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Chapter Text

Captain’s Log, stardate seventeen-oh-four point two. We are en route to the planet Psi 2000 to bring crucial research equipment to the science vessel Antares. A detour around a black hole has delayed our arrival.  

Dr. McCoy sat at his desk. He was rifling through the various, unhelpful notes associated with Mr. Spock’s sparse medical files when Captain Kirk came sauntering in. McCoy glanced up at him and then did a double take. Jim was sporting a split lip and bloody nose. Despite that he was grinning broadly.

“What happened to you?” McCoy asked, taking a handkerchief from his desk drawer. Jim took it gratefully and swiped at the blood under his nose.

“I took your advice,” he said.

McCoy raised one incredulous eyebrow. Laughter danced in the captain’s bright hazel eyes and he ducked into the other room before McCoy could open his mouth, clearly expecting the doctor to follow. He heaved a sigh and pushed himself out of his chair. The files on his padd would have to wait until later. 

Jim was perched on the edge of a biobed in the other room lazily swinging his feet. There was an air of boyish charm about him. McCoy wondered just what exactly had him in such a good mood. He crossed his arms and leaned one hip against the biobed. Jim stopped pretending to study the softly pulsing diagnostics screen and glanced at him sideways through dark lashes.

“Well, Doc, think you might fix me up?” he asked.

“I dunno, Jim, think you might tell me what happened?”

“I caught the wrong end of Mr. Sulu’s elbow.”

McCoy shook his head. So, that was it. He pushed off of the biobed and crossed to the medical repository. Choosing one of the higher compartments he lightly pressed its smooth outer panel and felt the satisfying click and release of the inner catch.  

“When I said you should spar with Sulu this isn’t exactly what I had in mind.”

Dermal regenerator and antiseptic spray in hand, he returned to the captain.

“You were right though. It’s helping.” There was an earnest eagerness to Kirk’s words.

“You or him?” McCoy asked wryly. 

“Why can’t it be both?”

McCoy harrumphed. “Does this mean you plan on getting your ass kicked on a regular basis? Because I’m going to need more supplies.” 

Kirk laughed. “You can grouch all you like, but I know you. You’re secretly pleased it’s all working out.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” McCoy said innocently.

Truthfully, he was more than a little glad that Sulu had agreed to spar with the captain. The helmsman had been simmering for days now, reluctant to take up sparring again since his friend’s death. His pain followed him like a dark cloud and being able to vent it with someone who knew how to roll with the punches was a healthier alternative to bottling it up and letting it fester.

“And even if I did,” McCoy continued. “I’d warn you not to get carried away. You’re the captain not a heavy weight champion. Despite that masochistic need of yours to prove you’ve still got it.”

Kirk flashed him a devilish grin. The doctor shook his head. He knew Jim was just trying to get a rise out of him. The captain would never do anything careless where his crew was concerned. He just wasn’t that kind of man. If he were, McCoy would’ve never suggested sparring with the grieving helmsman in the first place.

“What about you, Bones?”

“I don’t need to prove that I’ve still got it. I never had it to begin with,” McCoy retorted.

He finished with the captain’s face and went to put his instruments away. Kirk hopped down and followed him across the room.

“I meant how are you holding up.”

McCoy froze, half turned away from Jim. He subconsciously reached for the soft black fabric at the neck of his uniform and the sprig of Borgia that lay hidden there—pinned to his collar just that morning. His fingers brushed its outline and he could feel the flowers’ delicate petals as they pressed against the curve of his throat. Its fragrance was a painful reminder—both bitter and comforting—in its sharpness. 

He felt Jim’s light touch on his arm. McCoy cleared his throat and dropped his hand. He was grateful when Jim didn’t press him further. There was a world of unspoken understanding in that warm hand on his sleeve. McCoy cleared his throat again. When he spoke his tone was gruffer than he’d intended. 

“You’ll have to excuse me, Jim, I’m expecting a call from Dr. M’Benga.”

“And they’ll be expecting me on the bridge.” Jim squeezed McCoy’s arm gently and then let go. “Alright, Bones.”

As McCoy left the captain and walked into his office he could feel Jim’s gaze lingering on his back. Then the door slid shut and he sagged gratefully into his chair. Leaning his head back he stared at the glass doors on his cabinets and waited for Dr. Jabilo M’Benga to call. 

The doctor had agreed to talk to McCoy about his time working in a Vulcan ward. M’Benga’s information might not be anything McCoy didn’t already know but simply having the other doctor to confirm or dismiss his theories—not to mention being able to pick M’Benga’s brain on best practices—would be extremely useful going into this upcoming examination. 

It was the first officer’s quarterly physical and McCoy’s first real medical exam with a Vulcan. Sure, he’d had practice in theory back in med school, but theory and practice were about as far removed from each other as he was from Mr. Spock. The truth was, there just wasn’t a whole lot known about Vulcans in general or Mr. Spock in particular due in part to his unique heritage and in part to the fact that he was the first Vulcan to ever serve with Starfleet. But McCoy was going to do everything he could to assess the first officer’s medical needs in spite of Mr. Spock’s attempts to keep him at arm's length. Vulcans were ridiculously private and had many idiosyncrasies when it came to their care preferences especially when a non-Vulcan doctor was involved. Establishing a repertoire of trust with the patient was a vital first step in the process and McCoy was determined to do just that.

— —

The bosun whistle sounded announcing the captain’s presence on the bridge. Lt. Janice Rand resisted glancing up at him from her seat at the helm. She could sense him taking up his place just behind her right shoulder. He radiated a certain bold intensity. The crew always seemed to move a little faster, stand a little straighter, work a little harder in the captain’s magnetic presence. Or maybe that was just Janice.

“Approaching asteroid belt now, Captain. Schiller rating three-five,” First Officer Spock reported.

“Deflectors on. Let’s skirt the edge, Lieutenant. Stay well away from it,” Kirk told Rand.

“Yes, sir,” she said.

At the center of that asteroid belt was a black hole. It had been a massive, blue star up until just recently when it’d gone supernova and taken its entire solar system of dwarf planets with it. The Enterprise was skirting the remains of that system now.

“Captain, this would be a most uniquely gratifying cosmological phenomena to study further.”

“If we had the time, Mr. Spock, I’d let you study it to your heart’s content.”

“It is rather unfortunate that we must give up one scientific study in favor of another.”

“Why, Spock, is that a note of disappointment I hear?”

“Hardly, Captain. I’m merely observing the regrettable nature of our limited time in this vicinity.” 

“You’ll just have to make do with what your sensors can pick up as we go.”

Janice exchanged an amused glance with Lt. Kevin Riley. A shift on bridge crew didn’t feel the same if there wasn’t at least a little banter between the captain and his first officer. And on the occasions that Dr. McCoy made an appearance then they really were in for a show. Sulu had a tally going. According to him the Vulcan was winning but Janice privately thought the doctor more than held his own against the first officer’s piercing intellect.

A flashing light on the instrument panel caught her attention.

“Sir, there’s a rapidly approaching spacecraft off the starboard bow,” she said quickly.

“Onscreen,” Kirk commanded.

“There she is, sir. Center screen,” Rand said, switching the channel feed.

A small cargo ship careened into view. It spiraled by in an unstable corkscrew.

Janice felt a spike of alarm. “She’s headed straight for the asteroid field.”

“If she hits one of them—” Kevin said. The expression in his glance mirrored Rand’s.

“Get our tractor beam on her now, Riley,” came the sharp command. “Communications?”

“I’m trying all frequencies, sir. There’s no answer,” Lt. Uhura told the captain.

“We get no registration beam from the ship,” Mr. Spock added.

Janice watched as the craft’s spasming trajectory stilled under the pull of the Enterprise’s tractor beam. The chaotic spiral became a slow spin but the vessel’s engines still strained against the power of the much larger starship.

“She’ll overload her engines,” Scotty exclaimed, distress plainly written on his face.

“Try to warn her, Uhura. She’s got to get out of there.”

“She’s had it unless we put our deflector screen around her,” Riley said.

Despite being tethered by the tractor beam, the small craft wobbled drunkenly at the outermost edge of the asteroid belt. There was a sharp intake of breath on the bridge as a larger chunk of rock clipped her wing and nearly sent her spinning again.

“Cover her, Lieutenant,” Kirk ordered.

“Captain, we’ll overload our own engines,” Mr. Scott protested. “We can’t extend our deflector screen and maintain the tractor beam with the way she’s straining against us.”

Kirk flashed his chief engineer a look. “And she’ll be crushed by an asteroid if we don’t. Extend our screen, Mr. Riley.”

“Yes, sir. We won’t be able to hold it long.”

“Uhura,” the captain said.

“Trying, sir. Still no response.”

“We’re overloading, Captain. Engine temperatures climbing.”

“Don’t lose her, Rand. Take us in as close as you can.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Our deflector screen’s weakening. We can’t protect her much longer,” Riley called out.

The Enterprise groaned under the strain, but she obeyed the helmswoman and let Janice guide her into the very edge of the asteroid field. The other craft was slowly reeled in like a fish struggling at the end of a line.

“Engine temperature is passing the danger line,” Scotty warned.

Overhead the lights flickered on the bridge.

“Steady,” Kirk instructed.

“Sir!” Scotty urged.

The Enterprise shuddered beneath Janice’s hands. Hang in there girl, she willed the starship desperately, you’re almost there.

The other vessel gave one final, desperate lurch. There was a flash of white light just aft of her starboard wing and then she went completely limp in the Enterprise’s grasp.

“Get that ship aboard, now,” the captain ordered. “As soon as we have her, get us out of here, Rand.”

“Aye, sir.”

“Uhura, I want Dr. McCoy in the shuttle bay. Mr. Scott, you too. Let’s see what the damage is.”

The engineer gave Kirk a rueful look. “Aye, sir.”

— —

Dr. McCoy looked down into the familiar face of the cargo ship’s pilot. She was a petite woman with curvy hips and what would have been a commanding stance if she hadn’t been swaying so much. The young woman clutched at her side. A slash of red at her hairline matted her bangs together with blood. When the small cargo ship was brought aboard the Enterprise this was the last person he’d been expecting to find.

She looked up at him with unfocused eyes. A spark of recognition kindled in them.

“Hiya, Doc, long time no see.”

Then the young woman, who not that long ago had tried to kill him—twice—collapsed at his feet. He caught her elbow as she went down and just managed to keep her from cracking her skull against the deck.

Scotty, who had dashed up the gangway to poke his head inside the craft, withdrew it and came to hover beside McCoy. 

“There’s another one inside. She’s bleeding badly.”

McCoy nodded his acknowledgment and turned to shout for Nurse Chapel. She was at his elbow before he opened his mouth. 

“Check for signs of concussion and I want scans for internal bleeding.”

“Yes, Doctor.”

“Lieutenant Tormolen, you’re with me,” he said, motioning to an officer in blue. McCoy surged to his feet but a voice stopped him halfway up the ship’s ramp.

“Bones.”

He hadn’t been aware of the captain’s approach. Kirk’s face was carefully neutral but his eyes held a storm of emotions. He stared down at the unconscious pilot.

“She’s not going anywhere,” McCoy told him. “And she needs medical attention.”

He met the captain’s gaze levelly. He needed Jim to understand that no matter what this woman had done, or would do, McCoy was still a doctor. His friend knew him well enough to recognize that look. Kirk gave a small nod and McCoy was able to relax slightly. That was one less thing he had to worry about. He left the captain issuing orders and strode into the darkened interior of the cargo ship.

McCoy found the other passenger in the cockpit. She was barely conscious and breathing raggedly. A safety harness lashed her to the passenger seat. McCoy squeezed in beside her as best he could, but the cockpit was barely big enough for two and the space was made even smaller by the jagged mess of metal and wires dangling from the starboard bulkhead. Despite that, he needed to move quickly. There was a deep gash in the woman’s abdomen that was bleeding profusely, but the more concerning wound was a jagged slash at her throat. He could see the twisted piece of metal that had caused it. 

A shadow appeared in the doorway.

“Tormolen, help me,” McCoy ordered.

He scrambled into the cockpit and McCoy was grateful that the other man had a slim build. Scotty appeared just over Tormolen’s shoulder, watching anxiously and waiting to see if he could help.

“Put pressure on that wound,” McCoy instructed the lieutenant.

The young man didn’t hesitate despite the look of horror in his wide brown eyes. He pressed his hands firmly over the wound on the woman’s stomach. She groaned softly.

“Don’t ease up. Try to keep an even pressure,” McCoy warned Tormolen. He turned to the woman and spoke softly. “Hold still. You’ll be alright. I’m just going to take a look here.”

He peeled back the fabric of her collar as gently as he could. The fragment of metal was embedded firmly in the woman’s neck. Her breathing was becoming more rapid. She suddenly gripped his shoulder and her eyes flew open to stare sightlessly into his own. Her mouth opened and closed but the only sound was a sickly rasping at the back of her throat. 

“None of that now, you mustn’t talk,” he told her firmly. “Scotty, I need something to cut—“

“Here.” The Scotsman passed him a sleek instrument slightly smaller than a pen. “It’s on the wee side for a laser cutter, but it’ll do the trick in a pinch.” When he noticed McCoy’s look of surprise he offered, “It comes in handy a whole lot more than you’d think. I never go without, but I’ll see if I can’t find something a mite bigger.” And with that, the engineer darted off. 

McCoy adjusted his grip on the instrument so that he was holding it like a stylus. With his other hand he kept the woman's head gently in place. Working quickly, he began to slice through the metal shard. The laser bit into the metal easily, but the woman was attempting to speak again and it pulled at her wound. McCoy spoke soothingly but she refused to be placated.

“A…Ant…ares,” she managed to rasp. “Dan…ger.”

“It’s alright, we’ll help the Antares.” He was through the metal and moving on to the straps of the harness. “How we doing, Joe?”

Tormolen’s face was very pale. “Yes, sir. I mean, good, sir.”

“Ma— ma,” the woman rasped weakly. Her breath was coming in quick sharp gasps. “Roo.”

“I’ve got you,” McCoy assured her. Her grip on his shoulder slackened. “Stay with me. Stay with me.” Her eyes rolled back into her head. It lolled to one side as she lost consciousness and went limp as a rag doll against the harness. McCoy could’ve sworn under his breath if he’d had the time. “She’s going into hypovolemic shock. We need to get her out now.”

“Make way, Lieutenant,” Kirk ordered.

Then Tormolen was gone and the captain was taking his place at McCoy’s elbow. McCoy struggled with the harness for a moment. It fell away and Kirk was there, wrapping the woman in his strong arms and carrying her out of the ship and down the gangway. McCoy was right on his heels.

“Lay her there, Jim,” he ordered. They didn’t have time to fuss about, he needed to stop the bleeding. “Tormolen, pressure. Jim, hold her steady.”

McCoy set to work on his patient. Closing wounds in the middle of the shuttle bay surrounded by curious engineers wasn’t ideal but he’d handled worse situations. Mr. Scott returned from somewhere carrying a larger piece of laser-cutting equipment over his shoulder.

“Right you lot. Quit your gawking and get back to work,” Scotty ordered.

The captain, who had been studying the woman’s clothing, soaked in her blood as it was, suddenly spoke. “This is a Federation research vessel uniform.”

“She did say something about the Antares,” McCoy told him.

“Will she make it?” Kirk asked quietly.

“I dunno, Jim. I can’t know for sure until we can get some fluid back into her. She’s lost a lot of blood.”

McCoy finished with the dermal regenerator and sat back on his heels. The shard of metal would require a more delicate touch. He’d stabilized it as best he could so that it didn’t cause any more damage during transport, but he wanted it out as soon as they got her back to the medbay. Two officers were standing by with a gurney. McCoy motioned to them.

“Let’s get her to Sickbay.” He looked at the two men beside him. The front of Kirk’s uniform was soaked in blood and Joe’s hands were much the same. “You boys come too. Best we get you cleaned up.”

McCoy stretched as he stood. His back was beginning to ache but this day was far from over. 

— —

They had extracted themselves from the asteroid belt and had been well on their way to Psi 2000 for the past 1.25 hours when Mr. Scott called for him on the intercom. Spock answered from the captain’s chair.

“Scott here. We’re having a bit of trouble. Nothing I can’t handle, mind, but our tussle with that cargo ship severely taxed the Enterprise’s engines. I’m running a systems check, but we really oughta drop her down to impulse power for the time being.”

“Very well, Mr. Scott, we shall make the necessary adjustments. Do you have an estimated time of completion?”

“I can’t rightly say just yet, sir. But I’ll give you a shout as soon as I do. Scotty out.”

Spock steepled his long fingers. Dropping to impulse power would significantly delay their arrival at Psi 2000 and the Antares. He swiveled slightly toward communications.

“Lieutenant Uhura, are there any updates?”

“I still haven’t been able to hail the Antares, sir. Something is interfering with the signal.”

“Something, Lieutenant?”

She straightened and faced him. “I should be able to raise them, but all I’m receiving is static.”

“Sir,” Lt. Brent interjected. The science officer currently occupied Spock’s usual post and was examining multiple readings of the immediate area. “There is residual evidence of an ionic storm. It’s possible that’s what’s interfering with Ms. Uhura’s comms.”

“Are you able to compensate?” Spock asked her.

“I’ll have the long and short of it within the hour, sir.” She noticed the way his eyebrow shot up and her mouth quirked in suppressed amusement. “I mean, yes, sir.”

