised Leonard - Lieutenant Scott was engineering faculty at the Academy, and was brilliantly insightful - but he still felt a jolt of surprise run through his stomach. “What have you seen?” he asked eagerly.
He held out his hands, indicating for Leonard to slow down. “Easy there, laddie. Before I tell you, yeh have to know that I’m not privy to everything. Just examinin’ what physical evidence they’ll let me have - which, by the way, isn’t much - and reviewing the computer models for accuracy.”
“Computer models?” Leonard asked cautiously.
Scott’s face perked up slightly, and his eyes glinted deviously. “Ah yes. I had a wee chat with the computer last night after scavenging through the shoddy bits of wreckage they want us to analyze.” His eyes went deadly serious. “There’s almost nothing left, McCoy. Yer friend is a lucky bastard.”
A sick feeling which was becoming too familiar twisted in Leonard’s gut. As damaged as Jim was, it could have been far worse. “Yeah, I know.”
Scott nodded. “So… here… I want you to take a look at this computer model.”
Leonard leaned over the PADD. “What am I seeing here?” The display was a mess of symbols and physics equations that he could only vaguely recognize as anything penned by a human hand.
“This is a momentum analysis of the shuttlecraft’s trajectory as it approached Mars,” Scott said evenly, sounding almost the way he sounded when he was teaching in class.
For a moment, Leonard had a sudden surge of distrust and fear - Scott was an officer and a member of the Engineering staff - but that was ridiculous. He wasn’t about to turn paranoid. He’d decided that he trusted Lieutenant Scott. Besides, in reality, the man was actually risking his career to discuss classified information. Leonard nodded slowly. “Okay… so what can you tell from it?”
“Well,” Scott said as he pointed to one part of the graph, “if yeh analyze the course the shuttle took as it approached the planet, taking into account the gravity from the planet and the mass of the shuttle, you can match the actions of the engines to the precise course variations.”
“In English, sir?”
Scott gave him an impatient look. “The shuttle should move a certain way based on its exact mass.”
“How would you know the mass of a shuttle?” Leonard asked, frowning.
“Well, in the earliest shuttles, the poor blokes weighed every nugget they brought on board. But these days, its part of the shuttle’s internal sensors and the pre-flight checks. And that gets recorded and transmitted automatically before the shuttle gets clearance to depart.”
Leonard got an odd feeling. “Where are you going with this?”
“Simple, McCoy. Too damned simple. We figure Kirk saw something in the engine, but we had no proof. I needed to find something that shouldn’t have been there. The shuttle recorded the payload of the two passengers… oh to hell with it… the shuttle was just about four kilos too heavy!”
Leonard blinked. “Wait… what… how?”
“Hell if I know. But look here… watch. This is what the shuttle would have done at the reported total mass.” He tapped the screen of the PADD and a simulation activated. One frame showed a generated image of a shuttle, overlaid on a grid showing roll, pitch, and altitude. Next to it, another frame summarized the data into a three-dimensional line graph. The line grew across the screen as the shuttle pitched and rolled. When it finally stopped, Scott ran his finger along the line and said, “This represents what we should have seen, based on the total mass we thought the shuttle had. Now this...” He tapped the screen again, and another line began to move. It started out similarly, but after about 1/3 of the simulation, it was clear that the movement was following a different course. Not grossly different, but...
“It’s enough to prove something was on that shuttle that shouldn’t have been there?” Leonard asked, feeling his gut clench.
“Aye. That’s exactly what it proves.” His fierce look of determination faded into a grimace. “But there’s not a damned way to find out what added the extra mass to the shuttle.”
The tight clench turned into a nauseating hollow sensation. “No way at all? Wouldn’t there be spare pieces in the wreckage? Something that isn’t part of the shuttlecraft itself?”
Scott’s mouth twisted grimly. “McCoy... when I said that most of the shuttle was vaporized... I really wasn’t making a play for melodrama. Aside from that... I’ve not been in the hangar myself.” He hunched in even closer towards Leonard. “I’ve received trajectory data, engine readings, and a few wires they wanted me to test for trace radiation. I’ve not really seen the damage with my own eyes. They’ve got that hanger locked up tighter than my grandfather’s bagpipes.”
