Chapter Text
The thick cloud cover of the planet below remained impenetrable to the ship’s scans, and the captain began to show signs of frustration.
Spock paid close attention to the man from his peripherals, although the bulk of his attention was being taken up by the details of his work. It wasn’t difficult to multi-task like this; minding his station while also observing his captain came quite naturally to him these days. Captain Kirk was his priority in all aspects, and there was rarely a moment that he wasn’t—in even some small way—keeping a careful vigil. Now, he could read the subtle lines of tension in the captain’s face, his increasingly rigid posture, and know that the situation was, to borrow a human metaphor, getting to him.
“And you’re certain there’s no way to pull back the curtains?”
It was only due to years of exposure to humans, and this human particularly, that he did not comment on the figure of speech as he would have once done. It was a trait he’d had to train himself out of, as he discovered that humans considered his mild corrections to be a form of verbal attack and went on the immediate defensive. He’d ascertained this years ago during his education at the academy, and it was because of that knowledge—that knowledge being humanity’s readily provoked irritation—that he still continued to verbally dissect most—if not all—of what the ship’s Chief Medical Officer said within his hearing range. However, he’d also learned when and where to feign ignorance in common Terran metaphors and when not to.
Idiom wordplay aside, the captain was quite correct to be concerned.
“None that I have discovered yet, Captain,” Spock said in response, his attention split between his approaching commanding officer and his station’s data readouts. The latter unfortunately continued to prove his statement; the sensors were still reading the unknown energy barrier surrounding Seskilles VII—and only that energy barrier. “It is most curious. Our sensors cannot penetrate through the atmosphere, but that appears to be the extent of the interference. All other systems are functioning as normal, including both transporter and communication capability. We are ostensibly able to touch, hear, and speak… but we cannot see.”
The captain ran a hand over his jaw, letting out a low, tired sigh that breathed heat against Spock’s neck. Kirk peered over his left shoulder to examine the data for himself, as if another result might inexplicably manifest if only he stared hard enough. When none appeared, The captain’s expression grew only stonier. From the short space between them, Spock felt the radiating sense unease and dissatisfaction brush against his own mental controls. It was not accurate to say he felt it himself—nervousness was an emotional reaction, after all, and therefore one he was insusceptible to—but he understood it.
“I’m not exactly enamored with the idea of beaming down blind, Mr. Spock.” The captain’s voice was neutral enough to maintain strict professionalism, but there was a sharp edge to his tone. Once, Spock would have had difficulty in deciphering the emotive vocal subtleties present in human speech, but with this particular human, he recognized the nuances loud and clear.
“Indeed, sir. Nor am I.” He met the captain’s gaze in a shared look of mutual understanding. Their own personal suspicions and comforts were irrelevant. They had their clear orders, and the Federation council would not accept anything short of success.
“Keep trying. I want to know what we’re getting into.”
“Yes, sir.”
The mission was, for all intents and purposes, a straightforward one. A new trade corridor was being established through unclaimed space, and of the dozens of planetary bodies to fall within the proposed route, only four were confirmed to be populated by sentient life. The Enterprise’s objective was to establish positive, diplomatic cooperation between the Federation and those sentient lifeforms so that trade could proceed unhindered by potential territorial hostilities. The first three planets had been a success; the fourth was proving difficult. The Seskille, the native inhabitants of the planet known as Seskilles VII, had not responded to the ship, and all attempts at communication had so far failed.
Information had surfaced of the planet being potentially rich in pergium, untouched by the population, and even the mere rumor of it had elevated the planet’s status to high priority. The mission objective was to open diplomatic communication, but Starfleet—and so consequently the Enterprise—had the secondary goal of opening negotiation channels for exclusive mining rights.
This was not the Enterprise’s first diplomatic mission, nor even the twentieth. It should not have been a difficult one. The captain had, only the day prior, deemed the entire mission a milk run. He’d been lamenting over a game of chess that the ship’s potential was being wasted on acquiring some rocks; that he wished to be exploring the mysterious and strange, not convincing planets to sign documents.