The doors to the lift slid open and Mr. Sulu stepped onto the bridge. Lt. Rand glanced up at him with a light frown. Spock knew she wasn’t scheduled to be relieved for another 5.2 hours. Mr. Sulu’s presence on the bridge was unexpected but the purpose quickly became clear.

”Commander, the captain wants you to meet him in Sickbay.”

“Acknowledged, Mr. Sulu. You have the conn.”

On his way to the medbay Spock passed Officer Tormolen in the hall. Tormolen’s hair was damp and his hands and face were scrubbed pink. It appeared as though he had been heading somewhere and then stopped still. The distant look on the officer’s face spoke of a wandering mind. Spock paused beside him. 

“Officer,” he spoke calmly.

Tormolen started. “Sorry, sir. I didn’t see you there.”

Spock considered him. “Do you require assistance?”

The other man ducked his head in what Spock had learned to interpret as human embarrassment. “No, sir. I was just thinking, sir.” Tormolen paused, as if torn between saying more or staying silent. 

Spock waited him out. Humans found silence uncomfortable and he’d discovered that he often ended up with more information if he simply let the silence stretch on as opposed to filling it with questions. 

“Those women. They would have died if we hadn’t been there. I keep wondering, what if something like that happened to us? Some terrible accident that left us crippled and alone, slowly dying in space and no one around to do anything about it. Are we even meant to be out here—?”

“Lieutenant,” Spock quietly interrupted the officer’s diatribe. “I think it would be beneficial if you were to take some time away from your duties until you have had the opportunity for adequate rest. Perhaps, if this line of thought still occupies your mind at the end of that interval, a conversation with Dr. McCoy would be in order.”

“Yes, sir.” The science officer’s brow knit together and his mouth formed a tight line. He turned to go, but halted when the first officer spoke again.

“Mr. Tormolen. The probability that an accident of the kind you described would occur is very low. 0.023 to be exact.”

His warm brown glance hesitantly met Spock’s dark one. “Thank you, sir.”

Spock inclined his head slightly and watched the young man walk away before he finally turned and entered the medbay. He was forced to pause as a wave of dizziness washed over him. Odd. Focusing on his breathing, he was able to settle the sudden spinning sensation. It was a strange occurrence that he would have to examine more thoroughly at a later date. For now, he turned his attention to Dr. McCoy who was bending over a patient. Spock stiffened almost imperceptibly when the doctor straightened and revealed who it was.

“Doctor, I do not think that is wise.”

“And what’s that, Mr. Spock?” The doctor turned tired blue eyes on him.

“Your proximity to a known assailant.”

McCoy looked down at the young woman who had been masquerading under a false identity the first time they’d encountered her. The doctor’s mouth quirked in a wry smile.

“Oh, she’s not going anywhere.”

Spock felt a flash of annoyance at Dr. McCoy’s apparent lack of concern. It brought with it the decidedly illogical impulse to put himself between the doctor and the woman, despite the fact that she was unconscious. Given the doctor’s almost non-existent inclination toward self-preservation, and the woman’s previous lethal designs on him, perhaps the impulse wasn’t so illogical after all. 

“Regardless, I do not believe you are exercising an appropriate level of caution. Need I remind you—“

Dr. McCoy’s voice grew sharp. “I remember what she did, Mr. Spock, and I certainly know what she’s capable of, but this woman has a concussion and I am going to treat her just like anyone else. Or did you come in here to tell me how to do my job, too?” The doctor exhaled and ran a hand through his hair. “Never mind, don’t answer that.”

Before Spock could argue the point further, Captain Kirk entered the room.

“I thought that was you, Spock,” Kirk greeted him.

Spock acknowledged him with a nod. “Captain.”

“Have you learned anything?”

“She wasn’t exactly coherent,” Dr. McCoy said. “I gave her a sedative to sleep it off.“

“Bones.” The captain’s tone was reproachful.

“We weren’t going to learn anything from her in that state of mind, Jim.”

Kirk didn’t look happy about it. “I thought it was dangerous to let a person with a concussion fall asleep.”

“Where’d you hear a fool thing like that?” McCoy snipped. The doctor, as if realizing he’d been too harsh, rocked on his heels and spoke more evenly. “Sorry, Jim.”

“No, no. You’re the doctor, I shouldn’t be telling you how to do your job.”

Spock didn’t miss the pointed glance Dr. McCoy threw his way. He ignored it. The soft sound of footsteps heralded Nurse Chapel’s approach.  

“Doctor, she’s awake.”

“Speaking of doing my job,” McCoy said. “Thank you, Nurse.” He paused in the doorway to the surgery wing of Sickbay. “Jim, I know you’re eager to get some answers. I am too, but just gimme a minute to see where she’s at.”

Kirk accepted the doctor’s words with a small nod and Dr. McCoy continued on without them. Spock watched as the doctor sat at the edge of the woman’s biobed and spoke to her in low tones. She nodded and took the padd he offered her. He looked over to where they stood and inclined his head for them to join him. He remained seated on the edge of the bed as they approached and the captain took up a spot opposite him. Spock hung back slightly, unwilling to overcrowd the woman’s space.

The captain spoke to her. “I’m Captain James Kirk of the starship Enterprise. Can you tell us your name?”

She typed for a moment on the padd and then an artificial voice spoke for her. Commander Amy Percy of the science vessel Antares.

“Do you remember what happened?” Kirk asked.

Commander Percy typed on the padd, approximately 19 seconds longer this time.

Ion storm. We never saw it coming. Forced to abandon ship. I was attacked on the planet. A woman in a cargo ship helped me get away. She saved my life, is she alright?

“She’s recovering in the other room. She’ll be alright,” Dr. McCoy told her. “Do you know her name?” The commander shook her head. “I suppose that was too much to hope for,” the doctor muttered in an aside to Kirk.

“Psi 2000 is an uninhabited planet.” Spock broke in. 

“Yes, so who or what attacked you?” Kirk asked.

Unclear. It was dark, but I counted four or five of them. They seemed to be humanoid. I wasn’t on the planet very long. She began typing again. Captain, my team is marooned on that planet.

“And we will do everything in our power to get them back as soon as we can. I give you my word, Commander.”

“For now, you just concentrate on getting better,” McCoy told her.

Thank you, Doctor. If there is any way I can help.

Dr. McCoy patted her knee. “We’ll be sure and let you know. But what you need right now is some rest.” He motioned with his head toward the door. “Jim.”

They left Commander Percy, who was asleep again almost before they were gone, and reconvened in Dr. McCoy’s office. Dr. McCoy leaned against his desk, slouching ever so slightly which Spock was beginning to recognize as a sign that he was especially tired.

“Is it possible we were wrong and the planet does have a native population?” Dr. McCoy asked Spock. 

“The Antares’ observations over the past three years have not revealed evidence of intelligent life-forms, humanoid or otherwise, so while not altogether impossible, it is highly unlikely that they do exist.”

“So what attacked her?” Dr. McCoy asked.

“It is difficult to say for certain at this point due to our limited information,” Spock pointed out.

“Our pilot friend in the other room might have some ideas,” Kirk said dryly. “I want to know the minute she wakes up.”

“Captain, I believe a thorough search of the computer’s databanks on the subject may give us a more comprehensive picture of the planet in the meantime.”

“Good idea—“

Dr. McCoy stood swiftly. “Not before you and I get through with your physical, Mr. Spock.”

Spock hesitated. His physical exam was not high on his list of priorities but putting it off again—he had already put it off twice in the past week—here in front of the captain was out of the question. He briefly wondered if that had been Dr. McCoy’s intention.

“Very well, Doctor.”

— —

Janice Rand carried an undercurrent of energy with her all the way to Rec Room 3. After this most recent shift she was positively buzzing. Usually, all the interesting things happened to Lt. Sulu, but with his reduced hours she’d been getting more coverage. She could not believe she’d actually gotten to fly into an asteroid belt and save another vessel! What’s more, the captain had noticed and complimented her nimble maneuvering of the Enterprise. She was glowing.

She spotted her brother Eddie and his girlfriend Tina sitting at a booth nearby and slid into the vinyl enclosure to join them.

“What’s got you in such a good mood?” Eddie asked, sliding her the coffee he’d been saving.

Tina leaned forward eagerly. “Has the captain finally taken notice of you?”

Janice nearly choked on her first sip and waved at her to keep her voice down. She’d mentioned she found Kirk attractive once and now Tina wouldn’t let her live it down. Eddie patted her on the back. She coughed a few more times and finally managed to catch her breath. She gave Tina a fierce glare, but the Yeoman's impish expression brought forth another fit of coughing as Rand tried to cover the spark of laughter that ignited in her own chest. She was in too good a mood to pretend to be bothered.

“No, as a matter of fact. He complimented my flying.”

“Oo, so he did notice you.”

“That’s not the point,” Janice protested. She turned to her brother for support. “Eddie, tell her.”

“What’s not the point?”

The question came from Joe Tormolen who had approached the table unnoticed. He was Eddie’s best friend and had been since they were young. He’d also had something of a crush on Janice for as long as she’d known him, but he’d never done anything about it in all that time. Not that she minded. He was a sweet guy, but she’d never been interested in him in that way.

“Oh. I was just about to tell these two chuckleheads that we rescued a ship from an asteroid belt today and the captain was very impressed with my flying.”

“I’m sure that’s not the only thing he was impressed with,” Tina mumbled into her hand.

Janice turned and playfully swatted at her. “Tina, I swear, if you don’t drop it—“

“Oh, what. Are you going to report me—?” her friend shot back.

They were interrupted by a very earnest Joe. “Of course he was impressed, you’re an amazing pilot.”

The silence that followed stretched on as Janice tried to make her brain think of an appropriate response. Her first instinct consisted of playful ribbing and banter, but that seemed at odds with Joe’s heartfelt compliment.

“Thanks, Joey,” was all she could think to say. She suddenly felt awkward and rose to leave. “Well, I’m due back on the bridge.”

“What?” Tina protested. “But you just got here!”

“You picked up another shift?” Eddie asked, disapprovingly.

Janice shrugged. “What can I say? I like it up there.”

Tina rolled her eyes. “Uh-huh.”

“I like the challenge, Tina. It’s interesting.”

“Keep telling yourself that, hun.”

“It’s more interesting than hanging around you lot and yakking my head off. Don’t you have something better to do?” she asked Eddie. “I’m surprised you’re not running around after Kirk.”

“Oh, so it’s Kirk now,” Tina commented just loud enough for her to hear. Janice pointedly ignored her.

“Contrary to popular belief he does give his personal Yeoman a break. And unlike some, I know how to kick my feet up during my downtime. It’s called a work life balance. You should look it up, you might learn a thing or two,” Eddie told her. He turned to his friend who had been sitting quietly. “Joe, back me up here. Tell my sister she should learn to relax.”

“I think Janice is perfectly capable of knowing what she wants,” Joe said, meeting her gaze.

“Thanks, Joe. It’s nice to know at least one of my friends will come to my defense. Well, I’m off,” she told them with a wave. Tina wiggled her fingers in response but her brother had cornered his friend.

“What gives? You’re supposed to be on my side.”

Janice shot Joe an apologetic look as she turned and left.

— —

McCoy released the medical cuff from its spot just above the first officer’s elbow and notated Spock’s blood pressure on his padd. The Vulcan sat stiffly on McCoy’s examination table dressed down to his black short sleeves. He was staring impassively at the opposite wall and had been from the moment he sat down.

Despite his attempts to make Spock as comfortable as possible—a warmer room, gloved hands, as little physical touch as he could manage—the Vulcan had retreated into himself with an air of icy resignation. McCoy knew that Spock could be reserved but he’d never seen the first officer this remote. Any attempts on his part to ease the process with small talk was met with stony silence. His patient only spoke if asked a question directly related to the examination and even then his answers were clipped and to the point.

He would’ve assumed that this frigid attitude was because of him if Christine hadn’t warned him. She’d been part of the Enterprise’s medical staff since the early days when Christopher Pike had been her captain, Dr. Jabilo M’Benga’s uncle had been CMO, and Spock had been a young lieutenant.

Christine had been able to partially fill McCoy in on what to expect. Really he would’ve liked to have had a conversation about his Vulcan patient with Jabilo’s uncle, Dr. Joseph M’Benga, since he’d actually been one of Spock’s previous doctors, but given the circumstances that was impossible. He’d been forced to make do with what he had. He’d been underprepared for the level of intense discomfort the Vulcan was radiating. His pleasantly affable bedside manner, usually so effective with humans, did nothing to ease the tension.

He finished calibrating the overhead ultrasound probe. Normally, he would have foregone such a complicated setup in favor of a good old-fashioned stethoscope—he trusted his own ears far more than a digital spectrogram of the audio—but in his efforts to go contactless, and therefore Vulcan friendly, he had opted for the OUP.

“Alright, Mr. Spock. Breathe in for me.”

The Vulcan complied. After a few moments of recording Spock’s breathing, McCoy studied the readout. The spectrogram’s pattern didn’t have any markers that raised a red flag. Mr. Spock was in possession of a perfectly healthy set of Vulcan lungs.

“Now we’re going to measure your heart rate.” He adjusted the OUP so that it was closer to Spock’s lower left side. “Lift your arm, please.”

Spock lifted his arm. McCoy’s mouth formed a thin line and he had to make a concerted effort not to frown. He hadn’t exactly been expecting resistance during this physical, but he also hadn’t been expecting Spock to be so unlike his usual, obstinate self. This coldly compliant side of the first officer was unsettling to say the least. He hadn’t realized just how expressive the non-expressive Vulcan had been up until this moment. 

“It’s really too bad your internal arrangements aren’t a little more normal,” McCoy commented. 

He winced internally when Spock’s stoic expression became even stonier—if that were possible—but it was too late to back out now. He had chosen his course and he would see it through. Call it intuition, but he just couldn’t shake the feeling that a little light-hearted ribbing might be just the thing to thaw out that cold-spell the Vulcan seemed to be under. He finished fiddling with the OUP’s placement under Spock’s arm and hoped to God he was right. 

“You might actually be able to convince folks you have a heart if it weren’t so blasted hard to find,” he continued.

If McCoy hadn’t been looking directly at him he might have missed the sudden, subtle quirk of Spock’s eyebrow. He retreated to look at the readouts and let Spock stew with that one for a minute. He felt sure his barb had hit its mark, but would it bear fruit or had he just gone one step too far?

He deliberately took longer to process this new spectrogram. When Spock still hadn’t said a word, he finally looked up, prepared to find an icily withdrawn Vulcan. Instead, he found Mr. Spock’s dark eyes on him. 

They were interrupted by the chirp of the intercom. “Kirk here. What’s the verdict, Bones? Do I get my first officer back?”

“Good news, Jim. He really does have a heart.”

Kirk laughed. “I could have told you that.”

“Not that it’s anywhere you’d expect it to be, which explains a thing or two. Besides that, I can’t find a thing wrong with him. He’s all yours.”

“Have him meet me in the shuttle bay. Scotty thinks he’s found something on our mystery woman.”

“Acknowledged, Captain. I shall be there momentarily.” Spock looked at McCoy. “As for my anatomy being different from yours, I am delighted.” 

His voice betrayed nothing, but his dark eyes were no longer guarded. Instead, they were curiously bright and the corner of his mouth quirked in an expression McCoy might have labeled as sass if he hadn’t been looking at a Vulcan. McCoy’s eyebrow rose.

“Of course you would be,” he muttered good-naturedly. “Now, get out of my exam room.”

— —

Bridge shift, take-two, hadn’t been nearly as exciting this time around, but Janice was fine with that. Flying at impulse power was always rather tedious, but she was fine with that too. The one thing that Janice hadn’t been fine with was the fact that she’d been put on helm-support, which meant she’d only gotten to be on helm during the moments Lt. Sulu was covering the conn for the captain. Granted, there had been quite a few of those. The captain kept running off to Sickbay or engineering.

One thing that had made everything better was the fact that her shift ended at the same time as the captain’s. She tried to remind herself to breathe normally as she stood next to him in the turbolift, but the radiating warmth that filled the space between them seeped into her thoughts. He offered her an amicable smile when she looked over at him. Her heart took it and ran.

Her brother and his friends were waiting for her on Deck 7. Tina’s eyes grew wide when she saw the captain in the turbolift with her. Janice shot her a look hoping that she would get the message and keep her mouth shut. If only she were so lucky.

“Captain Kirk! We’re getting drinks in the lounge. You should join us.”

Janice was mortified. “Tina!”

The captain laughed. “I’m flattered, Yeoman.”

“You can’t just ask the captain out for drinks,” Janice hissed.

Tina shrugged unapologetically. “I just did. And there aren’t any rules against the captain having a few drinks with his crew,” she said, turning to the captain.

“That’s right, but I’m afraid I’ll have to disappoint,” Kirk replied.

“Oh, you could never, sir.” Tina simpered. 

Janice wanted to melt into the floor and disappear. The venomous look she shot her friend was unabashedly returned with a smile.

“Eddie.” Janice protested to her brother.

He did his best to hide his grin but he began to shepard Tina away.

“Bye, Captain. You’re always welcome at our table.” Tina threw over her shoulder.

Her friends passed by Dr. McCoy in the hallway as he made his way to the lift. Janice knew if she was going to apologize it had to be now. She was sure her cheeks were bright red, but she forced herself to look the captain in the eye. 

“I’m so sorry about that, sir.”