Despite the topic of conversation, Leonard raised an eyebrow questioningly.
“Better not to ask. But anyway, if you’ll pardon the saying, we’re flying blind.”
Leonard looked at Lieutenant Scott’s sincerely remorseful expression, and considered his options. Clearly, this was a man who valued truth over protocol, and respect over rank. They were both already pushing their luck, and Leonard knew he was about to push further.
“Can we get into the hangar?”
*********
Jim swam through the fog of sleep, and the first thing he was aware of was the fact that he should be furious at something. Or somebody. He wasn’t quite sure why, and if he could just think past the fog wrapped around his brain, he’d figure it out and give someone hell. Still, he was sleepy enough that it would have been so easy to drift back down into the fog, to let sleep reclaim him before he climbed out of the quiet darkness.
But he couldn’t. It wasn’t quiet.
Somewhere beyond the fog, there were voices, and he wondered if those were the people who had pissed him off. The voices were muffled and vague. Unfamiliar. He tried to say something, but his mouth wasn’t working.
“... not going to wake him up so you can interrogate him, Admiral.” A man’s voice cut through the fog. Gentle, even though Jim was sure he didn’t like it for some reason.
“He’s out of the ICU, doctor, and this investigation is a matter of pressing concern... Starfleet security hinges on the findings of this investigation, and Kirk is our only eye witness.” A deep voice, this time. Rough. He could hear the words, but they weren’t really making sense. He recognized his own name, though; they were talking about him.
“Well, he’ll still be here in an hour, when he wakes up naturally. There’s still a lot of sedative in his system.” That was the first voice again, and it was almost familiar, Jim noted.
“And is there any risk to him if you administer a stimulant to wake him up now?”
Something in that sentence finally solidified into a meaningful thought. Don’t give me anything else, Jim thought distantly. He would have protested, but his body was heavy and numb, and his mouth just didn’t want to turn his thoughts into words. Sleep was still clinging to him thickly, and while he could hear the words around him, only some of them made sense. If nothing else, he was aware enough to realize that he was sick and tired of people poking at him. And whoever these people were, he knew one thing - none of them was Bones. And that being the case, they could all fuck off and leave him in peace to sleep off the damned drugs they’d already given him.
But the voices didn’t leave. In fact, the one he thought was familiar spoke again, closer this time. “No, it won’t put him at any risk.” He sounded resigned. “It would just be preferable to let the young man get some rest. He’s had a busy day.”
“He can rest after we speak to him.” That was a different voice. A woman this time. “Do it.”
If he’d been able to move at all, he would have ducked to avoid the hypospray that his instinct told him was coming, but it never came. However, the heavy feeling in his arms and legs started to dissipate, and he was suddenly able to blink and open his eyes.
The world slowly swam into focus. There were two officers in the room, and as the blurriness resolved, he could make out the ranks of Admiral and Captain on their uniforms. Off to the side was that pudgy old doctor who had - Oh, I remember now, Jim thought bitterly. That’s why I’m pissed at him. Ignoring the two officers for the moment, he turned his head towards the doctor. “So, did you plug the hole in my head, doc?” His voice cracked, and his throat felt thick and scratchy, and he coughed to clear it.
“Your head is right as rain, Cadet.” He offered a warm smile along with a glass of water, complete with a straw. “You might feel some disorientation for a while. And that’s not to dismiss the fact that it still takes time to recover from a head injury anyway, but you’re doing as well as could possibly be expected.” He held the glass out.
Jim accepted the glass of water and took a long, cool sip, and for a moment, he was almost ready to forgive the old doctor for springing a surprise like that on him earlier. But then the doc’s smile faded, and it was clear he was quite uneasy about something. “If you’ll excuse me though, I believe these officers wish to speak to you.” He glanced up at the two officers, and something angry darkened the man’s usually jolly features. Then he turned and hurried out the door.