The unusual streak of success they’d been having had come to an end when, upon entering orbit, the circumstances shifted rapidly from simple to suboptimal. The unknowns of space, in all its great vastness, had complicated the objectively clear mission considerably. There existed no logical or statistical evidence to the saying you get what you wish for, but Spock privately thought the captain embodied the intended meaning of the phrase. He’d indeed gotten everything he wished for, if not in the way he’d wanted.
Seskilles VII was shrouded in an invisible, impenetrable energy barrier of unknown properties, preventing all sensor readings—environmental, scientific, or otherwise—from breaching through to the surface below. All attempts to, as the captain said, pull back the curtains had been thus-far ineffective. Their orders were to beam down to negotiate for mining rights in person, and those orders would not allow the luxury of personal objections.
“Captain Kirk, I’m picking up an unusual frequency. I don’t recognize—hold on. Connection established, sir! Communication with the Seskille is confirmed.” Lieutenant Uhura turned in her chair and she was smiling for the first time in hours. The science department had not been the only one feeling the urgency of the situation; Communications had been working just as furiously to break through the shield.
There was a low huff from the captain as he drifted from Spock’s side and back towards his post—a distinctly relieved one. Spock would not have labeled his own reaction as relief, exactly, but it also felt dangerously close to the feeling. He could sense the emotion in the periphery of his own mental control, his shields firm in preventing bleed-through. He preferred to reframe his response as a logical sense of satisfaction at the completion of a difficult task. It satisfied his desire for composure.
The bridge crew, however, quite obviously did feel relief. It spread through them like a tangible wave of relaxed shoulders and audible sighs. Ensign Chekov gave a soft cheer, and the captain looked as if he were resisting the temptation to do the same. It was their first small success in nearly five-point-one-seven-four hours. Opening a channel between the Enterprise and the surface had been an ongoing struggle, and the odds had been steadily growing that not only would they be beaming down blind, but mute and deaf as well.
“Lieutenant, you’re a miracle-worker! Do we have visual?”
“No, sir, audio only. Apologies, sir, but there’s a large amount of interference. It’s coming from their end; I’m unable to clear it.”
Kirk rewarded her a with warm smile, leaning back into his seat with one leg crossed atop the other in a kind of lounge. It was an intentional posture, one that Spock had come to learn was the captain’s way of displaying confidence. It worked as intended, and the effect rippled outwards. The the crew relaxed at their own stations. Subtly, in a way most would not notice, the tense edge softened and eased from their expressions. It had no such effect on himself, of course, but he was well aware that a positive mindset would improve crew efficiency and performance.
“That’s alright, Lieutenant, you’ve done well. Patch me through. Let’s see if we can’t clear all this up.”
“Channel open, sir.”
The instant the connection secured, an earsplitting sound shrilled from the audio feed, crackling and popping like great amounts of static. Shrieking whines, both low and high pitched, screeched through the speakers and caused most of the crew frown and himself to withhold a wince. The frequency was deafening; pitched in such a way that human ears were not capable of truly perceiving the full effect, but that his own unfortunately picked up quite well. It was unpleasant and grating, and he struggled to block it out as best he could. He thought it was similar to the concept of a dog whistle; emitting sound in the ultrasonic range—although the comparison wasn’t a favorable one.
“Greetings, this is Captain James T. Kirk, of the USS Enterprise, representing the United Federation of Planets,” the captain spoke aloud, voice professionally courteous. “With whom am I speaking?”
The whining grew louder, popping and crackling, but there was no response. Time passed—approximately one-point-nine-seven minutes—before the captain hailed again. Silence. The newly formed sense of relief from the crew began to sour. The captain turned towards communications for an explanation.
“There’s no malfunction on our end, sir. According to my systems, they should be receiving us just fine.” Lieutenant Uhura continued to attempt to clear the line, but the whining only got louder. Spock managed to maintain composure despite the sound, but only just. The urge to cover his ears became almost overwhelming.