“That’s alright, Lieutenant. We can’t always be responsible for who our friends are.” 

Janice would have been mortified all over again if, at the last moment, she hadn’t realized that the captain was directing this particular quip in Dr. McCoy’s direction. She drew in a deep breath and decided to scrape herself off the floor.

“Thank you, Captain.”

“Thank your friend for her kind offer.” 

“Oh, I’m not so sure that would be a good idea, sir. She might get it into her head that she should keep inviting you.”

“Then I’ll just have to join you next time. Goodnight, Lieutenant.”

“Goodnight, sir,” She managed to stutter out before the doors closed.

Janice stood staring at the lift for a good few seconds after it departed. She was still moving through a gilded haze when someone called her name. The bubble burst the moment she saw Joe. Her friends were waiting for her and here she was with her head stuck in the stratosphere. She quickly got a hold of herself.

“You didn’t have to wait for me,” she told him.

He shrugged. “I wanted to.”

They walked quietly through the halls. She could sense an odd tension on Joe’s part. He spoke before she could think of something interesting to say.

“I’d like to ask you on a date.”

The words died on her tongue. She opened and closed her mouth trying to think what to say. “Joey, I’m flattered…” she trailed off.

After a moment he asked, “Is it the captain?”

She laughed but it came out hollow. “What gives you that idea?”

“I’m not as dense as you think.”

“Joe,” she said reproachfully. “I don’t think you’re dense.”

“No,” he agreed. “You just aren’t interested in me.” She opened her mouth to protest but he shrugged a shoulder. “It’s alright, Janice. You don’t have to make excuses.”

They were both quiet as they neared the lounge. Joe stopped at the threshold and Janice pivoted to look at him.

“Aren’t you coming?”

A shake of his head set his brown curls dancing. “Make my excuses to Eddie and Tina, would you?”

She nodded.

“Goodnight, Janice.”

“See you around, Joey.”

She watched him go, feeling an uncomfortable sort of feeling settle into the pit of her stomach. She didn’t like hurting people, or disappointing them for that matter. But this was Joe. He was the most sensitive, understanding person she knew. He’d get past it. Right?

— —

Dr. McCoy turned his sharp blue gaze onto Kirk the moment the turbolift doors slid shut. A single quirk of his eyebrow would’ve conveyed volumes to his old friend, but Kirk wasn’t looking at him. Instead, the captain was staring off into space.

“What was all that about?” McCoy asked with more than a little amusement.

“Oh, just some of the crew wanting to get drinks.”

“Was that Tina Lawton I saw? It’s good to see she’s feeling like herself again.” McCoy noticed Kirk’s look of puzzlement. “Her hormonal therapy was giving her a rough go of it for a while there,” he offered by way of explanation.

“Ah, yes.” Recollection lit Kirk’s eyes. He grinned. “She definitely seems to be feeling better now.”

They rode in silence both deep in thought.

“We’re in the briefing room.” McCoy looked at his friend. “That’s on deck three. So, what brought you from the bridge all the way down to deck seven?”

There was a flash of hazel as the captain looked at him and then away. “I thought I’d keep you company on the ride up.”

“How considerate,” McCoy said dryly. He paused for a moment. “That Lieutenant Rand is a very handsome woman. A woman like that would turn anybody’s head.”

“It’s nothing like that.” It was a flat statement rather than a protest. 

McCoy might have believed him if he hadn’t known his friend so well. “No shame in it if it was. There’s nothing wrong with appreciating a little beauty. Unless, of course, it becomes a distraction.”

“Preaching to the choir, Bones.”

“I know, Jim, but it’s my job to know where your head’s at. Consider this a welfare check.”

The captain nodded and—smiling self-deprecatingly—made a hand motion that conveyed a similar sentiment. McCoy had long ago learned that these non-answers were more telling than any verbal response.

He pressed further. “Is there anything I should know about?”

Kirk laughed, more as an emotional release than from any actual amusement.

“No,” he said. “I mean, it’s flattering. Knowing that someone looks up to and admires you. But I’m the captain. Like you said, I can’t afford distractions. Not when I’m beholden to an entire ship and crew.”

There was a sense of deeper meaning in the captain’s response. He doubted that Jim recognized it himself. He considered his next words carefully.

“You’re also human,” he told his friend. “If you ever need to get something off your chest, there’s nothing wrong with letting an old friend help lighten your emotional load.”

Jim offered him a quiet smile. “And some day, I might take you up on it.”

McCoy opened his mouth and then hesitated. As much as he hated the vagueness of that statement, some day was better than never and he felt he’d reached the limit of how far he could push his friend. He shut his mouth.

Those hazel eyes turned on him. “The same goes for you, Bones. If you ever need to talk, my door is always open.”

McCoy laughed and patted himself under the chin with the back of one hand. “With this mug? I don’t think I’m in any danger of getting distracted. You don’t exactly have to beat them off me with a stick.”

That earned him a smile, but then Kirk grew serious. “We haven’t talked about M-113 outside of the facts listed in our report. I’m serious, Bones. If you ever need to talk about what happened.”

McCoy nodded soberly. He wanted to retreat into himself and curl around that raw hurt that ached in the pit of his chest. He didn’t want to be open or vulnerable or any of it. He just wanted to hide. But hadn’t he just gotten done telling Jim that there was nothing wrong with letting a friend take some of that emotional burden? And yet he still wasn’t ready to talk about it. Somewhere, there was a balance—if only he could find that fine thread of a line—between taking the time he needed and accepting a hand outstretched.

“I— Someday, Jim. When I’m ready.”

His friend nodded, knowing that was all McCoy was able to offer him in this moment.

Chapter Text

Mr. Scott and Mr. Spock were waiting for them in the briefing room when Dr. McCoy and the captain arrived. The chief engineer had already broken open a bottle of scotch and was pouring himself a generous glass.

“I’ll take one of those too,” McCoy told him.

“Make that three,” Kirk added.

Spock raised a subtle eyebrow but McCoy didn’t care. A bottle of scotch shared amongst friends was the perfect way to usher in the end of a very long day.

He plopped down in his usual spot and set his drink on the table. The others quickly followed suit. There was a universal sigh of relief as his friends relaxed into their seats, all except Mr. Spock whose back never seemed to touch a chair if he could help it.

The first officer began to take out and set up a chess board, piece by piece, from the black velvet bag he’d brought with him. How anyone could focus on a game of three-dimensional chess and still carry on a conversation let alone participate in a debriefing was beyond McCoy, and yet somehow that’s just what the captain and his first officer were able to do. He shook his head and rested his cheek on one fist.

Kirk, who had been slouching in his chair and swiveling it gently from side to side, leaned forward and placed his elbows on the table.

“Alright, fellas. Let’s get this started before the good doctor nods off.”

McCoy blinked his eyes open and lifted his head. He hadn’t even realized he’d shut them. He shrugged and gave Kirk a tired smile. “Sorry, Jim.”

Straightening, he folded his hands and began.

“Both of the women we recovered today are stable. Commander Percy is on strict bed rest until her levels are back to normal. She’s already well on her way to a more appropriate hemoglobin count. Surgery on her neck was successful but she’s not to talk until her vocal cords are properly healed. I expect a full recovery. As for our mystery woman—“

“About that,” Kirk interrupted. “Scotty found some ID tags when he was going over her ship.”

“Aye. And there were over a dozen of them at that. But Mr. Spock and I think we’ve got her pinned down alright. Harcourt Fenton Mudd. Not a name you’d expect for a young lady, but she’s a rather unexpected sort of person.”

McCoy frowned. “Can we really know for certain which of those dozen names is her real one?”

“Yes, with almost 97 percent certainty,” Spock said, his voice uncharacteristically tight. When McCoy glanced at him there was the barest hint of a furrow in the Vulcan’s brow.

McCoy narrowed his eyes. “How?”

Spock paused in the middle of moving a black rook and lowered it, clasping the chess piece firmly in both hands. McCoy thought he could see faint threads of tension in the lines of the first officer’s face.

“I cross-referenced the IDs with the ship’s computers. After analyzing the number of hits each ID generated as well as the type of incidents recorded, I isolated the main set of data points from the outlying variables and was able to determine, through—“

McCoy waved a hand. “Alright, alright, Mr. Spock. I should never have doubted you. So, her name is Harcourt.”

“I believe she goes by Hari,” Spock said. There was a decisive clink of glass on glass as he placed the rook.

“Hari, then. But who exactly is this Hari person and what was she doing on Psi 2000?”

“We won’t know until we question her, but she has a rap sheet a mile long,” Kirk said.

Mr. Scott began rattling off the charges. “Smuggling, scavenging in restricted space, theft of a cargo vessel, the transport of stolen goods, impersonating a Starfleet captain, counterfeiting—“

Kirk cut him off. “We get the picture. The point is— Wait, which captain—? Not the point.“ He stopped himself with a decisive wave of one hand. “The point is, a dangerous and wanted criminal who not only kidnapped Dr. McCoy but also threatened his life was caught fleeing from Psi 2000 with an injured commander in tow and planning to do who knows what. I need answers.”

“That dangerous and wanted criminal suffered a concussion severe enough to cause potential short-term memory loss, not to mention the extensive bruising she sustained from the safety harness. I don’t care what she’s done, Jim, she still needs time to recover.“

“When she recovers enough to hold a conversation—“

“You will be the first to know,” McCoy agreed.

“Good.” Kirk nodded. “But I want that conversation well before we reach the Antares, I don’t care what state she’s in. I need to know exactly what we’re walking into.” He turned to Mr. Scott. “Speaking of, what’s our status?” 

The Scotsman shook his head. “We’ve done a general sweep and the best I can figure: the strain on the Enterprise blew a conduit somewhere. We’ll have to keep her on impulse power until my engineers can do a complete overhaul of her entire warp complex.”

“How much time is that going to cost us?” Kirk asked.

  “The good news, we’ll make it to Psi 2000 within the next eighteen hours.”

McCoy spoke wryly, “Why does it sound like there’s a but in there somewhere?”

Scotty shifted in his chair uncomfortably.

“What is it, Mr. Scott?” Kirk’s voice was firm.

“Well, there’s a strong possibility her engines will need a bit of a cool down once we get there.”

The captain frowned. “A cool down?”

“I’m sure it’s nothing, but on the off chance it is something—”

“Mr. Scott, cut to the chase,” Kirk commanded.

“Well, sir, the Enterprise will have to be completely powered down. We won’t have use of her engines for at least a couple of hours.”

McCoy sat up. “We’ll be sitting ducks, you mean.”

Mr. Spock interrupted tersely, “Hardly, Doctor. We shall still have full access to all of our defensive systems.”

“I suppose that’s alright then,” McCoy said evenly, not wanting to start anything.

He slouched into his chair again and began absentmindedly spinning his tumbler of scotch on the table as he inconspicuously studied the first officer. The glass made a satisfying, rhythmic scraping and its cool touch felt good against the pads of his fingers. Spock’s hands were clasped on the table in front of him, but McCoy didn’t miss the pale knuckles or the way his fingertips bit into the back of his hands. His calm impassivity was woven through with a subtle cord of tension.

“Aye, it shouldn’t be anything to worry about. If we do encounter hostiles the Enterprise is more than capable of holding her own even powered down,” Scotty was saying proudly.

“It’s unlikely we would encounter hostiles around Psi 2000. It’s neutral territory and not exactly prime real-estate,” Kirk said, considering his next move. “Its harsh arctic environment has seen to that.”

“Commander Percy’s attackers sure seemed interested in the planet, or at least the scientists living on it,” McCoy pointed out. “Why would anyone want to target a research base out in the middle of nowhere anyway?”

“More importantly, why didn’t the Antares see the threat, or the ion storm, coming? Their sensors should have warned them,” Kirk said, cornering Mr. Spock’s king. “Check.”

Mr. Spock studied the three dimensional chessboard as he spoke, “Their long range sensors would have picked up any inbound ship as long as the vessel did not warp in on the planet’s opposing hemisphere—directly opposite the Antares.”

“Why’s that?” Kirk asked.

“The nature of Psi 2000’s atmosphere is such that detecting anything counter-orbit, or even down on the planet’s surface, is impossible.”

The captain folded his arms across his chest. “So that atmospheric interference prevented the Antares’ sensors from picking up on the ion storm.”

Spock removed his king from danger. “Most likely, yes.”

Kirk frowned. “Which also means a ship could have arrived, undetected.”

McCoy, who had been listening, eyes closed, drink untouched, opened his eyes. “But when? As soon as someone arrived and started attacking the research base, the scientists on the ground would’ve sent up a distress signal to the Antares. And Commander Percy would’ve known about it.”

“Not if the scientists couldn’t get to their communications array in time,” Kirk told him. 

“If the attackers took out the comms at the base first, they could’ve hunkered down on the planet for days before the storm and the Antares would’ve been none the wiser,” Scotty said.

Spock raised an eyebrow. “That is unlikely. If daily communication from the base had ceased it would have been noted by the commander and crew onboard the Antares.”

Kirk placed Mr. Spock’s king in check again. “Alright, so if anyone did arrive undetected and took out comms, it would have to have been just before the storm or earlier that same day. Check.” He leaned back in his chair, stretching his legs out in front of him, and watched as Spock removed himself from danger once more. “Lieutenant Uhura, as of yet, has been unable to raise the research base, but we can’t know if it’s because of damaged comms or residual interference from the ion storm.”

“Wouldn’t the planet’s unique atmosphere cause interference too?” McCoy asked the first officer. The Vulcan’s mind was elsewhere. “Mr. Spock?”

Spock lifted his head and then seemed to come back to the present. Kirk noticed and glanced at McCoy but didn’t say anything. 

The first officer considered the question before speaking. “The nature of the planet’s atmosphere only interferes with sensors and transporter beams. However, the Antares itself acted as an amplification relay for the base’s weaker, planetary communications.“

“And now that the Antares has been compromised by the electrical storm we can’t raise the base until we’re closer,” Kirk said, leaning forward. 

“Indeed,” Spock agreed, watching as his king was cornered a final time.

“Checkmate.” The captain spoke low, frowning slightly.

“However, all of this is pure conjecture without more information,” Spock pointed out. 

He conceded his king to Kirk. With the game finished, he began collecting pieces from the board and returned them, one-by-one, to the black velvet bag.

“Agreed. We won’t know what’s what until we get there,” Kirk said, leaning back and sighing in frustration. “Worst case scenario, if there is danger, hopefully the scientists hole up in their base and wait it out. They knew we were on our way. They’ll know we’re coming for them. They just have to hold out long enough for us to get there.”

— —

The captain stretched lightly and got to his feet indicating that the meeting was over. Spock dropped the last chess piece into the velvet bag and drew it closed. He clasped his hands firmly around it and focused on the way it felt against his fingers. Scotty threw back the last few dregs from his glass and gathered his bottle of scotch, nodding to the others as he left. The doctor, too, rose with a quiet murmur of farewell and exited close on the engineer’s heel. There was a tired hitch to his step as he went. 

Captain Kirk drew Spock aside as the others left the briefing room. 

“Something on your mind, Mr. Spock?” he asked.

Spock turned to face his captain when all he really wanted was the peaceful solitude of his quarters. Earlier in the debriefing he had become aware of a sudden, unexpected acceleration in his heart rate and an increase in his blood pressure both seemingly without cause. Normally, this would not have been of much concern except for the fact that Spock was now struggling to regulate these changes in the usual manner. His body was not responding to his mental prompts. The last thing he wanted was to explain all this to Kirk.

“No, Captain,” he said.

Kirk narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. “Do you know why I like chess, Commander?”

Spock waited, knowing a rhetorical question when he heard one.

“It’s like a conversation. Just one game can communicate volumes without either of us having exchanged a single word.”

The look Kirk gave him was meaningful, but the captain hadn’t asked him a question and so he offered no information. He knew Kirk suspected that he had not played at his best tonight, and he hadn’t, but he had no answers for him. Whatever this was he could not discover its source without meditating. There was nothing the captain could do for him and so there was no point in discussing it now. Kirk was studying him, his gaze piercing, as he weighed something in his mind. His golden eyes weren’t unkind. Spock remained stubbornly silent.

“The king might be the most valuable piece on the board, but I’ve never won a game without my queen. I would be a fool to blunder her.”

“Captain?”

“Get some rest, Mr. Spock. I expect this crew firing on all cylinders tomorrow. People are counting on us.”

“Yes, sir.”

Back in his quarters, Spock didn’t bother changing out of his uniform before sinking to the ground in the cross-legged loshiraq pose and launching himself into meditation. He brought his hands level with his chest, fingertips touching, and formed the First Symbol by creating two interlocking rings with the thumb and little finger of each hand. He breathed in slowly to the count of eight heart beats and then, without pausing, exhaled fully to the count of eight. He did this, focusing on those moments in his life when he had been the most in control of his emotions: walking out of the Vulcan Science Academy after refusing their acceptance, the argument with his father after Sarek had discovered he intended to join Starfleet, that day in the transporter room when Christine had left for her internship with Dr. Korby.

This shallower form of meditation allowed his sympathetic system to calm itself and as it did so he was able to slip into a deeper meditation, one where he could easily assess what was happening within his body. His heart rate returned to its natural rhythm, his breathing calmed, and the cocktail of chemicals swirling inside his brain dissipated. He still didn’t know what had caused the initial release of catecholamines, but they were easy to regulate after he had pinpointed them as the source of the problem. His apprehension subsided along with his physical symptoms. He meditated a while longer, making certain that everything was as it should be, before changing out of his uniform and going to bed.