Jim swallowed thickly and turned to look at the two officers who were hovering at the end of the biobed. The Admiral was a fairly tall man with a slightly thickset frame, hair that had once been dark brown or black but had mostly given over to grey, and was sporting a moustache that had to be longer than regulation allowed. The female Captain standing just behind him was actually taller, with blond hair pulled into a severe bun, and an icy gaze to match.
Despite the fact that he’d wanted to speak to someone about the crash, the sabotage, and the possible threat… he suddenly wanted nothing more than to be left the hell alone. With the two officers seeming to hover over him, and the sudden change of scenery and events, Jim was suddenly really fucking uncomfortable with all of this. He didn’t know these people, and he didn’t like the vibe they were giving off. Besides, Bones had said that nobody could get to him without his permission, yet here these two people were, with no warning. It felt intrusive and invasive and can they just leave?
Still, neither of them seemed inclined to leave him alone, no matter what perfectly sane excuse he could give them. Damn, last time I checked, brain surgery was a perfectly legitimate excuse to get a note from the doctor. There was no avoiding this, so he’d best be on his guard. “Sirs?”
The Captain stepped forward, holding out a voice recorder probe, while the Admiral began speaking.
“Cadet Kirk, we need to ask you some questions pertaining to the events leading up to the shuttle crash.”
“I see,” was all Jim dared to say. He had no idea what these two were looking for, but his gut instinct told him not to reveal too much.
“Kirk, we’re sorry to have to do this so abruptly, but I’m sure you can appreciate the urgency of the situation.”
You’re not sorry at all, you bastard, Jim thought bitterly, feeling a rapid surge of irritation overtaking his discomfort. Still, he couldn’t keep his cynicism fully to himself. “Urgency? Where was the urgency when they needed to beam me out? And Tambe. Five seconds! Why was five seconds so hard?”
“We’re reviewing that now, Cadet, and I assure you, every action taken by the transporter staff at the Mars Orbiter II will be thoroughly investigated.”
“How nice. Let me know what Tambe’s parents and girlfriend say about that.”
The Admiral’s face tightened. “Kirk, I understand what you might be going through.”
“Do you now?” He knew he was starting to cross a very distinct line, if he hadn’t already crossed it, and soon, even his physical condition wasn’t going to be enough of an excuse. Still, he didn’t much care.
“You’re not the first person who’s lost a comrade in the line of duty, Kirk,” he said dourly, and Jim realized that the man couldn’t have made the rank of Admiral without suffering some losses along the way. “It doesn’t get easier, but I’m sorry your first loss came like this.”
“It’s hardly the first loss I’ve had in space, sir.” It was out of his mouth before he could stop it.
Briefly, the Admiral looked like he’d been slapped, and Jim felt a flash of satisfaction at the sight. “I stand corrected, Cadet Kirk,” he said, with a marked emphasis on the last name. Jim wished he’d kept his mouth shut, but it seemed that the Admiral wasn’t going to harp on it. “But then, as a man cut from Starfleet cloth, you understand that we must still do our duty, even in the physical and emotional aftermath of such tragedies. We still need to get to the truth behind this incident.”
With obviously faked casualness, he leaned on the arm of the guest chair next to the biobed, folding his hands over his knees. “Kirk, it was reported that you said the shuttle was sabotaged. According to the statements by the medics from the Mars Orbiter, you were insistent, despite being severely injured.” He leaned in, just a few inches, but enough that Jim felt he was closing on his personal space. “Now that you’re awake and lucid, we need your official statement.”
The Captain was still hovering there with the voice recorder, and Jim’s bold irritation rapidly dissolved back into discomfort, and he felt claustrophobic for the second time that day. It was like a roller-coaster ride, where directions and sensations were changing too rapidly, and he had no control over it. And suddenly, the last thing he wanted to do was to discuss the nightmare of his last shuttlecraft flight. Didn’t want to think about it. Certainly didn’t want to go over it in detail with these two people he didn’t know and didn’t trust. It was too painful, too fresh, too much.