Another three-point-two-eight minutes passed with no response and no cessation of the screeching noise, and it was clear that the bridge had passed the point of impatience. But then, finally—
“Greetings Captain James T. Kirk of the USS Enterprise, it is our happiness.”
Most curious. Spock briefly diverted his attention from his own station to analyze the audio. The voice did not sound physical in either pitch or vocal tone, despite speaking perfect standard. There were no apparent gender markers present, no identifying male or female tonality; it sounded entirely androgynous in nature. The voice was forming words with sound, but not that typical of any organic origin he could identify. Sharp resonances and inharmonious frequencies, quavering in an unusual manner, much like the sound the machine known as a Tesla Coil created. A voice made of pitch and sound, but perhaps not natural vocals. If it were not for the audible emotional inflections, of which there were many, he would suggest it was a machine communicating. He did not rule the possibility out, for without visual, it was impossible to ascertain facts beyond all doubt. Stranger occurrences had happened.
Fascinating.
“The pleasure is ours,” the captain was quick to reply, far more cordial now that the greeting had been received and returned satisfactorily. Still, he remained cautious all the same; the captain only ever let his guard down so much. Their information on the planet was unfortunately limited, compiled solely from previous brief encounters of passing vessels, but the Seskille were said to be kind in nature. “Am I speaking with your people’s leadership?”
For a moment, there was no sound but the whines and shrills that Lieutenant Uhura seemed increasingly irritated about. She was frowning at her console, fingers moving over the controls to attempt to once again clear the channel interference. Spock alleged, and he suspected the Lieutenant did as well, that such efforts would be ineffective. Whatever the cause of the sound, it was not in their power to correct. That was unfortunate, for it was beginning to give him a headache.
It took another five-point-two-eight minutes for a response to be returned, and he formulated this to be the beginning of a likely pattern. The former delay had been exactly that duration as well.
“There are no leaders. All are equal. None better than another.”
Spock arched a brow at that, intrigued. A planet without a governing body was not unheard of, but it was also exceedingly rare. Societies of any kind often had, at the very least, a council of some kind, or even wise elders to guide the younger generations through the ages. Teachers that held some measure of power or influence. He could tell his own interest was shared with the captain; their eyes briefly locked in an exchanged a glance and his own raised intrigued was mirrored by the other.
“I see.” To his credit, the captain recovered from the correction swiftly. “We were hoping to send a team to your planet’s surface, so as to establish a more direct line of communication with you in person. There is a great deal we’d like to talk about; to share our cultures and learn about one another. The Federation is interested in establishing a friendship between us.”
The audio distortions continued, but the voice was silent once more. Long enough for Lieutenant Uhura’s patience to wear thin, and for a line of exasperation to furrow between the brows of the captain. Another five-point-two-eight minutes exactly, and then it came back louder than before, with the whines becoming increasingly uncomfortable to his own hearing. Whereas before the voice had sounded serene, it now sounded considerably more excited. The cadence it used to speak with were faster.
“We would like this greatly. To show you what we have made and to learn of what you have made. To share ourselves with yourselves, and the opposite. This is most welcome to us, Captain James T. Kirk of the USS Enterprise.”
The voice sounded both sincere and pleased, and Spock could not recall ever hearing quite so heartfelt a welcome from any species they’d made contact with. It went beyond, he thought, of what his human crewmembers normally expressed, and the pure emotionalism in the Seskille’s response made him uncomfortable. In his experience to date, the sentient beings they usually spoke with during first contact were cautious, almost probing. Of course, and with increasing regularity, those same sentient beings also had the unfortunate predilection of being alarmingly hostile. While Spock was aware the statistical ratio of peaceful missions to that of violently interrupted ones favored peace, he could not deny there was a negative pattern emerging.
In this instance, he could detect no trace of hostility or ill-will in the Seskille’s voice. Quite the opposite; the weight of the positive intentions were almost overwhelming in their genuineness. It gave him cause to run the mental calculations for the likelihood that this mission would involve a plot to destroy the Enterprise or her crew. The odds were… higher than he would have liked. It made him cautious, but he appeared to be the only one; the rest of the bridge crew were in good spirits.