That night he dreamt of the great tree. It was a dream that had often troubled him as a child but this was the first time he’d had it in years. It always began in the same way: with the tree and the body that hung in its branches. Sometimes the body was Spock’s and he would gasp and struggle until he found himself awake, tangled in his bedsheets. Sometimes the body was the shriveled figure of an ancient Vulcan, the Nameless One, killed by his brother before time began and strung up to die at the center of the world. Spock knew it was him even before the darker versions of the dream came. The ones where he had to watch helplessly as ket-cheleb the Destroyer silently stalked his brother; coming up behind him in an empty field and dashing out his brains. 

Spock hated that version of the dream, but he feared the other version even more—the one where he was the figure kneeling in the field. No matter how hard he tried he could never turn his head, never get to his feet, never cry out. He would remain frozen, listening as ket-cheleb crept up behind him—the smell of his blood-soaked robes filling his nostrils—waiting for the fatal blow to fall. Sometimes when ket-cheleb struck him he would wake but more often he did not. Ket-cheleb would drag Spock as he struggled futilely against him to the great tree where he would string him up by the neck and leave him to die, his life-blood slowly draining from his body. But the worst part was when Spock would wake full of hot rage, tears streaming down his face, clawing at anything within his reach. His body would burn with shame in those moments knowing that he had allowed ket-cheleb and his festering anger to win once again.

Tonight, the body in the tree was not his own. It was the shriveled figure of that ancient, nameless Vulcan gently swinging in a breeze Spock could not feel. At his approach the figure lifted gnarled hands, its fingers splayed in warning. Its mouth opened, a yawning chasm, black against the pallor of its skin. Spock felt the fine hairs on the back of his neck rising as if heralding the approach of a great storm. A harsh, desert wind rose suddenly against him and he could hear the dry rasp of a whisper within it.

Au betau.

He approaches.

— —

There was an electronic buzz as the overhead lights on the bridge flared and then dimmed before returning to their standard brightness with a high pitched whine. Janice glanced over at navigation where Lt. Riley was just starting to run an energy diagnostic when the lights went out with a pop. The dim glare of the emergency lights flared to life in their place.

The captain pounded the intercom button with the heel of one hand. “Mr. Scott, why is my ship running on emergency power?” he asked, his tone sharper than usual.

“Sorry, Captain,” came the engineer’s hurried reply. “Her engines needed cooling off sooner than I thought. She didn’t give me any warning. I had to power them down immediately.”

“How long?” Kirk demanded.

“At least a couple of hours while I make the adjustments, sir.”

“Get it done.”

“Aye, sir.”

Kirk pounded the intercom off. He sat back in his chair and rubbed one hand over his chin. There wasn’t much they could do while the Enterprise was powered down. Janice and Lt. Riley both turned in their chairs toward the captain. He glanced their way and Janice could have sworn his eyes lingered on her, but it was just wishful thinking—wishing on stardust and moonlight her nan would have said. Kirk straightened. 

“It’s practically end of shift,” he announced. “All non-essential personnel are dismissed. And I expect all of you to put this extra time to good use.”

All non-essential personnel in a situation like this would leave just Kevin Riley, the captain, and herself on the bridge. Lt. Riley shifted in his seat. He watched longingly as the rest of the crew began to file onto the lift. The captain noticed his expression.

“Alright, Navigator, you too,” Kirk told him.

Riley looked up at the captain in hopeful surprise and Kirk nodded at him. He eagerly joined lieutenants Brent and Leslie at the turbolift bantering with them as they waited their turn.

Janice sensed the captain as he moved to stand next to her. She risked looking up at him. He was staring at the viewscreen, arms folded across his chest, lost in thought. He felt her watching him and turned his head to gaze down at her. She didn’t look away and neither did he. She counted three breaths before he spoke.

“I can handle it from here, Lieutenant. You’re free to go with the others, if you like.”

“Thank you, sir.” 

She rose from her seat but hesitated. His back was to her now as he moved in front of the helm closer to the viewscreen. She knew she should leave. She knew that there was a certain, unspoken protocol that they were supposed to be following. But the captain had—inexplicably—ended a shift early and the soft hiss of the turbolift told her that it was just the two of them on the bridge now—unheard of—and he hadn’t ordered her to leave. In fact, his voice had been soft as he spoke that last sentence to her, his gaze lingering on hers, and she couldn’t make herself believe she’d been imagining things this time. Still she hesitated, afraid to move or even breathe lest she was wrong and she broke the magic spell they seemed to be under. Even the air on the bridge seemed to be suffused with magic. It was eerily quiet. She had never seen the bridge this dark or empty before. It felt strange as if she were floating in a surreal state of twilight. Here and there, lights glinted at her from where they lay scattered across the consoles illuminating the gloom like neon stars. Kirk stood—a silent sentry—silhouetted against the viewscreen and its landscape of stars. He turned his head. His strong jaw and the line of his profile stood out in relief. She watched fascinated by the graceful movements of his mouth as he spoke.

“Beautiful isn’t it?”

She moved as if in a trance to stand beside him. He was looking at the viewscreen again, its soft glow illuminating his features: the curve of his brow, his chin, those long lashes, the bow of his mouth. Her eyes lingered there, snapping up to his eyes only when he turned to look at her. The air between them felt electrified. She couldn’t seem to remember how to breathe. His eyes were bright when he looked at her but as she watched his brow furrowed and he turned back to the viewscreen before she could read his expression.

She tried not to let her heart sink. She turned instead to look at the field of stars before them. Her knuckles accidentally brushed the back of his hand as she did so. Her heart lurched into her throat and she imagined him pulling away, the spell broken, as he shrugged back into the guise of captain—a role he seemed to have discarded for the moment. But he didn’t draw back. Their hands hung there in the space between them, a small spark of connection in a sea of darkness.

When she looked up at him he was staring at her. A lock of hair had fallen across his brow and she longed to reach up and smooth it back into place. She wanted to feel the silken touch of it soft beneath her fingers. How many times had she wished for this moment? How many times had she daydreamed about that exact look in those hazel eyes? How long had she secretly hoped he felt the same? It took every ounce of will-power she had to stay in place. He was her captain. There were rules against this. She knew she should pull away but she couldn’t. His eyes and that single point of warmth between them where their hands touched pinned her in place.

“I should go,” she whispered. 

She hadn’t known she was going to speak until the words were on her lips. She dared the faintest brush of her knuckles across the back of his hand before drawing away. He caught her hand in his and she froze, not daring to hope. His fingers ran up the side of her arm and gently gripped her shoulder. Heat flushed across her skin in its wake. He leaned in and for one heady moment she thought he was going to kiss her, but he didn’t. She felt the brush of his cheek against hers. He was so close she could smell the clean, warm scent of his hair. Then his grip on her shoulder tightened and she thought she could feel him trembling slightly. Concerned, she lifted her hands to his elbows. In that same moment he leaned forward and she felt the barest whisper of a kiss as his mouth found the curve of her neck. It surprised her.

“Captain,” she gasped.

She hadn’t meant to. She regretted it the instant the word left her mouth. He dropped his hand and drew back. She was left feeling cold and uncertain as the space grew between them. His head was bowed, long lashes fanned out over his cheeks, but she could still see the pained expression on his face. He lifted his gaze to hers and a lonely ache filled her chest. What was it like to be captain? To touch so many lives and yet never be able to walk among them as an equal, always held above, always held apart.

The chirp of the intercom echoed through the bridge like a shot. She jumped.

“Dr. McCoy to the bridge.” 

Kirk straightened, slipping all the way back into the role of captain. When he turned to answer it she fled to the turbolift, their eyes meeting briefly as the doors closed. There was something unreadable in his gaze. Her heart sank with the lift and her mind was left reeling.

— —

McCoy drummed his fingers nervously on his desk as he waited for Jim to walk through his door. Hari Mudd was awake. He didn’t think he was ready for what came next—the intense questioning, the barely restrained anger as Kirk interrogated her. The captain wasn’t one to let personal feelings get in the way, but he was a passionate man and there were times when it came close. McCoy was worried this was going to be one of those times. Jim had sounded strange over the intercom. He stopped drumming his fingers and began to twist the delicate ring he wore on his little finger, sending up a short prayer for strength as he worried the worn band of silver around and around.

A sudden commotion in the medbay had him on his feet and darting through the doorway into the next room. His heart clenched when he saw an angry Kirk stalking through Sickbay heedless of Nurse Chapel’s attempts to divert him. She cast Dr. McCoy a worried look and he motioned to her indicating that she should leave the captain to him.

“Jim.”

He fell into step beside the captain. Kirk spared him a glance but maintained his grueling pace.

“Where is she, Bones?” 

His voice was warning as if he suspected the doctor of hiding her from him on purpose. He noticed the security officer posted by one of the partitions and made a beeline for her, motioning for her to leave them. If Officer Ross was startled by the captain’s sudden entrance she did a good job of hiding it as she slipped away. McCoy intercepted Kirk before he could tug the partition aside. His friend gave him a dangerous look.

The doctor stood his ground. “You can’t bully the answers out of her, Jim.”

“Move aside.”

“If you badger her and she demands her right to legal council it’s over. We’ll be waiting to question her for days. You know that,” he said, speaking low and urgent. “Our best shot at getting answers is if she offers them willingly.”

Kirk made to step around him.

“It won’t help the Antares,” McCoy said, moving doggedly in front of him.

“Why are you protecting her?” It was a barely restrained snarl. 

“I’m not!” He looked around and lowered his voice. “She is our one shot at figuring out what’s happening on Psi 2000. Storming in there with a bone to pick not only jeopardizes our mission but it leaves us flying blind if you piss her off. Now, either you cool off or I will pull medical rank on you.”

They glared at each other neither one backing down.

“What’s a girl gotta do to get a bite to eat around here?”

Hari Mudd’s lilting voice called from the other side of the partition. McCoy folded his arms across his chest and continued glaring at Jim until the captain nodded his irritated assent. They stepped around the partition together and found Hari sitting upright on the biobed.

“Not to interrupt your pissing match but a girl can work up quite an appetite getting knocked about like that.”

Kirk ignored her faintly salacious tone. “You can eat once you’ve answered our questions,” he told her.

Hari made a clicking noise with her tongue. “Torture as an interrogation tactic. How archaic. And here I thought the Federation was past all that.”

Kirk launched into his questions with no preamble. “Why were you on Psi 2000? Who are your accomplices? What were you planning to do with Commander Percy?”

“Do with her? I was saving her life from your Federation’s so-called scientists.”

“Explain,” he demanded.

“Your oh-so-esteemed men of intellect grew tired of playing scientist and took it upon themselves to play at being brutes instead.”

“You’re lying.”

“Commander Percy did say she was attacked,” McCoy reminded Kirk quietly.

Kirk rounded on him. “You think Percy wouldn’t have recognized the other members of her own research team?” 

He practically spat the words. McCoy couldn’t help but flinch slightly. He’d never seen Jim like this. He’d seen him angry, sure, even outraged, but even in those moments Kirk had a steel-like restraint when a situation called for it. It was something that served him well as captain. There was no hint of that restraint now.

“The commander said it was dark,” McCoy continued, refusing to be cowed. He gestured to Hari. “Maybe she’s telling the truth.”

“You’d believe the word of a known liar and murderer?”

“I haven’t killed anyone,” Hari interjected icily.

Kirk was moving and before McCoy could even blink he had Hari by the throat. There was a sharp rap as her head made contact with the wall behind the biobed but other than a slight wince she continued to stare at Kirk defiantly.

“That certainly hasn’t stopped you from trying,” Kirk hissed, their noses inches apart.

“That’s enough.” 

The steel in McCoy’s voice cut through the room. Even Mudd, who had been unflappable up until now, looked over at the doctor in surprise. Kirk didn’t move, his eyes boring into Hari until McCoy gripped his elbow none too gently. He allowed the doctor to pull him back, never once taking his eyes from Hari Mudd. Dr. McCoy turned so he could speak near Kirk’s ear.

“Get out of my exam room.” He took a step back and looked at his captain. “Sir.”

For one tense moment no one moved. Then Kirk turned and stalked out the way he’d come. McCoy ran a hand through his hair and blew out a barely audible breath.

— —

“Sorry I’m late!” Uhura panted as she ran to catch up with Spock.

He turned and acknowledged her with a dip of his head. She was at his elbow looking up at him flushed and breathless. Her spiraling green hoops flashed in the low glare of the emergency lights. She hooked an arm through his, something she only did when they were off-duty, keeping the fabric of their sleeves between them. For his comfort she was careful not to touch his skin and for his part he tolerated this expression of human affection because of their friendship. Out of the entire crew currently on board the Enterprise he had known Nyota Uhura and Christine Chapel the longest.

“We’d better hurry,” she told him, her eyes bright with amusement. “Kevin Riley has started in on his third rendition of I’ll Take You Home Again, Kathleen. Tina Lawton messaged me begging us to come and save them.”

Spock lifted an eyebrow but made no comment. True to her word, as they approached the officer’s lounge he could make out the reedy alto of Lt. Riley’s singing voice. The lounge itself was darker than usual but someone had taken great pains to replicate several dozen candles and glass jars and had placed them around the room. Nyota drew in a wondering breath.

“It looks so mysterious and romantic,” she murmured. 

The candles gilded her dark eyes and touched her features with a golden hue. Spock could admit it was an interesting atmospheric effect and not a version of the lounge he had seen before, but he found it an impractical aesthetic on a starship. Nyota looked up at him concern furrowing her brow. 

“Will you be able to play in this light?”

“It will not affect my ability,” he assured her.

Lt. Riley held a final note stretching out the word home as far as it would go. He finished with a flourish to a polite but subdued scattering of applause.

“And now, for my next number—” he began. Uhura hopped up onto the low dais and whispered in his ear. Riley nodded, relinquishing the stage. “Ladies and gentlemen, Lieutenant Uhura and Commander Spock,” he said, welcoming them with a wave of his arm.

The scattering of applause was slightly more enthusiastic this time. Nyota beamed at the crowd. “Thank you. That was Lieutenant Riley with his rendition of I’ll Take You Home Again, Kathleen.”

Spock stepped onto the dais and took up a seated position slightly behind and to one side of Nyota. She glanced at him and he nodded indicating to her that he was ready. He lifted the lute he carried into place and slid his fingers into their familiar positions on its strings. Uhura tapped her foot three times and he began. It was a ballad, one of Nyota’s favorites, and her voice slid easily through its melodies, full and rich and vibrant. Spock’s fingers danced through the harmony, the lute accentuating Uhura’s voice and complementing her vocal style.

They slipped through song after song the music unfurling beneath his fingers and its mathematical progressions unfolding in his mind. It was, in itself, a sort of meditation. He lost himself within it and it was only when the sounds of a small disturbance caught his ear that he brought himself out of it.

His fingers continued their familiar dance as his attention turned to the table nearest him. Yeoman Eddie Rand and Officer Joe Tormolen were standing in front of the booth conversing heatedly. Lt. Rand and Yeoman Lawton watched from where they sat, their eyes wide as they looked between the two men. 

“Joey. Eddie. Please,” Janice said.

At that moment Eddie punched Tormolen across the jaw. The science officer’s head snapped back with the impact but then he was pouncing on the younger man, pummeling him to the ground. Uhura stopped singing and the other officers in the lounge looked on in surprise as the two men wrestled. 

Spock was on his feet in an instant and Uhura abandoned the stage alongside him as they entered the fray. He pulled Tormolen off the blonde yeoman, bodily lifting him to his feet. He got an elbow to his gut for his troubles and he suddenly found himself working hard to maintain his rigid emotional control as his heart rate spiked with his breathing. A swirl of catecholamines saturated his brain like vibrant drops of ink billowing through clear water. Eddie leapt forward and tried to get at Joe as Spock held him. The first officer tried to ward off the attack but he had his hands full with Tormolen and his focus was divided. By this time, Janice was on her feet and she and Uhura were trying to hold Eddie back but Nyota was knocked to the floor. It wasn’t until Lt. Riley joined them that the two officers could be fully separated. It was then that the captain swept into the room. Silence settled over the lounge and no one dared to move.

“What’s going on here, Mr. Spock?”

“A skirmish, sir.” He managed to keep the heat from his voice.

“And why is there a skirmish happening on my ship?” The captain looked at the two disheveled officers who were staring sullenly at the ground. “My office. Now,” he ordered. “Mr. Spock, see to the rest.”

“Yes, Captain.”

Spock put a hand to his lip and his fingers came away stained with green. Lt. Tormolen must have hit him with the back of his head in their struggle. He saw Janice helping Uhura to her feet. The communications officer winced as she tried to put weight on her right foot. Tina Lawton was straightening the table and retrieving the candle from where it had rolled. Spock felt the seed of anger bloom within his chest. Humans were so careless and cruel with their emotions, letting them run rampant, heedless of the cost to those around them.

“Mr. Riley, if you will see to the lounge, I will accompany Ms. Uhura to the medbay,” Spock ground out. 

His current inability to fully regulate his emotions was concerning, but he filed that thought away for later. He would need to address it soon but for right now he was functional—the meditation last night had helped despite the disturbing dreams that followed. He had responsibilities to consider and assisting Nyota to Sickbay was one of them. She had twisted her ankle in her tumble to the ground and it was showing signs of swelling. Spock offered her his arm to lean on as they walked and she gratefully accepted. Lt. Janice Rand insisted on accompanying them.