He pushed his back deeper into the pillows, wishing that his hips were out of the immobilizer so he could at least bring up his knees. He felt far too exposed. “My official statement?” he parroted uneasily. “I...”
The Admiral affected what Jim guessed was supposed to be an encouraging smile. It looked far too forced. “We just need to know what you saw, from your point of view.”
“You have the flight recorder data, don’t you?” Even though he’d meant it to sound firm, his voice sounded tight in his own ears.
“We do.”
“Then you know as much as I know. More, probably.” Why do we have to do this now? Bones said nobody would come in without my say-so. “Can we do this later?”
“I’m sorry, Kirk, but no.” The Admiral leaned forward, just an inch. “I know you’re not in the most comfortable of situations, so don’t worry about sounding formal. Just tell us what you saw. In your own words, Cadet Kirk, if you would, please.” It wasn’t a question.
Uncomfortable isn’t the half of it. Taking a deep breath and wishing that something - anything - would interrupt this conversation, he launched into the most detached rendition of the flight he could manage. From breaking orbit, to his final, last-ditch efforts to save himself and Tambe, he rattled it off as if he was reading someone else’s mission report, or the contents of a tricorder’s technical manual, or even the weather forecast. Anything to pretend it wasn’t his own memory he was drawing from. It almost worked, too.
No, it didn’t.
The memories came flooding back as he spoke, garbled and frantic. Burned into his thoughts, unavoidable. His voice sounded detached and steady to his own ears, but he could also hear the creaking and groaning of the shuttlecraft’s hull… the voices from the Mars Orbiter… his own voice yelling back… and knowing that the deafening crash was only moments away. It was only his desperate clinging to his irritation and defensiveness that kept him steady.
“And at that point,” Jim finally said, “I cut power to all systems except life support and the inertial dampeners... and waited.”
“Why did you maintain power to the inertial dampeners when the crew from the Mars Orbiter II instructed you to cut power to all non-essential systems?” the Captain asked.
Jim wasn’t sure if she was scowling at him, or if that was just her permanent facial expression. At this point, he was almost shaking with pent-up emotions that he was desperately trying to bury, and didn’t much care about this Captain’s attitude. “Because if we crashed, sir, then it seemed like the only chance we’d have to survive the impact.”
“That seems sensible,” the Admiral cut in. “But Kirk, we need more information to support your claim of sabotage.”
“I told you what I remember.”
The Admiral shook his head. “It’s not enough.”
Cynicism caused his teeth to clench, which elicited a wave of pain in his head. Dammit. “What I saw...” His mouth was open, but suddenly there were no words. And that was just it - he knew he’d seen something that shouldn’t have been there, but he couldn’t recall what. “I told you... there was something in the engine,” he finally said, weakly, uncertainly.
“Would you care to define ‘something,’ Cadet?” The Captain was still scowling down at him.
Not appreciating the imposed power dynamic of this sour-tempered woman hovering over him, Jim shot a glare at her. “I’d love to, Captain,” he said acerbically, “but I think having my head slammed into the control board in the shuttlecraft, when I... you know... crashed, has left the details a little bit fuzzy.”
“Captain Weise,” the Admiral cut in, “give the young man a chance to remember. This hasn’t been easy on him.”
For a split second, Jim was almost tempted to say ‘thanks,’ but quickly realized he had nothing to thank either of them for. They were trying to play good-cop, bad-cop with him. Frowning, he looked at the Admiral. “Listen, I remember that there was something in the engine. Something that wasn’t supposed to be there. It was small, maybe a bit bigger than a tricorder.”
“Was it attached to anything?” the Captain asked coldly.
“I don’t know! I don’t remember anything else.” He glanced sideways at the Admiral, eyes narrowed. “Is there a reason this feels like an interrogation?”
Surprise blossomed across the Admiral’s face, only to be quickly covered with a look of solemn neutrality. “This wasn’t meant to feel like an interrogation, Kirk. You’ll have to forgive Captain Weise’s approach. We’ve been working on this investigation since the day of the crash, and everyone is quite upset by this.”
“Really, now?”