Initial and current sensor interference aside, Spock could not deny this was an optimistic beginning to what they hoped would be a future alliance. With communication to the surface established, a large obstacle had been broken down. The problem of the sensors remained, however, and it was not likely to be resolved on the Enterprise’s end. He had exhausted all possible solutions. The energy barrier appeared to be foreign in nature, unknown in both origin and design, and it only registered on his sensors for the very glaring lack of any sensor data at all. It was not an issue of capability; scans of the nearby asteroid belt had been taken with expected results, as had the scans of the barren Seskilles VI and Seskilles VIII. It remained an issue only with Seskille VII, which continued to register as entirely sensor-dead. Were they not visually able to see the fog-shrouded world they orbited around on the viewing screen, and detecting the gravitational effect on surrounding space matter, the sensors would suggest there was no planet there at all.
“Sir, Ambassador Hammett is on his way to the bridge,” Lieutenant Uhura warned briefly, glancing over towards the doors.
No one could miss the way the muscle in Kirk’s jaw jumped as he clenched his teeth. His expression, despite that, became forcefully pleasant. The stiff smile did nothing to mask the sharp look in his eyes. He gave a brief nod towards the lieutenant and returned his attention to the Seskille.
“Thank you, we’re all very glad to hear that. I’m hopeful we can reach a mutual, friendly relationship. We’ll contact you shortly to discuss our mission further. Enterprise out.” The audio channel closed just as the turbolift doors opened to reveal a beaming Ambassador Roger Hammett, who began to move swiftly towards the captain.
Spock moved as well—faster, in four quick strides—and he reached the captain’s chair first. The captain’s expression of forced pleasantry was a sharp contrast to his own. With his arms comfortably at his back in perfect parade rest and standing firmly at the side of his captain, he leveled the Ambassador an even look. This was, as Captain Pike had once told him, known as a unified front.
The ambassador was, from Spock’s own evaluations and personal opinion, relatively harmless in nature. He had not observed any direct threat from the man. In his estimation, there appeared to be a lack of any physically violent instinct in him. Unfortunately, although he was not physically aggressive, that did not mean he was inoffensive. Doctor McCoy had loudly groused—quite unprofessionally—in the mess hall that the man was a Grade-A Idiot. An unusual kind of phrasing, but one that Spock privately believed was not... entirely inaccurate. Roger Hammett’s skills in diplomacy were yet to be put to any official use during the mission, but his attempts at using his other claimed, supposed skills had been of great disruption to the normally smooth operations of the Enterprise.
Already, Doctor McCoy had banned the man from Medical, and Spock himself had been forced to have a stern conversation with the diplomat about interfering with the science labs. The ambassador did not appear to be intentionally harmful, but his self-boasted attempts to improve the work there had caused several setbacks. The science department had taken it personally; they prided themselves on operating at peak efficiency and any interference with that was viewed as direct sabotage. More than one crewmember had come complaining to Spock of Hammett putting his hands on experimental equipment and causing contamination.
Engineering had been having issues of a similar nature, and it was they who delivered the only warning Hammett seemed to actually heed. There had been a fairly alarming altercation between the ambassador and the engineering department over cracked equipment, the details of which Spock was still attempting to investigate. Lieutenant Commander Scott had been the most volatile over the damage, furious to the point of requiring the captain’s direct intervention to prevent actions that would necessitate a court martial.
The captain was, even now, side-eyeing the chief engineer. Spock took the initiative to angle himself in such a way as to shift imperceptibly closer to Engineering. If there was going to be a fight, he’d be in a better position to stop it. Mr. Scott’s face was already turning an alarming shade of red as he turned in his seat to glower at the ambassador from across the bridge.
Spock had frequently heard the human phrase if looks could kill. He rather suspected he was seeing the meaning of the phrase in action.