“It’s my fault, I’m so sorry Uhura.”

“Your fault? You didn’t have anything to do with it,” Nyota told her kindly.

Lt. Rand pressed her lips together. She hovered next to Uhura, trying to offer her support. 

Nyota sighed. “I thought those two were thick as thieves. What’s gotten into them anyway?”

“They were fighting about me.” Janice’s voice was small.

“Oh,” Nyota breathed out. She cast Janice a sympathetic gaze. “Was it about what happened with Lieutenant Tormolen this morning?”

“Yes,” she said miserably. “It wasn’t a big deal, only Joe kept pushing it and Eddie was getting fed up. He told Joe that if I’d said no, which clearly I had, he’d better drop it or else he’d have to make him. Joe said he’d sure like to see Eddie try. I’ve never seen them get so heated with each other before. Sure, they argue, but full on fist-fight? Never.”

Uhura glanced at Spock. “You’d better fill in Mr. Spock. Tell him what happened this morning.”

Janice groaned and covered her face with her hands. She was clearly feeling distressed about the situation and, if he read her expression correctly, perhaps a little embarrassed, but after her brief display of emotion she straightened and turned to face him, setting her jaw in determination.

“Joe Tormolen asked me out last night and when I turned him down he took it in stride and I thought that was the end of that. Well, this morning he cornered me on my way to the bridge and began badgering me about it. He wouldn’t take no for an answer and wanted to know why I wouldn’t even consider giving a decent guy like him a chance. When I kept refusing him, he—“ she trailed off. Uhura gave her an encouraging nod. The corners of Lt. Rand’s mouth drew downwards but she continued. “He called me a few choice names. He’s never done anything remotely like this before! Joey’s a sweet guy. I’ve never heard him so much as curse when he’s stubbed a toe, but today in the hallway— It was unsettling. I’m glad Lieutenant Uhura showed up when she did.”

“I told Tormolen to knock it off and he took off after that,” Uhura said.

“I told Eddie and Tina about it later and Eddie was just furious. He hopped right up and got in Joe’s face as soon as he came into the lounge and, well, you know the rest.”

“In future,” Spock said. “Such incidents should be reported immediately. That kind of behavior will not be tolerated.”

“I know,” Janice said helplessly. “It was so unlike Joey to do something like that. I didn’t want to get him in trouble.”

Spock nodded. He could see why she would be hesitant to report her friend, as illogical as it was. He paused, trying to collect his thoughts. The racing of his heart and the anger burning in his chest made it difficult. He continued to breathe deeply, trying to quell his discordant thoughts and regulate his body’s production of adrenaline but found that once again he could not. Obviously, there was something more going on here than he first realized and for now he could only suppress his feelings on a surface level. He didn’t have time to sit down and properly assess what was happening—yet. He made himself refocus on Lt. Rand. 

He said, “Regardless. You should have come forward. The commanding officers aboard this ship do not mete out unreasonable punishments. However, actions such as these require consequences. I can assure you the uncharacteristic nature of his actions will be taken into account.”

Janice nodded miserably. “Yes, sir.”

They were outside of Sickbay now. Nyota’s face was ashen and her mouth was etched with pain. She breathed a sigh of relief when she was finally able to sink into the padded comfort of a biobed and elevate her swollen ankle.

“Nyota, what happened?” Nurse Chapel was beside her friend almost immediately.

Uhura gave a weak laugh. “I tried to stop a fight.”

Spock, knowing that Nyota was in good hands, sat down nearby. He cleared his mind preparing for a light meditation—not nearly as effective, but usually adequate in its outcome and situationally appropriate. 

He found concentration difficult. Shattered. His beating heart was pounding too quickly to establish a proper meditation rhythm despite his attempts at soothing it with deep breathing. The adrenaline in his system wasn’t helping either. He could not get to the root of his regulation issue without meditating but he found he could not meditate without first solving his regulation issue. A paradox. One that would take more time and effort than he had at the moment, he realized with mounting frustration.

A pungent fragrance, both bitter and sweet, wafted over him and he became aware of someone standing above him. He knew it was Dr. McCoy without having to open his eyes. He had noticed the doctor’s new fragrance yesterday during his quarterly physical. He opened his eyes to find the doctor looking at him with some concern.

“You feeling alright, Mr. Spock? That’s a nasty cut you’ve got there. You didn’t get knocked in the head during that fight did you?”

Spock shook his head. “I do not believe so,” he told the doctor.

“Alright, well let me see to that lip.”

Dr. McCoy disappeared for a moment but quickly returned with his instruments and set to work. Spock noticed that the doctor seemed subdued. Usually, he kept up a light stream of chatter that was oddly soothing in its cadence and almost meditative. Now, the doctor remained silent as he worked. Spock felt the absence of his voice keenly. A meditative chatter would have been useful in breaking his paradox. However, there was something soothing about the pungent floral fragrance that clung to the doctor. It had a calming effect on his heartbeat and as his heart slowed he found that his ability to regulate his adrenal glands was returning as well. By the time the doctor was finished Spock’s natural cadence had been reestablished and the anger steadily burning its way through his chest had been extinguished.

“Sure you’re feeling alright?” Dr. McCoy asked again. “I could run some scans. Heck, I probably should run some just to be safe.”

Spock cut him off. “I am most improved. Thank you, Doctor.”

Dr. McCoy narrowed his eyes but nodded. He could tell by the way the doctor lingered that there was something more he wanted to say. He waited.

“Have you noticed anything off about Jim lately?”

Spock raised one dark eyebrow. “You will have to be more specific.”

Dr. McCoy huffed in frustration. “Has he seemed, I don’t know, angrier to you?”

Any reply Spock would have formulated was cut off by the entrance of Officer Ross.

“Sorry to bother you, Doctor, but there are reports of a disturbance in the rec center. I think you’d better get down to the sparring gym right away.”

“Thank you, Ross, I’ll head straight there.”

Spock fell into step beside Dr. McCoy who glanced at him but made no comment. They matched pace all the way to the sparring gym. He caught the faint murmur of the doctor’s grumble as they walked.

“Never a moment's peace.”

Chapter Text

McCoy’s nervous system hummed with anxiety. An ominous feeling had taken up residence in the pit of his stomach and it had only grown stronger with each passing moment. The scene that greeted them in the sparring gym did nothing to help ease that feeling.

Seeing members of the crew grappling on the mats wasn’t uncommon, but the all out-and-out brawl that was taking place between more than half a dozen men was a rare sight indeed. A scene that was made all the more bizarre by the pools of darkness and towering shadows cast by the emergency lights. It was the dim and gritty atmosphere of an old-Earth underground fight club. Fists flew, skulls knocked together, and McCoy could tell that there would be more than a few nasty bruises for his medical team to sort out before all was said and done. 

“What’s going on here?” he cried, but no one heard him over the din.

He tried to catch the attention of the officers closest to him but they were intent on exchanging blows. He had to stumble back before he got clipped himself. He felt a steadying presence at his back and then Mr. Spock was stepping around him and into the fray, pulling officers apart with his Vulcan strength and shouldering his way through the crowd. A ripple of uneasy stillness settled in his wake.

A figure materialized from the crowd, bare chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. It took a moment for Dr. McCoy to recognize his captain.

“What’s the meaning of this?” Kirk wanted to know.

“I could ask you the same thing, Jim. Last I checked the Enterprise wasn’t a fight club.”

Kirk laughed and wiped at his face with the back of one hand. “It’s just a little friendly competition, Bones. Nothing to get worked up over.”

McCoy felt a flash of indignation as he approached the captain. “Can I speak with you privately? Sir.”

Kirk flashed a smile around to the other officers. “Alright, boys. Go get yourselves cleaned up. The doctor would like a word with me.” 

He didn’t appreciate Kirk’s inflection, as if McCoy was a hovering nursemaid the captain had to appease. He also didn’t miss the captain’s amused eye roll. Kirk didn’t seem to care if the doctor noticed it or not. He grabbed a towel and draped it over his neck dabbing at his forehead with one end as he led McCoy and Spock into one of the private side rooms. 

“I’m not sure what the big deal is, Doc,” Kirk said. “Two of the guys were having a bit of a spat in the lounge. What better way to work it out than the sparring gym? Sure the rest of the fellas got a bit enthusiastic, but who doesn’t love a good brawl?”

“It’s irresponsible is what it is. You’re the captain for petesake.”

“Oh, come off it, Bones. We just wanted to let loose a little.“

“And starting a cockfight seemed like the best way to do that?”

“No one was seriously hurt. Besides, it wasn’t anything I couldn’t handle.”

“That you couldn’t handle, but what about your officers? Sturgeon’s face was a bloody mess and Crewman Green’s eye was so swollen shut I’ll be surprised if he can see out of it for the next week.” McCoy found Jim’s display of amused indifference troubling. “I’d like to check you over. Run some scans.”

Kirk’s mouth curled sardonically. “I’m fine, Doc, honestly. A man’s gotta be able to take a few jabs on the chin without making a fuss.”

Technically, McCoy didn’t have a reason for why he wanted Kirk to submit to a few scans other than an uneasy feeling. As CMO he could order the captain, but lack of any real evidence wouldn’t go over well in his medical reports to Starfleet. There was one other thing he could try. He hoped Jim’s sense of duty would prevent him from refusing a direct request. 

“Sir, I’m respectfully asking that you submit to a physical exam.”

“Denied. Your time is better spent fussing over people who actually need you.“

McCoy blanched. He felt like he was talking to a stranger. “Jim, I—”

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, Doctor, there’s a hot shower with my name on it,” Kirk told him, heading for the door.

McCoy looked to Mr. Spock who had been noticeably silent in their discussion. He wasn’t sure what he’d been hoping for—logical support of some kind he supposed, or maybe an argument that would make Kirk stay and listen to reason—but the Vulcan didn’t seem to be paying attention. His dark eyes were glassy and McCoy wasn’t even sure he’d been listening judging by the way he was staring vacantly into space. The knuckles on his hands were white from gripping the back of the chair he was standing behind and his normally rigid posture had slipped into an uncharacteristically curved hunching of his shoulders.

“Mr. Spock?”

He flinched when McCoy spoke as if the doctor had stung him. His chest rose and fell noticeably as if his lungs were struggling to pull in enough air. McCoy could see from across the room, even in this dimness, that his pupils were blown wide making his already dark eyes eerily black. Spock stared at him unseeing and then turned and ran. 

“Mr. Spock!”

McCoy gave chase but the Vulcan was surprisingly nimble. He lost him in the dark and twisting maze of the starship’s corridors. Panting and out of breath he returned to the stark brightness of the medbay unsure of what he should do next. Spock had looked intoxicated, but McCoy knew for a fact that he hadn’t been drinking. He had no way of knowing where Spock was and he was concerned that the Vulcan would be too stubborn to seek medical assistance even if he required it. On the flip side, he knew that if he put out an APB on the missing first officer he would risk losing what little trust he had gained. Damn Spock’s Vulcan pride and privacy. He wrestled with the decision but in the end felt his only option was to leave Mr. Spock to his own devices and hope that nothing was seriously wrong.

— —

Spock couldn’t remember ever feeling this angry. He slammed a fist into the bulkhead. It hurt, but he didn’t care. A choked roar ripped itself from his throat as he pounded against the wall with his hands again and again and again. He wanted to break something, to feel something splinter and smash beneath his hands. Part of him—the small part of his conscience that watched these proceedings with detached interest—told him to avoid the more personal belongings in his quarters. That part of his mind had very little control over his body right now but it did manage to steer him toward the more replaceable items furnishing his room.

Several chairs and a few torn cushions later he started to lose steam. It felt wrong, this wanton destruction, but it also felt good. That should have worried him but it didn’t. He knew he was supposed to be doing something to try and stem this tide of rage, but he found it difficult to care. The tiny part of his mind that still clung to logic found this breakdown of emotional control as fascinating as it was disturbing. He felt another strangled cry scrape his throat raw. He was running out of things to destroy. He needed something, anything, to help him regain control. The medbay and that soothing fragrance, that small, detached part of him whispered. He fought hard to hold onto that single thought.

— —

Janice looked at herself in the mirror. She studied her features: the clear blue eyes with their long lashes, the finely pointed brows framed by the pale-blonde feathering of her bangs, the high cheekbones and sculpted nose. Her gaze dropped to the curve of her neck where she felt the ghost of the captain’s whispered kiss still lingering on her skin. A flush of heat colored her cheeks. Tina always said she blushed the prettiest shade of pink. She felt ashamed of herself. It didn’t matter if Kirk did find her as attractive as she found him. He was the captain for goodness sake and she knew no amount of chemistry or desire could change that. They could never act on their feelings so why did she insist on torturing herself by indulging in that fantasy? She needed to get a grip and pull herself together. She looked in the mirror and jutted out her chin defiantly. She could best this.

The door to her quarters chimed.

“Come in,” she called.

Tina had said she’d drop by and keep her company after her shift in the science labs. They’d both been badly shaken by the boys’ fight and Joe’s sudden shift in demeanor. She heard the door open and close.

“I’ll be right out,” she said, making a few quick adjustments to her hair.

But when she stepped around the partition that divided her living and sleeping quarters it wasn’t Tina Lawton who she saw.

“Captain?”

His eyes were bright and a smile played around the corners of his mouth as he spoke, “I hope I’m not intruding.”

— —

As soon as he’d entered Sickbay Dr. McCoy had been called on to attend to one thing after another. First, it had been a deluge of officers from the sparring gym needing a bit of patching up. Officer Sturgeon’s cuts and bruises had taken the longest, but the captain had been right. No one had been seriously hurt. It irked McCoy to admit that. 

Next, he’d given Lt. Uhura’s sprained ankle a quick once over. The swelling was gone and the muscle therapy and anti-inflammation gel had made her ankle good as new. He had discharged her from Sickbay and was just sitting down for a quick bite to eat when Hari Mudd started complaining of a sharp pain in her side. Before he could prep her for a tomography scan he’d been called away to answer a comm from Mr. Scott. He’d left Nurse Chapel in charge of Hari’s scans. 

On the way to his office he made a long overdue stop to see how Commander Percy was doing but what he’d intended as a brief conversation turned into a rather lengthy discussion—assisted by padd—as he tried to reassure her that they were, in fact, doing everything in their power to reach her stranded crew.

By the time he finally sat down to talk with Scotty, Nurse Chapel had the results of Hari Mudd’s scans ready. He held up a hand to let her know that Mr. Scott had waited long enough as it was already. Christine looked worried and impatient but she didn’t object so he knew whatever it was she wanted to tell him about the scans would keep a little while longer. She didn’t hang around waiting for him to finish with his conversation. As head nurse she had pressing things of her own that needed seeing to. He would go and find her after he had talked to Scotty.

“Mr. Scott, sorry to have kept you waiting.”

“I’m just glad someone’s replied. The captain’s not answering comms and neither is Mr. Spock. Just what in the name of the wee man is going on around here?”

“I was beginning to wonder that myself.”

“Well, the engines are up and running again, I thought you’d like to know. I’m meant to be keeping an eye on them for a little while yet but since the first officer hasn’t shown up for his shift and I can’t seem to find hide nor hair of the captain I’m headed up to the bridge to take the conn myself. If you see either of those two lollygaggers tell them—” here Scotty cut himself off with a frustrated huff before continuing without the expletives that McCoy knew were on the tip of his tongue. “Tell them there’s enough going on in engineering as it is. I can’t very well go chasing after them at every drop of the hat.”

“I hear you, Mr. Scott,” McCoy began. 

He was interrupted by a commotion at his door. He looked up from where he stood by his desk into the burning eyes of Mr. Spock as the Vulcan came barreling into his office. Spock’s hands flew to his shoulders and McCoy found himself suddenly and forcefully shoved against the wall. His exclamation of protest died on his lips as the breath was knocked from his lungs. Spock’s grip was crushing, his fingers like steel cables digging into McCoy’s flesh, and the look in those dark eyes as he towered over him set his blood to curdling. Had Spock finally come to take his revenge for all those petty insults and unflattering jabs? He’d never expected the Vulcan to lose his cool this spectacularly. Clearly, he was about to get far more than he’d ever bargained for. 

He felt Spock’s burning hands move to close around his throat. He swallowed dryly, refusing to break eye contact with him. He told himself that he wasn’t afraid to die. If Spock was going to wring his neck he’d better hurry up and get it over with.

McCoy watched as Spock’s gaze dropped to his throat. He felt a sudden coolness as the collar of his shirt was turned out. He tried to peer down at the Vulcan’s hands without moving his head too much but he couldn’t make out what was happening. Spock leaned forward until his nose was almost resting against the doctor’s collarbone. His breath was hot against McCoy’s skin. The doctor held absolutely still, breathing shallowly as he tried to decide if he should risk speaking. Spock seemed frozen in place.

“Uh, Spock. What’re you doing?” he finally asked, a bit awkwardly.

Mr. Scott broke in from the intercom. “Doctor McCoy, is everything alright?” 

The doctor jumped. He’d forgotten that the Scotsman was still there. “Yeah, Scotty. I’m uh…I’m gonna have to call you back. Ah!” This last, quiet exclamation was because Spock, whose hands were still firmly fisted in the fabric of McCoy’s shirt, had begun to sink slowly to the floor taking the doctor with him. He felt crowded, pinned between Spock, the wall, and the floor. He put his hands on Spock’s shoulders. The Vulcan, his head still bowed, let himself be pushed upright but he didn’t relax his grip. 