Something in the Admiral’s face shifted, and he gave what looked like the first open and honest expression he’d worn since Jim had opened his eyes. “Really, Kirk. The entire campus is mourning for Cadet Tambe. There will be a memorial service for her tomorrow, closed to the public - no media coverage. And while we’ve managed to keep your name out of the media, everyone on campus knows you were in the shuttlecraft that went down.” His face cracked a broken but seemingly authentic smile. “You must have some good friends on campus, Kirk. The reporters would have a field day if anyone had leaked your name, but there hasn’t been a peep.”
Jim wasn’t sure if he should feel relieved by the knowledge that people were being respectful of his privacy, uneasy that the whole campus knew anyway, or completely appalled at the idea that the media would have a feeding frenzy over him if they caught a whiff of his name attached to this fiasco. Better not to think about it at all, he figured. Right now, his problem was dealing with the two officers in the room. “Glad to hear it,” he said slowly, then clarified, with emphasis, “You know… that I’ve got some privacy left.”
If the Admiral understood the hint, he didn’t show it. “And friends, Kirk.” He nodded slowly. “Despite early misgivings over your psych profile and personal history, you’ve performed admirably here. And it seems people respect that.”
I should hope so, Jim thought warily, distantly grateful that his psych profile didn’t have half the things on it that probably should have been there - Pike had managed to keep last year’s discovery of his history on Tarsus IV off his permanent record, and it would stay that way... provided there were no issues that interfered with his training. He’d done so well, too, he thought wistfully. He really had. “Well, I’m glad I’ve managed to overcome people’s ‘misgivings’,” he said with mock-appreciation. Really, he just wanted these people to leave now. “But that’s all I remember, sir. And really, I’m tired, and my head hurts, so I’d like to -”
The Admiral held up one hand, silencing him. “Kirk, that’s not everything we came to ask you.”
Trying to keep his nerves in check, Jim blew out a slow breath. “Okay then... how about we cut to the chase.”
The Admiral nodded once. “You’ve got friends, Kirk. What I need to know is if you have any enemies.”
Jim frowned. “I don’t think so...” Then he shook his head. Sure, he’d pissed off a few instructors with his antics - he almost cracked a smile when Commander Toland came to mind - but his record was actually flawless. And there were a few cadets who would love to best him in hand-to-hand or tactics, but that was all friendly competition. Really, there was nobody.
“Kirk?”
Nobody... well... maybe somebody. There was some damned unidentified madman who’d killed his father, but that would be an impossible connection. No, that ship was never seen or heard from again. Oh, and there was a genocidal maniac who’d had him tortured as boy - don’t think about it, don’t think about it - but Kodos was dead. And Jim had dealt with that trauma. He wasn’t going to re-visit it. He’d done enough of that last year when -
And he froze. It was like a kick in the gut. Actually, more like a stab to the chest. “Terra Prime.” It came out like a gasp, as if he was being strangled. Maybe he was - the air was too thick, and his chest was too tight. The Captain was hovering over him with the recorder, and the Admiral was staring at him. He’d never quite felt so trapped before. Hell, just a year ago, he’d been taken hostage by terrorists, but this time, he really felt caged. Tethered to a biobed, immobilized, and injured - he couldn’t even walk away if he wanted to. Still trying to breathe through the air that was too thick and too hot, he looked back and forth between them. “Is there... do you think it could have been Terra Prime?”
“Terra Prime?” the Admiral asked, his tone authentically confused. “Why on earth would you suspect them?”
Jim blinked, realizing distantly that maybe these two officers didn’t know he’d been involved. And he wasn’t sure if he should tell them. “I… I know they attacked the campus last year.”
“But why would you believe they would be involved in this?” The Admiral was digging now.
And Jim was even less sure of himself. He shook his head and whispered, “I don’t know,” but his mind was spinning.
The possibility that a terrorist had infiltrated the campus... had sabotaged his shuttle... had killed his classmate and friend... it was overwhelming. And he wasn’t safe. If Terra Prime had done it, then none of them were safe. And he was helpless. Trapped, and helpless.
*********
(To Part Six...)