“Ahh, Ambassador Hammett. You’re a moment too late, I’m afraid. I’ve just ended initial communication with the Seskille.” Kirk’s smile was made entirely of insincere charm, and it seemed that only Roger Hammett was unaware of the disingenuous nature of it. The rest of the bridge turned back to their own consoles as if nothing were wrong, although Spock knew their attention was focused solely on the conversation at hand. Mr. Sulu began to murmur softly to Mr. Chekov. From the wording, Spock thought it sounded suspiciously like betting. The only one not even pretending to do their work was Mr. Scott, and his steely expression followed the ambassador to the captain’s chair.
“Did you really?” Hammett’s smile widened, showing a great many gleaming teeth. He clapped a hand on the captain’s shoulder—Spock tensed, prepared to physically intervene should it become a matter of the captain’s safety. “Wonderful news—just wonderful! And did they seem amiable to further conversations? When are we to beam down?”
“Yes, about that. There seems to be an audio delay of some kind on their end. It takes forever to get a response, but the Seskille seemed open to a landing party; they sounded eager to speak with us, at least. I’ll have the transmission patched through to your quarters for your convenience. As for an away team, well… there are complications. Mr. Spock, would you do the honors?”
Spock straightened as Ambassador Hammett turned to him. The man had not been outright rude to him, exactly—he’d kept a friendly enough tone and an open posture—but he exhibited a certain degree of insensitivity regarding Vulcan culture, and also to the singular Vulcan aboard the Enterprise. Spock had observed him to be astonishingly condescending in both his remarks and attitude.
Curious, especially for a diplomat. Hammett seemed to take delight in making arguments against a logic-based mindset, while at the same time also attempting to imitate one. Spock suspected at first that it came from a place of prejudice, but now he wondered if might be a form of joking. If it were, it was of a poor quality and in bad taste. While Spock remained unaffected by the slights and mockery, he had seen the captain grow increasingly agitated by it—as had, surprisingly, Doctor McCoy.
Offense was a human emotion, and one that he controlled and purged as thoroughly as any other reaction. Hammett’s opinion of him was unimportant. All that mattered was his ability to complete the mission, preferably with as minimal a disruption to the ship and crew as possible. Although the captain had taken his attitude towards Spock personally, the diplomat had not singled Spock out in this alone; his insensitivity towards the rest of the department heads had been equally displayed. It was not, Spock thought, done with ill intentions towards them, but from a desperation to prove himself. In Spock’s own case, it was likely unintentional xenophobia at play. It was not the first time he’d experienced it, and he knew what to look for.
Why this was, he was uncertain and—more than that—uninterested.
Explaining his observations to Jim and Doctor McCoy had not improved their opinion of Hammett, not that he’d tried overly hard to do so. “Prejudice! In this goddamn day and age!” McCoy had exclaimed, and Spock had raised an incredulous eyebrow at the sheer hypocrisy of his exclamation. When it was logically pointed it out, Spock had been summarily insulted in a most prejudicial manner.
Spock stood at-the-ready now, hands stiffly behind his back. His chin tilted up in a manner that he knew most humans found intimidating.
“Our system scans have been ineffective at penetrating the atmosphere of Seskilles VII. A barrier of unknown energy has blocked all attempts at surface and environmental study. Origin unknown, type unknown, composition unknown. Without further information, beaming to a planet with indeterminable conditions would be hazardous at best. While communication has been established with the natives of the planet, according to all our sensor readings there is no planet.”
Hammett stroked his jaw idly, lips pursed in concentration.
“But it is possible to beam a landing party down?”
“Inconclusive. Engineering has not found any direct conflict with the ability to transport to the surface, but it would be a gross violation of all established safety code.”
Kirk leaned back in his chair and Spock noticed his eyes were hard, narrowed in the manner he’d often seen directed towards large amounts of paperwork. That specific expression was reserved for only that which ranked low in his personal estimation, and it was now fixed on the ambassador. Spock glanced at his captain to gather data on his emotional state and, upon reading it, shifted his physical positioning closer to better provide support.
“Until we get more information, I’ll not risk my men going down blind,” the captain said sternly, and even Hammett seemed to quail back from the tone in the captain’s voice. However, the ambassador gathered himself together remarkably quickly and blustered onward.