McCoy watched him warily. Spock’s breathing calmed. For a while the only movement was his body slowly relaxing as the tension melted from his shoulders. His scorching heat, too, became a simmering warmth instead.

Finally, he spoke, his voice hoarse and rasping. “It was not my intention to accost you, Doctor. I am not myself.”

“No, I can see that,” McCoy told him, raising an eyebrow and then just as quickly dropping it into a frown again. “Can you— Are you able to tell me what’s causing your distress?”

“I do not know.”

He could tell it cost Spock, as a Vulcan and a man of science, to say those words.

“That’s alright. I can take a few scans, see what’s what.”

“I do not believe that you or the scans can be of any assistance in this matter.”

McCoy felt a small flash of anger. “Then why’d you come to me, Mr. Spock?”

“You are wearing a Borgia sprig.”

“That’s what you’re after, the Borgia? But why?” He couldn’t keep the surprise from his voice.

“Its fragrance…helps.” 

It was obvious that Spock wasn’t going to say more. 

McCoy studied him. “Alright, you can have it.”

Spock looked up, surprise and suspicion flitting across his features like ripples in a pond before his expression stilled. His hands were still buried in the fabric of the doctor’s shirt.

“You’ll have to let go so I can unpin it,” McCoy told him.

He could feel Spock’s tremors as he unclenched his fists. McCoy placed careful hands on the Vulcan’s forearms and gently pushed him away. His fingers were curled stiffly and Spock drew his shaking hands in to press them against his chest. The air felt chilled around McCoy in comparison to Spock’s heat. He looked down and fumbled with his collar. The sprig had dried out to the point of brittleness and as he worked it free of the pin it fell apart beneath his fingers. He swore softly. 

“It won’t take long, but I’m going to have to go get another sprig from my quarters. In the meantime, I’d like Nurse Chapel to run some scans. I know you don’t think they’ll help, but I’d like to see for myself.”

Spock was quiet. McCoy was mentally preparing an argument for why Spock should stop being a stubborn idiot and just agree when he finally spoke.

“I would request that you are the one who performs the scan.”

McCoy somehow managed to keep from gaping at him. “Well, I— I suppose I could ask Christine to get the Borgia.”

“That would be preferable.”

— —

Janice stared at the captain. Little pin pricks of feeling ran up and down her arms. Her heart fluttered in her chest. She had resolved to ignore these feelings but her attraction to him was making it difficult.

“Is there something I can do for you, Captain?”

“Jim will do here, Janice,” he told her. 

He stood facing one of her paintings. He turned his head slightly to look at her. The way his eyes narrowed at the corners reminded her of a cat’s. Janice tried to collect her thoughts, tried to think of something intelligent to say, tried not to stare. She failed at all three. He looked down, placing his hand decisively on a stack of books she’d left piled on her table. He picked one up and examined it as he made his way closer to her. She’d heard that he liked old-world books too. The part of her brain that wasn’t zeroed in on this moment idly wondered how many he had in his collection. His eyes met hers as he put it down.

“You’re too beautiful to ignore,” he murmured. “We’ve both been pretending too long. Let’s stop pretending.” He was in front of her now, taking her by the shoulders.

He kissed her. She’d known that he would and she hadn’t stopped him. Traitor, she told herself. She knew in her head that this was such a bad idea but he was kissing her, the captain was kissing her, and she couldn’t ignore the butterflies in her stomach or the warm insistence of his mouth on hers. It was sweet and intense and everything she’d hoped it would be. And still there was that niggling voice inside of her that refused to let her enjoy it. Sure, dating a commanding officer was against regulations, she told the voice, but she could transfer. There were plenty of other ships in the fleet. 

You’ve worked so hard to get here. Are you seriously considering throwing it all away on the off chance this man really wants to make a go of it? I give it less than a month. You’ve seen the way he lets work consume his life.

But he’s here right now, kissing me, in case you haven’t noticed, she argued.

Oh, right, yeah. And a single make-out session is a binding relational contract is it? Just because he likes you doesn’t mean he wants the same things as you.

You’re wrong, she told herself.

But the magic of the kiss was already fading for her. She tried to pull away but he wouldn’t let her. She squirmed in his grasp.

“You’re hurting me,” she protested against his mouth.

He relaxed his grip without releasing her, continuing to kiss her, his mouth insistent, demanding.

Captain, she tried to say. “Jim!”

Her door chimed.

“I have to answer it,” she managed.

He made an irritated hum in the back of his throat. “Ignore it.”

Janice tried for a breathless laugh. It came out more pained than she would’ve liked. “I can’t.”

“You can. It can’t be that important,” he said, shifting to press kisses along her jaw and neck. At least now her mouth was free.

“It might be Tina. She promised to stop by after her shift. I can’t leave her wondering.”

He made another irritated humming noise.

“I’ll just be a minute. I’ll tell her to come back later,” she said reassuringly. Her heart hammered in her throat and her palms were sweaty.

“Much later,” he finally said, stepping back.

A wave of relief crashed over Janice. She made herself smile at him, made herself walk to the door instead of running to it. She gulped down a shaky breath as it opened. 

Her heart sank. 

Joe Tormolen stood in her doorway. Tina Lawton was nowhere in sight.

— —

Spock lay on the biobed trying to sort through all the possible causes for his rage induced stupor while Dr. McCoy ran his scans. His body trembled as the massive amounts of adrenaline that had been pumping through his system dissipated. He felt shaky and weak. He didn’t like not knowing what was wrong—why his body had taken to randomly slipping outside of his control. There had to be answers, if only he could gather his scattered thoughts long enough to think back over the events of the past few days. Had it been something he’d eaten? But no, there had been nothing outside his usual strict diet that could have caused an imbalance. He worked hard to make sure he ate food that no longer caused him trouble and he would have remembered ingesting something new.

There had been nothing out of the ordinary in the science labs either. No contaminations or chemicals that he wasn’t already exposed to on a regular basis. Perhaps another form of exposure? If someone else had been in contact with something and then passed it on to him that could be one possible explanation. There was evidence to support this. He had been with the captain, Mr. Scott, and Dr. McCoy in the briefing room the first time his control had slipped. And then there was the incident in the lounge. None of the people present for the first instance were present for the second, but a majority of both groups had been together in the sparring gym. 

His train of thought was interrupted by Dr. McCoy.

“That’s odd,” he murmured looking at data from one of the scans. “Hang tight, Mr. Spock, I need to check something.”

He left, clutching the padd to his chest and muttering to himself.

Spock’s thoughts returned to the problem. His conversation with Lt. Rand came to mind as well as the moment in Sickbay when Dr. McCoy had expressed his concern over the captain’s temperament. If Lt. Tormolen, the captain, and Spock himself were all experiencing uncontrollable aggression—as their actions and the concerns of others who knew them well seemed to indicate—then it seemed logical that their lack of control had a similar root cause.

Spock looked up as the privacy screen around his biobed was pulled to the side. It was Nurse Chapel holding a Borgia sprig. She suddenly seemed uncertain.

“Doctor McCoy said you needed this. He…wants you to pin it to your collar?” 

She phrased it like a question, as if she wasn’t sure she’d understood Dr. McCoy’s instructions correctly. Spock sat up and she held it out to him. Their fingers brushed as he took it from her and he could sense her concern intertwined with caution. He tried to keep his hands from shaking, but even as a Vulcan he couldn’t keep the aftershocks of his earlier deluge of adrenaline from showing. Without saying anything Christine offered him her hand, palm up. She kept it there between them, waiting as he made his decision. He finally reached out and dropped the Borgia into her palm. 

They hadn’t been this close since before she’d left for her internship with Dr. Korby. He tried not to think about it, but—maybe it was his weakened state, maybe it was her closeness to him as she carefully pinned the Borgia—he couldn’t stop the memories as they came flooding back to him.

He had set aside his logic, his Vulcan-ness, in order to pursue her. He’d thought that was what he wanted, what they both wanted, but he’d been young and naive and just when it had mattered the most she’d left him without a second thought. It hurt him deeply at the time. When Christine had returned their interactions had been stilted. She’d tried to make amends and he’d accepted, but he’d kept her at arms length ever since; something he knew that cut her deeply. It wasn’t that he disliked her, it was just that he had moved past any emotions—negative or otherwise—concerning her altogether. He held no strong emotion for anyone.

The partition was pulled further aside and Dr. McCoy abruptly came into view. “I may have found something. I’m not sure what it means yet, but there’s a microbe in your system that wasn’t there during your physical. I thought I saw the markers for it somewhere before and I was right. When I double checked Hari Mudd and Commander Percy’s scans they revealed the same microbe.” The doctor finally looked up from his padd. “Do you think it could be responsible for your…symptoms? Could it be what’s affecting the captain?”

“I would consider it highly probable, especially if Lieutenant Tormolen has been exposed to it also,” Spock said.

“I’d like to get them both in for a scan,” McCoy said, rubbing his chin consideringly. “We’ll need to set up a quarantine just to be safe. Contact tracing for this is gonna be a nightmare. Nurse Chapel, put this ward under quarantine. Commander Percy should be brought over to this wing as well, and we need to find Kirk and Tormolen, but other than that I don’t want anyone coming in or out until—”

Chapel’s voice was alarmed. “Doctor!”

Spock followed her gaze to the medbay’s entrance. Captain Kirk stood in the doorway, a beaten and bloodied figure cradled in his arms. Then nurse and doctor were rushing to help. A pale and shaken Janice Rand entered behind the captain.

“Jim, what happened?” McCoy asked. “My God, that’s Joe Tormolen.”

“The captain and Joe wouldn’t stop fighting,” Lt. Rand’s voice trembled. “I tried to call for help but I couldn’t get to the intercom. They wouldn’t stop.”

Nurse Chapel put a reassuring arm around the lieutenant and gave her a tight squeeze. “It’s alright. You’re alright now.” She led Janice to a chair where she sat down heavily, clearly in shock. Chapel placed a blanket around her shoulders before she went to the desk nearby and clicked a button. The room was washed in a pale yellow light as this wing of Sickbay was placed under quarantine. She turned two orderlies away at the door after giving them a few brief instructions. Spock assumed she had ordered them to begin the contact tracing. It would be logical for them to begin with anyone who had been in contact with the cargo ship or its two passengers.

“Do what you can for Tormolen,” Kirk was ordering McCoy.

McCoy spluttered. “Do what I can—? Do you even hear yourself right now?” He moved in front of the captain who gave him an icy look. “You nearly beat a man to death and then you act like nothing’s happened?”

“This doesn’t concern you,” he said coolly.

“Like hell it doesn’t!” McCoy was practically spitting. “Officer Ross, detain the captain.”

The security officer left her post at Hari’s bedside and approached the captain. Kirk jabbed a finger in her direction and she froze. “Belay that, Lieutenant. I give the orders around here.”

“Not any more,” McCoy snapped. “General Order 104 section C. The Chief Medical Officer may remove the captain from command at any time if he considers him unfit for duty.”

“I know what it says. What evidence do you have?” Kirk demanded, stepping away from Ross as she approached. 

She went to lay a hand on his shoulder. “Captain, don’t make this harder than—”

He jabbed her throat with one hand and she clutched at her neck, choking. He hammered her across the temple with his fists before she could react. Officer Ross was a large woman and more than capable of holding her own but she went down faster than a lead balloon. The captain had the element of surprise on his side.

Spock attempted to rise, intent on subduing the captain, but his legs buckled under him and he could only grasp weakly at the biobed for support before sinking to the ground. 

Dr. McCoy, who’d had a similar idea, exchanged a glance with Nurse Chapel. He inched his way around the captain, closer to the medical desk, forcing him to turn his back on Christine.

“You’re not yourself, Jim,” he told him. “These are the symptoms of an alien microbe. You might feel just fine, but it’s affecting you. I can help. Let me help.” He held out his hands imploringly. “Please, Jim. You’re my friend.”

“A friend wouldn’t try to take my command,” the captain bit back. “A true friend wouldn’t do this to me.” He advanced on McCoy. 

The doctor spoke softly but Spock could still hear every word. “You’re not yourself right now. A true friend would know when your ability to command has been compromised.”

Chapel finished loading the hypo with a sedative and made eye contact with Dr. McCoy. Kirk turned to see what he was looking at. The hypo glittered as it arched through the air, a clean toss right to the doctor. Kirk’s head snapped back to McCoy as he caught it in his nimble surgeon’s fingers. Before he could raise it Kirk had grasped his arm. He cried out as the captain slammed his wrist against the corner of the medical desk. The hypo snapped out of his hand. Then Kirk had him by the collar and was throwing him bodily to the floor. McCoy landed heavily, cradling his wrist against his chest and looking up at the captain, blue eyes wide with pain and fear.

Spock could feel the rage pouring off of Kirk in waves even from this distance. It was the kind of anger that made people do things they would end up regretting. He couldn’t sit idly by and watch the captain destroy himself and the doctor. He couldn’t stand, but he began pushing himself forward on shaky limbs. He saw too that Nurse Chapel was trying to edge closer, her eyes flicking between the captain and the discarded hypo that lay near his feet.

“Traitor!” Kirk spat at McCoy, hoisting him up by his throat and shaking him. The doctor scrabbled weakly at him with his good hand. “Traitors, the lot of you. I should have you all court martialed for mutiny.”

There was a sudden flurry of movement in Spock’s peripheral. He turned his head just in time to see Hari Mudd, who had somehow gotten free of her restraints, rush the captain. There was a loud smack as one of the dispensary slippers she’d been wearing made contact with Kirk’s back. He dropped McCoy and whirled to face her. 

“Hypocrite! You don’t deserve to be in command of these people,” she shouted. He lunged for her but she danced out of the way. “Not if this is how you treat them.”

Nurse Chapel took this opportunity to make a grab for the hypo. Kirk noticed her at the last second and sent it spinning with a well aimed kick. She went after it as it bounced and rolled the length of the room. Hari smacked Kirk again while he was distracted. He struck out and she spun around him and under his right hook. His fist glanced off of her shoulder and she hissed at the impact but it didn’t stop her from giving him another good smack on the back with her slipper.

“You’d rather hide behind your anger—” Hari’s breath was beginning to come in gasps. “Then admit you’re unfit to be captain.” She moved her free hand to clutch at her side.

Kirk growled and turned to face her, snatching at the shoe. She danced out of his reach again, more slowly this time.

Spock reached Dr. McCoy who had been slowly propelling himself across the floor and away from the fight. He gripped him around the bicep and together they managed to put a decent amount of space between themselves and the captain. Spock was shaking with the effort by the time they stopped moving. Dr. McCoy collapsed against him, trying to catch his breath. He could feel the doctor’s pain and fear and relief pulsing against him. He extricated himself, letting the distance between them diffuse the overwhelming emotions. McCoy didn’t seem to notice or care. He sat watching the captain, his eyes wide, his breathing ragged.

Hari Mudd was getting sloppy. As soon as she slipped up the captain latched onto her, pulling back his fist to strike. 

“Coward,” she spat at him.

Several things happened at once. Kirk struck Hari, Janice Rand finally shook herself into motion and launched herself across the room to grab Kirk’s arm before he could strike again, Officer Ross opened her eyes, Commander Percy appeared in the doorway to the surgery wing, and Nurse Chapel finally got ahold of the hypo.

What followed was a flurry of motion as the women converged on the captain. He went down under an army of limbs. When Spock could see him again he was pinned to the ground and Christine had the hypo pressed to his shoulder. He heard its hiss as she injected Kirk with the sedative. His jerking movements as he struggled against his captors grew weaker and weaker. His head drooped until his cheek rested against the ground but his eyes, bright with emotion, were locked on Doctor McCoy. As the sedative did its work the burning anger that consumed him slowly faded into an anguished self-awareness.

“What’s wrong with me, Bones?” he asked. “What’s wrong with me?”

Then his lashes fluttered and he was gone, lost to consciousness.

Chapter Text

McCoy found himself the epicenter of a whirlwind of activity. It had taken him all of ten seconds to lurch into doctor-mode after Jim’s cheek hit the ground. The fear and anxiety bubbling in his chest was swept to one side as he gathered himself and got to his feet. He ignored the pain as his words scraped their way out of his throat, hoarse and gravelly.

“Nurse, have Commander Percy moved to Bay Seven and prep Bay One for the captain.” He wanted to get Jim somewhere quiet and away from prying eyes. Not everyone needed to know what had happened to the captain. 

Nurse Chapel moved as if to see to his arm first. He told her, “No, don’t fuss about my wrist, I'll worry about it in a minute.” But he was worried. Even the smallest fracture could effectively hamstring a surgeon’s skill. 

He waved Chapel and the thoughts away. “Officer Ross, do you think you can get the captain to Bay One? Good. Rand? Look at me, Rand.” McCoy put a gentle hand on her shoulder. She looked up at him. Her gaze was vacant.

“I need you to page the on duty nurses— Rand.” He gave her shoulder a tiny shake and she seemed to come to herself. “Osborne and Chandaru. Tell them to get the decontamination chambers up and running and initiate quarantine protocol Baker. Can you do that?”

“Decontamination. Protocol Baker,” she repeated in a daze.

He would just have to trust that she’d get it done. He turned to check on his last two patients and found himself face to face with Hari Mudd. She was eyeing the door.

“Don’t even think about it,” he told her.

Her eyes jumped to him and then an amused smirk graced her features. “Who, me? I wouldn’t dream of it. How’s the wrist?”

He regarded her suspiciously. “Why did you step in, back there?“

“Surprised?” She shrugged. “It wasn’t out of any saintly obligation in case you’re wondering.”

”What’s your angle?” he asked wryly.

“Oh, you know. I kinda need those hands of yours if I’m going to make it through my surgery alive.”

“Surgery?” McCoy was taken aback. This must have been what Chapel had wanted to tell him about, back in his office when he’d brushed her off to talk to Scotty. That already felt like a lifetime ago.

“My appendix has decided it wants nothing to do with me. It’s determined to vacate the premises or die trying, even if that means blowing itself up.”

He raised one eyebrow and stared at her wondering how much damage her concussion had really caused. “Well, we should get you prepped—“

“Oh, she already did all that. Told me I’m not supposed to eat for twelve hours, etc, etc. Now all I can do is wait around and hope the little guy doesn’t get trigger happy on me.” Her mouth twitched at his expression. He regarded her in mild consternation before shrugging it off and motioning toward her biobed.

“Well, since you’ve got no plans to make a run for it—”

“I never said that.”

“—I’d prefer it if you’d get back in the bed.” He raised an eyebrow daring her to object.

She shrugged. “Whatever you say, Doc.”

Lt. Ross returned in time to help him finish refastening Mudd’s restraints. They double checked them to make sure they were secure but Hari seemed content to stay put for the moment. Ross stayed to keep an eye on her. 

Finally, McCoy returned to Mr. Spock. The Vulcan hadn’t moved from where he’d left him sitting on the floor.

“Let’s get you up,” he told the bowed head.

Spock lifted his gaze to McCoy’s. “I will require samples of the microbe as well as the use of one of your medical computers. Mitigating the spread is paramount.”

The doctor lifted an eyebrow. “Spock, you can’t even stand.”

Spock’s expression barely changed, but the subtle turn of his mouth and the slightly narrowed eyes somehow conveyed displeasure. “I was not aware that using one’s mind necessitated the use of one's legs.”

“Of course not. I’m only saying you shouldn’t be pushing yourself just yet.”

Spock stubbornly grasped the biobed and got to his feet, wobbling only slightly around the knees which swiftly quieted as he straightened. His eyes were defiant. McCoy tried offering him his good hand once he realized what was happening but the other man refused to take it. Stubborn Vulcan. 

“At least let me give you a mild stimulant to help you stabilize.”

“Keep your vile concoctions.” The sharp pronouncement startled McCoy. He let it slide, chalking it up to the excessive amount of strain the Vulcan had just been under. “My system has been stimulated enough for one day. I will, however, insist that I be given access to an appropriate workstation. The desk in the corner will suffice.”

McCoy felt too tired to argue which he could vaguely recognize as being somewhat unusual. Inevitably, Mr. Spock would get his way regardless of what McCoy had to say. Besides, they needed all the help they could get.

“Alright, Mr. Spock, on one condition.”

The pointed brow went up.

“You work with me, or not at all,” McCoy said.

Spock thought about it, studying the doctor with dark eyes. “That is acceptable.”

That had been easier than he’d thought. Maybe the Vulcan didn’t have the energy left to refuse him either. Perhaps there were a few other conditions he could tack on. 

“You’ll also accept my help getting to the desk and you will eat whatever hot food I put in front of you,” McCoy added. Eating was something they both could benefit from. “Within your dietary constraints, of course.” Taking the Vulcan by the fabric of his elbow, he waved them toward the desk. Spock seemed about to protest but McCoy cut him off. “It’s either this or a hypo.”

“I was not aware that respectable medical professionals practiced extortion.” Spock’s mouth formed a stiff line but he grudgingly allowed McCoy to guide him.

“Now who said anything about being respectable?” McCoy retorted with mild glee. He suddenly found the energy to flash Spock a mischievous look. He could have sworn he felt the Vulcan blanch and he took an unhealthy amount of satisfaction from it. He could get used to getting his way. 

They ended up supporting each other on their short walk to the desk. They were both more tired than they wanted to admit. He didn’t miss the heavy way Spock dropped into the chair or the little noise of discomfort that followed. He refrained from comment and Spock subtly ignored the way McCoy’s face had grown pale and drawn with pain. Let them both pretend it had escaped the other’s notice. What could it hurt to let them have these small dignities?

Orderlies and nurses in their protective gear began filling Sickbay followed by the deep rumble of the decontamination chambers coming to life. They were punctuated every now and again by the gentle trill of a bioscan. Nurse Chapel strode purposefully through the chaos. Her eyes locked onto Dr. McCoy and she made straight for him.

“Your wrist, Doctor. No more putting it off,” she commanded as she loomed over him, eyes flashing.

He nodded meekly and submitted to her ministrations, starting with a scan.

“The good news. It’s not broken.”

He sighed out through his nose—a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

“But, it is badly bruised,” she continued.

He could live with that. He let his mind wander as Chapel fussed over him. There were a thousand and one things to worry about right now but highest on the list was finding a way to keep the patients showing symptoms calm. Having officers prone to fits of senseless aggression was not an ideal situation. There were too many sensitive operations that could be damaged on a starship like this—a starship that was responsible for keeping over 420 people alive. They needed to kill this microbe, fast, and in order to do that they needed to know how it worked.

One thing at a time. Keep track of all of your parts, he counseled himself.

— —

Janice felt helpless. She sat out of the way in the quarantined wing, watching the hustle and bustle of the medbay and waiting for news on Joey. She had tested positive for the microbe. Of course she had. She’d been more than close enough to the captain, but she didn’t want to think about that right now. Her thoughts were occupied by her friend. She was worried for him. He’d been so still in the captain’s arms, his face pale and bloodied. It had been horrifying, watching them almost kill each other in their senseless rage, their faces disfigured by anger. 

Discovering that an alien microbe was responsible had been a weight off her chest. Not that she took its presence lightly. She had seen its effects up close and personal and had caught fragments of stories as patients were being brought in. Mr. Sturgeon had replicated a can of bright red paint and was discovered scrawling missives detailing every cruel snippet of gossip he had ever heard across the walls in one of the lounges. Kevin Riley had been on his way to causing a serious malfunction in Engineering when he’d tried to ‘upgrade’ the Enterprise’s engines because they ‘kept breaking down’, all the while insisting he knew exactly what he was doing. When the orderlies had come for him he’d disappeared through a Jefferies tube, quick as a rabbit. Security was still trying to find him. Even the normally calm and collected Lt. Sulu had chased two orderlies down a hall with a fencing sword, nearly shredding them to ribbons before security finally got to him. These symptoms weren’t anything to be sniffed at. She was thankful all the same for something tangible to pin the blame on—something other than the people who had begun acting so frighteningly strange.

She looked up at Nurse Chapel’s approach.

“How is Joey?” she asked, rising to her feet.

“He’s going to be alright,” Chapel told her. “He’s sleeping now.”

“When can I see him?”

The nurse’s expression was sympathetic. “I don’t know. I’ll come find you once I do.”

Janice nodded. She felt hollow.

“There’s someone else who’d like to see you,” Chapel said, gesturing behind Janice.

She heard her name and then found herself being turned around and bundled into a warm embrace as Tina’s wet cheek was suddenly pressed into her shoulder.

“I was so worried when I went to your place after my shift and you weren’t there,” Tina said. “Someone said you’d gone to Sickbay and I had this absolutely horrible gut feeling and then the ship went into quarantine of all things and I couldn’t find you and I had to come get tested but they wouldn’t tell me what for, or maybe they did and I don’t remember, and then they told me I’d tested positive, which sounds like it should be a good thing, because positive usually means something good, but this is not. They sent me in here and I saw Eddie, but oh Janice it was awful, he was spitting mad and swearing and fighting and it took three orderlies to just pin him down and sedate him and they won’t let me see him, but thank god I found you and you’re alright!”

Janice couldn’t say anything for a while. She clung to her friend and listened to her torrent of words. Finally, they drew apart and she just looked at Tina.

“Oh, Janice,” her friend said, recognizing the look in her eyes. “What happened?”

Tears welled up and threatened to spill out. She shook her head, knowing that she would start sobbing if she spoke. Tina understood. She hugged Janice to her again fiercely. 

— —

McCoy puzzled over a padd. With each new patient admitted into quarantine their information on the microbe had grown, but compiling the data as the bioscans trickled in was a painstaking and time-consuming process. He growled in frustration and rubbed at his eyes, willing the burning ache nestled behind them to go away.

“Perhaps you should take a moment to rest,” Spock suggested.

“I’m fine,” he snapped. “Just gimme a minute.”

He took a deep, cleansing breath. The sharp fragrance of the Borgia pinned to Mr. Spock’s collar filled his nose. It easily reached him from where they sat hunched together over the desk. Well, McCoy sat hunched anyway. The Vulcan’s posture was as carefully pristine as ever. The surface of the desk was littered with data padds, hurriedly scrawled notes, and an assortment of empty plates and cups. Taking the time to eat had done wonders for them both.

“There’s gotta be something we’re missing. Let’s go over it again.”

“Doctor, we have been over it—”

McCoy gritted his teeth. “Just humor me would you?”

“Very well.”

“Lieutenant Ogiemwonyi reported no presence of the microbe on the cargo ship, inside or out, so we know it can’t survive without a living host. And we’ve established that it’s spread through physical contact via bodily fluids: blood, sweat and the like. But for the life of me I can’t figure out how the microbe causes aggression.”

“As you have stated three times now.”

“Talking out loud helps me think. Not everyone can sort things through in their head like some kind of machine. Now hush up and talk me through your symptoms.”

Spock raised an eyebrow. “I find your demands contradictory.”

McCoy felt the need to roll his eyes and mutter something about finding Vulcans contradictory. “You said you didn’t come into physical contact with anyone until the second time you felt symptoms, but what I don’t understand is how you felt them before that, during our debriefing. Are you sure they were the same symptoms?”

“Affirmative. It is…quite recognizable.”

“Okay, but you’ve seen all the scans. The microbe concentrates itself only around the sweat glands and nasal cavity of its host. So how does it cause spikes in adrenaline and aggression when we’ve seen it clearly doesn’t interact with the adrenal glands or the amygdala?”

“It does not directly interact with them, Doctor. However, indirectly—”

McCoy groaned. “Not this again, Spock.”

“I fail to see why you are so opposed to this line of thinking. It is necessary for us to explore every viable option if we are to discover the most accurate solution.”

“That’s just it!” McCoy slapped the desk. “Pheromone signals aren’t a viable option. Nobody’s been able to conclusively prove that humans respond to pheromones, not even after all the advancements in scientific testing these past few centuries. It’s just not plausible.”

Spock was like a dog with a bone. He refused to let it go. “Nevertheless, the presence of pheromones, created within the captain’s sweat glands by the microbe, would explain why I, a Vulcan, would begin experiencing such symptoms before coming into contact. I was sitting point seven-two meters from him during our debriefing. Certainly close enough to be affected by pheromones.”

“That’s all very well and good for you, but that doesn’t change the fact that humans don’t have that capability. Unlike you Vulcans, we don’t have the required nasal organ for registering pheromones.”

“On the contrary, Doctor, humans do possess vomeronasal organs, they are merely non-functional. A byproduct of your evolution, I believe.”

“My point still stands. Being in possession of something and having it work are two completely different things.”

Spock steepled his fingers and instead of engaging with McCoy further he began to study the bioscans. McCoy ran a frustrated hand through his already disheveled hair.

“We’re wasting time here,” he grumbled.

“On the contrary,” Spock said without looking up. “I think you will find that further study of the nasal region will reveal the answers we seek.”

“And I think you’re barking up the wrong tree!”

Spock gave him a withering look. “Then explain this.”

The first officer handed him a padd with the captain’s bioscan. He studied it, unsure of what he was looking for. He felt another biting comment rise in the back of his throat. Then he saw it. Choking back his caustic words in favor of a breathless exclamation, he stared at the screen wide-eyed.

“But that’s not possible!”

“Obviously, it is, Doctor, or we would not be in this situation.”

McCoy rolled his eyes. “I know that, you pointy-eared nuisance. What I mean is, how in creation does a defunct nasal organ suddenly regenerate like that?”

Spock lifted a disdainful eyebrow. “That is not what you said.”

“I know what I said,” McCoy snapped. “And if you’d read between the lines and stop nit-picking my word choice every two seconds things would go a lot faster.”

“If you chose to refrain from emotional pronouncements, Doctor, I think you would find that clarity of speech allows for more rapid understanding.“ McCoy opened his mouth, ready to deliver another biting comment, but Spock continued speaking smoothly over him. “As time is of the essence I suggest we apply ourselves to discovering the reason behind this phenomena.”

McCoy could have strangled him. He wondered if that was because Mr. Spock was a pretentious pain-in-the-ass or because he was finally feeling the effects of the microbe. Had his own previously useless vomeronasal organ regenerated itself? He imagined the alien microbes creeping their way around his body resurrecting vestigial organs like a bunch of tiny, mad Dr. Frankensteins. That was an eerie thought. He shook his head free of it.

— —

Janice woke with a crick in her neck. Someone had draped a blanket over her shoulders while she slept. It was warm but the fabric was scratchy against her cheek. She remembered curling up on the floor next to Tina but she seemed to be alone now. Her eyes felt dry as she opened them a crack, squinting against the harsh brightness of the medbay. She could hear voices and the occasional burst of laughter nearby. Ms. Uhura and a few of the other women who had been quarantined were gathered around a medical desk chatting quietly as they worked together on something. Janice lifted her head to watch. 

In the center of the desk sat a white porcelain pot with a sprawling, succulent-like plant. Here and there dusty blue flowers with teardrop petals speckled its drooping tendrils. The women appeared to be gingerly cutting small clippings from the plant and placing them in cylindrical canisters of metal. She had no idea what it all meant. The affection in their voices and the familiar way in which they spoke to one another called to Janice. Part of her wanted to get up and join them, but the other part of her, the stronger part, was too ashamed. 

She wasn’t ready to face the questions about what had happened or the contemptuous looks that were sure to follow once they knew what kind of person she was. It was her fault. If she had only checked to see who was at the door before opening it like she was supposed to, or if only she had turned the captain away, Joey wouldn’t have gotten hurt. And how could she look any one of those women in the eye and tell them how she had let the captain kiss her? He’d been under the effects of the microbe and she’d practically thrown herself at him when they were alone together on the bridge. It was no wonder he’d come to find her later.

She buried her head in her knees, face burning with embracement. No, she couldn’t join that group, whatever they were doing. They would see right through her. She’d never really been comfortable around other women anyway. Relationships with them always felt tense and strained to her, like she had to walk on eggshells around them, like she couldn’t be herself because she wasn’t good enough. Maybe she was projecting that last part, but either way, she’d never been able to have a lasting friendship with any woman other than Tina.

She felt a hand on her shoulder. Lifting her head she found Tina’s kind hazel eyes looking down at her.

“How are you?” her friend asked quietly.

She shrugged.

“Are you feeling up to seeing Joey?”

Janice felt a lurch as her stomach bottomed out. “Is it— Is he himself?”

Tina smiled wanly. “He’s our Joey again. Ms. Uhura and all of them have been working on this special perfume,” she said, gesturing to the group of women. “I guess it’s supposed to keep people from acting crazy.”

Janice stared up at her wide-eyed, hardly daring to believe it was that simple. “Does that mean the quarantine’s lifted?”

Her friend shook her head. “No, they haven’t lifted it yet. But they’re finally allowing visitors. Joey’s been asking for you.”

She suddenly felt weak and her mouth went dry. Did she want to see him? But she found herself nodding and then Tina was helping her to her feet.

“Do you want me to go with you?” her friend asked.

Janice slowly shook her head. No. She felt she had to see Joey by herself even though she wasn’t sure why. Tina seemed to understand.

“I’ll be close by if you need anything,” she said, squeezing her hand.

Janice looked at her gratefully.

“See you in a bit,” Tina told her.

Joey’s eyes were closed but as she approached the biobed he opened them. They were bright with unshed tears. They looked at each other for a long moment and Janice found she didn’t know what to say. He spoke first.

“I’m sorry,” he told her in a rough whisper. “I was horrible to you.”

“Hey, hey,” she said, taking his hand. “It’s alright.” 

Now that she was closer to him she could smell perfume on his skin. It was a strong but not unpleasant fragrance. She could see how it might be calming for some people.

He shook his head, not trusting himself to speak

She squeezed his hand. “It’s not your fault. You weren’t yourself.” 

He frowned and closed his eyes. Two tears escaped his lashes and made twin tracks down his cheeks.

“Joey, the microbe made you say and do those things. I know you’d never, ever do that.”

His hand was hot in hers. He opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling. “But what if I did? What if it only took away my inhibitions and didn’t actually make me do any of that stuff? What if all that really was me?”

She considered him. “Is that what happened?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted miserably.

She fell quiet and he turned his face away from her, covering his eyes with the hand she wasn’t holding. His shoulders shook and she could feel his body shudder as he sobbed silently. Her heart went out to him. She sat there rubbing small circles into the knuckles of his hand until he regained control of himself. He wiped at his eyes and then let his arm fall to his side. He didn’t look at her.

“I hurt you.”