“We have recorded visuals of the planet from five years ago, correct? I read through the briefing; those ships thought it was like Earth’s desert. I know they didn’t scan the environment—maybe they couldn’t either, who knows—but there was nothing to suggest it was dangerous.”
This was unfortunately correct—if an overly simplified version. The trade vessel 'Boa’ had been one of many to pass by the planet but had been one of the first to establish communication and detailed visual. Reports suggested it to be a Class M planet; potentially a desert world, rocky and hot. Without current sensor data, it was impossible to estimate the climate or further detail about the composition of the surface. The communication to the Seskille then had been brief, the Boa merely seeking tradable goods. The Seskille had seemed uninterested in trade when asked. They had, however, engaged in a short conversation with the Boa’s crew, and the mention of rocks came up. One in particular fit the description of pergium.
It was of no great interest to a trade vessel, especially one without mining capability or crew experienced in mining operations. It was of great interest to the Federation. Starfleet’s General Order 1, the Non-Interference Directive, had already been broken by the Boa and other passing ships. That appeared to be all the excuse needed to justify further contact.
A milk run, Jim had called it. He was, as the human expression went, eating his words now.
Mr. Scott’s muttering—which Spock would define more as a low snarl if he were to indulge in the emotional labeling—was audible enough to be heard by all. The attitude he’d shown towards Hammett since the ambassador’s incident in engineering had been nothing short of disrespectful and, on more than one occasion, outright hostile.
“Not dangerous… aye, neither is a hole in the ground before a snake takes a bite outta you, ye brainless-”
“Unfortunately, the Boa’s scans are invalid.” The captain raised his voice louder to try to drown out the commander’s trailing insults. “As you can see; the planet is visually different from our briefing.” He gestured towards the large view screen, as if the ambassador could have possibly missed it. No longer a sand-colored planet with a sparse cloud covering, it was shrouded entirely by a thick white atmosphere. Whether the speculated desert-like environment remained beneath it, it was impossible to determine. Nothing was visible through the cloud coverage.
“Captain, need I remind you the importance of this mission?” Ambassador Hammett smiled widely, cheeks flushed a steadily rising red. He’d clearly heard Mr. Scott’s comments, as they hadn’t been drowned out nearly well enough and were still quite audible. Spock resigned himself on pulling the chief engineer aside later to remind him that his voice had a tendency to carry. “I hardly need to tell you how to do your job; we both have our orders, and unfortunately, mine are... well…” He cleared his throat in a feign at delicacy. There was no need to say that his orders took priority; they were all unfortunately aware of it. “I understand your concerns, I really do, but we can’t delay the mission for them.”
It was exactly what they’d both predicted would happen, but that did not make it easier to hear. Spock glanced at the captain and met the eyes that had likewise looked towards him. Years of working closely with each other had developed a proficiency in silent communication. It was perhaps not the most comprehensive form of communication, but it was often an effective one. Through the shared eye contact, Spock discerned they were in perfect aligned in their dissatisfaction.
“Concerns?!” Mr. Scott was unable to keep to himself a moment longer, whipping back around in his chair with a furious scowl on his face. “It’s hardly a wee concern, Mr. Hammett! As Second Officer, I’ll be the one who’ll have to scrape you off that rock if something goes wrong, an’ I cannae do that without those sensors operating.”
“Thank you, Mr. Scott; I’ll take it from here.” The captain’s voice was markedly warmer towards the chief engineer than the outburst had warranted. There was muttering from engineering, but Scott only turned back to his screens after a final dark look towards Hammett. His hands pressed his controls harder than necessary. “His analysis is correct. It would put us in enormous danger to send a landing party without further information. There’s no telling what we’d be beaming down into—and before you interrupt, Ambassador, remember that you’ll also be part of the landing party.”
But the Ambassador only smiled widely. Spock did not understand why he continued to do so; there was nothing even remotely joyful about this predicament.
“Then I invite you gentlemen to look for another alternative! I’ll give you two hours; if you don’t find something by then, I doubt you will. Orders are orders are orders, unfortunately, and our orders are to meet face-to-face. The mission hinges on us establishing friendship with the Seskille, and no true friendship can be made with a machine! Oh—my apologies, no offense meant to you, Mr. Spock.”
Spock arched a brow at him. He stared for just a second longer than necessary before responding.
“Apologies are unnecessary; a Vulcan is not a machine. There is no offense to be taken from erroneous and faulty comparisons.” Spock took no offense. There had been far worse comments made about and towards him in his thirty-eight years of life, and comparisons to computers did not rank high on that list. But while he was unaffected, that did not appear to be the case for the rest of the bridge. The captain had gone still, his jaw gritting so tightly that his teeth audibly creaked. Mr. Scott had violently whirled around in his chair once more, mouth working furiously but silently. He seemed to be on the verge of beginning an outright brawl. It was... almost touching.
In truth, the discriminatory comment was nothing that Doctor McCoy hadn’t expressed to him with casual frequency. Jim had once commented that there existed, between friends, certain kinds of humor that would otherwise be considered unacceptable when demonstrated towards acquaintances or strangers. Perhaps this was one such situation; he had not understood the concept fully then but thought he may now. Although he was not insulted, he did not feel the same amount of camaraderie towards Roger Hammett that he did when the doctor insulted him in a similar manner. It was not logical, not at all, but Spock found that human relationships often defied all logical reason.
“We’ll let you know what we find in two hours,” the captain spoke sternly, but his voice was nothing if not civil—forced civility, but at least more professional than Lieutenant Commander Scott’s display. He turned around to face the view screen in obvious dismissal of the ambassador. “If you require nothing else, I suggest you’d go prepare for a landing mission.”
Hammett floundered for a moment, red-faced at the captain’s flippancy of him. He stood there for several seconds, searching the rest of alpha shift. They’d followed their captain’s example and had turned back to their stations with the same glaring disinterest.
Raising another brow at the ambassador, Spock also turned on one heel and fluidly moved back towards science to relieve Ensign Keller. She shot him a small smile as she moved back towards environmental. He’d grown used to reading the small expressions of his human crewmates and thought her’s was commiserating.
When the ambassador finally left the bridge, the room visibly relaxed the instant the turbolift doors slid closed. Mr. Scott’s mutterings lowered in volume, although no less in quantity, and Lieutenant Rivera joined him in it.
Focusing back on his readings, fingers flying instinctively over the dials, Spock felt rather than saw the captain approach on his left. The warmth of him brushed against his back as the captain leaned in to speak privately, and his voice was soft to prevent overhearing.
“Do you think we’ll find anything?”
Spock didn’t need to look at his data for the answer; it was exceedingly easy to memorize what little information there was. No part of it promised any immediate breakthroughs in sensor readings, nor did they suggest a way around the barrier.
“It is unlikely. I estimate the chances to be-“
“No, no, I get it. Thank you for trying anyways. Who knows, maybe just this once we’ll get lucky. Honestly though, even if we don’t, that’s still two whole hours. It’s worth it if only to have him out of my hair for that long.”
Whereas he’d previously refrained from commenting on the captain’s use of colloquialisms, this time Spock indulged in it. There was a time and a place for such things, and while earlier had not been appropriate, he knew it would be now well-received. Refuting such nonsensical figures of speech never failed to irritate Doctor McCoy, but it seemed to only ever amuse Jim. He once thought it odd. Now, he engaged in it simply to see his captain smile.
“He was standing at your right shoulder, sir, not within the follicles of keratin growing from your scalp.”
The captain’s expression relaxed into a small smile, and he huffed a sound that could have almost been a laugh. It sometimes surprised Spock how controlled this particular human was in comparison to others. Even at his most outwardly expressive, Jim still maintained rigid, strict composure.
“Mm, so he was.” A hand pressed gently onto his shoulder, gripping it briefly in a light squeeze. Spock made eye contact with his captain and found them looking back warmly. “Carry on, Mr. Spock. We’ve got two hours to make a miracle, and if there’s any chance of finding one, no matter how slim, I want it found.”