“Yes,” she said simply, because it was the truth. 

— —

McCoy sat resting his forehead heavily on the cushioned edge of Kirk’s biobed, waiting for the captain to wake up. They had just two hours before the Enterprise made orbit around Psi 2000, but at least now they had a treatment. He hadn’t had a real chance to shut his eyes until just now and his body ached, especially where his wrist had been slammed against the desk. Despite being bone tired in body and soul, his brain was a whir of thoughts. Even if he wanted to catch a few winks he didn’t think he’d be able to. Kirk’s anguished expression kept playing on repeat in his mind. 

He must have dozed off eventually because the next thing he knew there was a heavy hand on his shoulder.

“Bones,” came a quiet rasp.

McCoy was immediately awake. “Jim.”

“Where’s Tormolen?” Kirk craned his neck to peer at him. “Your wrist?”

“I’m alright, Jim. Everyone’s alright,” he assured his captain.

Kirk’s face was tight with emotion. “What I did. Those things I said…”

“I know, Jim. I know.” McCoy gripped his arm reassuringly.

“I felt like a stranger in my own body.” His friend’s mouth twisted in a grimace and McCoy saw the way he swallowed dryly. Kirk hated losing control of himself, feared it even. Knowing that he’d done just that was haunting him. McCoy could see it in his eyes. 

“You should drink,” he said pointing to the glass of water beside him.

Kirk shook his head. It was always business first. “Tell me you found a way to neutralize this thing.”

McCoy nodded, showing him a glass bottle of fragrance. 

“What is it?” Kirk asked.

McCoy rubbed at the back of his neck. “Remember Nancy’s memorial flower? Makes one heck of a soothing balm, as it turns out.”

The captain’s expression was hopeful. “It kills the microbes?”

“No,” McCoy said regretfully. “Got a couple of problems with that. The Borgia only takes care of the symptoms and eventually the fragrance wears off. Not to mention it’s strictly topical. Don’t go ingesting it unless you want a bad case of alkaloid poisoning.” He noticed the hard look that came into Jim’s eyes. “But. I think I’ve worked up an antibiotic that’ll do the trick. Mr. Spock’s running simulations as we speak. And, if we’re lucky, the microbe will act like strep and patients will stop being contagious twenty-four hours after taking the antibiotic. In the meantime, everyone with symptoms will just have to go around smelling real pretty for a while. I can’t say as that’s a bad thing.”

A look of relief filled the captain’s eyes and then faded into something more somber. “I’m sorry, Bones.”

“No one could have done anything to stop this, not even the great Captain Kirk,” McCoy said, patting his arm.

A flicker of something dark passed over Kirk’s face. It was gone before McCoy could even say he saw it, in its place the captain’s eyes flashed with grim determination.

“The Antares,” he said.

McCoy sighed out a breath. “I’d hazard a guess that they’re dealing with the same thing down on the planet.” Mudd’s comments, Commander Percy’s unknown assailants, the pieces were slowly fitting together.

“How long until we achieve orbit?”

McCoy glanced at the wall mounted chronometer. “About an hour and a half.”

The captain’s tone was serious. “I want to be on the bridge when that happens.”

The doctor nodded slowly. “I think that’s doable. Enough of the bridge crew tested positive, it wouldn’t be much of a risk to get you all up there and quarantined on the bridge. As long as Mr. Spock’s simulations tell us my antibiotic is gonna work.”

“It’ll work,” Jim said with dark certainty. 

And he was right.

When all was said and done, more of the crew had been infected than not, although less than a third were showing any symptoms. In the end it was easier to quarantine healthy individuals to their quarters and allow those that tested positive to roam free after taking their first dose of McCoy’s antibiotic, dabbing on a bit of the Borgia perfume, and then arming each department with its own replicated bottle of fragrance. 

Finally, once the bridge crew and captain were safely on their way, Dr. McCoy had a moment to himself. He would need to begin the hour-long prep for Hari Mudd’s surgery in a few minutes, but he still had time to sit in the peaceful quiet of his office with a steaming mug of hot water warming his hands. He liked the way hot drinks soothed his throat and warmed his insides after a long shift, but he disliked the flavor of most hot teas—they never tasted as good as they smelled and more often than not left him feeling disappointed—and he didn’t think his nerves could handle the caffeine kick from a cup of coffee right now, so hot water it was.

Truth was, his nerves were shot. He kept having to remind himself to breathe now that his mind didn’t have a hornet’s nest of worries to focus on. He could suddenly feel the curl of Kirk’s fingers around his throat, shaking him, strangling him. His friend hadn’t been in his right mind, McCoy reminded himself, but that didn’t stop his chest from trying to squeeze the air from his lungs or keep his hands from trembling. Why was this hitting him now? He put his head down between his knees, folding his arms tightly across his body, and just breathed, waiting for the panic to subside. He tried not to think about the flare of red pain that had sliced through his wrist when Kirk had smashed his arm against the desk, or the way fear had suddenly flooded him at the thought that it might be broken. Kirk hadn’t been himself. There was no universe in which any of that would’ve happened otherwise. McCoy tried to feel reassured, but he couldn’t stop thinking about what could have happened if Hari Mudd hadn’t stepped in when she did. Right mind or no, things could’ve turned out a whole lot worse for everyone involved if she hadn’t.

“Doctor McCoy to Surgery,” Nurse Chapel said, paging him over the intercom. “You’re needed for prep.”

“I’ll be there in five,” he managed to say somewhat evenly.

Get a grip, he told himself. Your team needs you.

He tried to relax, tried to focus on his breathing and the way the panic felt in his body. He paid attention to where it sat in his chest, in his heart, in the too fast pulse at his throat. He allowed himself to acknowledge it, to sit with it even though it was uncomfortable, to stop fighting against it. By the time he lifted his head the sharp edge of panic had faded to a dull tightness in his chest. That was just going to have to be good enough. 

As he rose to leave, his eyes fell on the white porcelain pot that contained Nancy’s Borgia, or what was left of it. Someone had placed it on his desk. The plant, once so lush and full of vitality, was now a ragged facsimile of itself. Only the smallest stubs of growth remained. It had paid dearly—a sacrifice willingly made to help the people McCoy cared about—but even those small tendrils clinging to life would continue to grow, he knew, if properly cared for. It left him feeling sad but also oddly grateful.

Chapter Text

Spock returned to the bridge with the rest of the bridge crew and had just taken up his place at the science station when Lt. Uhura lightly tapped his console with her stylus. He turned his chair to face her. She had one hand resting on her earpiece and was nodding slowly. Priority call, she mouthed at him. He looked at her questioningly and she held up one finger, still listening. 

“Yes, Ma’am,” she said. “He’ll be right with you. Yes, ma’am.” She removed the earpiece and spoke to Spock. “There’s a priority call for you from Ankeshtan K’til.”

Spock’s blood ran cold. T’Pring. Uhura gave him a knowing look.

“I’ve transferred it to the ready room,” she told him. She didn’t have to add, for your privacy.

Spock quickly made his way down two decks to the briefing room. The Enterprise was still far enough out from Psi 2000 that he would not be needed for the next few minutes and Kirk had easily granted him this brief absence. Spock assumed it would be brief. The last time he had spoken to T’Pring had been two years, six months, and four days ago and they hadn’t had much to say to each other then. He wondered what had prompted this priority call from her now.

— —

“Switching to impulse for final approach,” Mr. Sulu announced.

“Open hailing frequencies as soon as we’re within planetary hailing range,” Kirk ordered Lt. Uhura. She nodded and turned her attention to the comms.

Janice watched from her station on the upper deck as Lt. Sulu brought the Enterprise within range of Psi 2000. The planet loomed cold and foreboding on their viewscreen. Swirls of thick atmosphere, pale and frosty blue, glared in the light of the planet’s star—like sunlight glinting off freshly fallen snow.

For once, Janice felt glad to be on helm support. She didn’t think she could bear being any closer to the captain right now. She felt a great deal of shame for what she’d put them both through. Kirk may not have been in his right mind, but what excuse did she have? She had not been able to meet his eye. Whenever she was forced to look in his direction she let her gaze fall just over his shoulder to where the commander of the Antares restlessly paced the upper deck. Janice could sense her agitation. Commander Percy desperately wanted to know the status of her team. She kept glancing to where Lt. Uhura was trying to raise the research base without much luck.

“Entering standard orbit,” Mr. Sulu said, guiding the Enterprise slowly into place over the glittering sphere.

Kirk swiveled in his chair to Lt. Uhura. “Anything?”

“Not yet, sir,” she told him.

Commander Percy decisively pounded out a sentence on her padd. Captain, permission to take a shuttle down to look for my crew.

Kirk considered her request before nodding. He pointed to Uhura. “Keep trying to get them on comms, Lieutenant. Commander Percy, you have permission to take three shuttles and a team of security officers to assess the situation. It’s likely your crew is suffering from the same hostilities that nearly compromised the Enterprise. Stay in contact and stay alert. Understood?”

“Permission to join the landing party, Captain,” Janice spoke before she could think twice.

The captain’s eyes snapped to her and she thought she saw a flicker of hurt behind his eyes. 

“Sir, I have high marks in both shuttle navigation and class M survival,” she said, staring over his shoulder at the bulkhead.

There was a brief pause before he finally nodded. “Permission granted.” For a moment it seemed like he would say more, but in the end all he said was, “Be careful.”

She gave a swift nod and smart salute before turning on her heel to follow the commander onto the lift. Percy gave her a curt nod of thanks. Janice wondered if she knew what she was getting herself into.

The metallic smell of machinery with just a hint of grease greeted them as the lift doors opened onto the shuttle bay. Lt. Ogiemwonyi in her crisp red Operations uniform was waiting for them. She began a quick run down as she walked them through the bay.

“Commander Percy, we’re assigning you to the Copernicus. Lieutenant Rand will be your pilot. The Galileo and the Einstein will be under Lieutenants Compton and DeSalle. They’ve already prepped and boarded with their security teams. DeSalle is running point on this mission, so everything goes through him. Rheborg and Rorke are flying with you.”

She waved a hand toward two security officers standing by the Copernicus.

“Keep an eye out for foul play and treat any and all survivors as potentially hostile. Captain’s orders. Keep these with you at all times. This one contains the Borgia perfume and this one’s the antibiotic. Just one dose of each per survivor. Got it?”

Janice nodded. She was beginning to feel that particular brand of buzzing energy that came from flying a shuttle mission. There was nothing like flying the great and noble bird that was the Enterprise, but the speed and maneuverability of a fleet shuttle craft came in close second. She rolled her shoulders in anticipation. Lt. Rorke flashed her a smile. She could tell the red-headed security officer had very similar feelings about the experience.

The four of them quickly boarded the Copernicus and Janice strapped into the pilot’s seat with Commander Percy riding shotgun. Rorke slid into the passenger seat behind Janice and slapped the back of her chair.

“I heard you won the Drysden back at the academy. Let’s show Compton and DeSalle how it’s done, ey Rand?”

Janice couldn’t help the smile that twitched at the corners of her mouth. She quickly swallowed it when she saw the commander’s frown. She started running through her pre-flight check.

My crew is down there. We have a mission to do, came the electronic voice.

Rorke settled back into her chair, her expression sober. “Yes, Ma’am. We’ll find them for you.”

A few minutes later Janice guided them out of the bay and into the empty blackness of space. Soon they were breaking atmosphere and getting their first real glimpse of the planet. Everything was a stark and brutal white except for three smudges of green, like fingerprints of ink on a blank sheet of paper. From this distance they looked no bigger than pebbles but Janice knew they were really more than a hundred miles in diameter each. The furthest one was bisected by a dark furrow. She didn’t have to trace the jagged line to its end to know that it had been made by the Antares. The science vessel would have crash landed soon after losing power in the ion storm.

The Galileo led the way down toward the smudges of green. They were pockets of temperate climate dotted by green forests and the occasional sulfur spring—almost like something taken straight out of Alaska. The geothermal heat that gave these thermokarsts their warmth was the only reason the scientists had been able to establish their research base on an otherwise inhospitable, arctic planet. 

The base itself was located in the central most thermokarst and built into a small basin. They landed in the wide prairie surrounding it and joined the other landing parties as they disembarked. DeSalle motioned to the security officers and they fanned out, approaching the basin with stealth. Janice remained crouched by the Copernicus with Commander Percy until Lt. Rorke gave them the all clear. 

The research base wasn’t a tall building, most of its mass lay sprawled underground, but the effect it gave was impressive. It seemed to have grown from the surrounding minerals, merging with the basin as if it had always been there. The pale golds and rich yellows of sulfur minerals swirled over its walls and crystallized in jagged fragments that crumbled under the lightest touch. Here and there, smears of rusty brown punctuated the golden hollow. But what drew Janice’s attention lay in front of the base. A massive circle, stained the color of rust, had been carved into the ground. Three grooves of the same color radiated in towards its center where they disappeared under a pile of stones. Each stone had been stacked carefully into a raised platform. An alter, Janice realized with a sickening feeling.

Lt. Compton stepped carefully over the lines of the circle and approached the structure, tricorder already out and scanning. As Janice watched, she became aware of a steady vibration rumbling up through the ground beneath her feet. Now that she was paying attention she could see a faint layer of dust pulsing over the surface of everything and every now and again the faint sound of sulfur crystals skittering down the curved sides of the basin could be heard.

“What is that?” she asked the commander.

Percy was frowning as she typed. It feels like the drill is running, but it shouldn’t be.  

Janice and Rorke skirted the edge of the circle as they followed her to the base’s heavy door. Percy keyed in a code and the panel flashed red twice. She made a small noise of irritation and keyed it in again with the same results. 

“What’s wrong?” Rorke asked.

The usual code isn’t working. I’m going to try my command override.

This time the panel flashed green. There was a click followed by a soft hiss as the door sprung open half an inch. Percy grabbed the handle.

“Wait.” 

Rorke put out a hand to stop the commander and jerked her head for the rest of Security to join her. Two officers remained posted at the entrance to the basin but the others jogged over and lined up to the right of the door, pressing their backs against the wall.

“You two stay put,” DeSalle ordered.

And then the security officers were opening the door wide enough to slip inside. Janice watched the procession of red disappear as Commander Percy began to pace. Her boots kicked up little eddies of white powder that clung to everything. They seemed to wait for an eternity but in reality it couldn’t have been more than ten minutes. Janice startled when Rorke poked her head out.

“We didn’t find anyone, but you’re right, Commander, there’s a drill running. It needs an access code.”

Lt. Rorke led them through a maze of hallways and stairs leading steadily downward until they reached a tunnel carved from the bedrock. The rumbling noise grew louder as they followed the gentle downward slope. By the time they reached the place where the tunnel opened onto a massive underground cavern, the noise of heavy machinery was almost deafening.

— —

Spock bent over his station deep in thought. He was devoting most of his attention to a strange magnetic shift that was occurring on the planet below. His sensors weren’t able to pick up much information due to the atmospheric interference, but he had started cataloging what little data he could collect. As he worked he absently listened to the sounds and conversations occurring on the bridge. His own, earlier, conversation with T’Pring weighed on his mind. It had been confusing and he was unsure what to make of it. He was still puzzling over the meaning of her words when the Psi 2000 research base finally responded to Lt. Uhura’s hails.

“Enterprise, this is Lieutenant Compton. We’ve gone over every inch of the base. No one’s home. But, Captain, I think you’re gonna want to see this.”

Visuals from the lieutenant’s tricorder flashed onto the viewscreen. Spock stopped what he was doing and watched. 

“What are we looking at, Compton?” Kirk asked.

“Don’t know yet, sir. But we found all this just outside the research base. Readings indicate that the residue you’re seeing is animal blood.”

Kirk rubbed at his chin. “Alright, Lieutenant. Keep searching for the scientists and keep us posted.”

“Yessir.”

“And Compton?”

“Yessir?”

“I don’t need to remind you to proceed with caution.”

“No, sir.”

The captain rose and came to stand by Spock’s station.

“What do you make of it?” he asked, leaning back on the railing. 

“If we operate under the assumption that the scientists were infected by the microbe, then perhaps the length of time they were exposed caused them to regress even further than we’ve seen so far.” 

“You mean they reverted back to their baser human instincts?”

“Ritual animal sacrifice would suggest—”

A sudden tremor hit the bridge with enough force to send the great starship rocking. It was several agonizing moments before the motion stopped and Spock was able to regain his footing. He released his grip on the science station and untangled himself from the captain. The human had instinctively latched onto him and Spock wasn’t sure he had resisted the impulse to grab the captain himself. He straightened, back stiff.

The intercom crackled to life conveying Dr. McCoy’s irate drawl. “What in tarnation is going on up there?” he demanded.

What indeed.

“Status report,” Kirk demanded.

Spock immediately turned to his optical scope, stooping to peer into its pale blue depths. But it was Lt. Sulu, studying the data from his own scope, who spoke first.

“Relative gravity increase, sir. Like the planet reached out and yanked at us.”

“Well, is it gonna keep yanking or can you do something about it? I’m about to operate,” McCoy grumbled.

“Just a minute, Bones,” Kirk said before ordering Lt. Sulu to compensate. “Mr. Spock?”

He didn’t move, carefully studying what little data his scope was able to gather. “Planetary magnetic field shifting, sir. The planet has started shrinking rapidly.” He finally straightened. “Shrinking in size and mass at an increasing rate.“

“Forcing us to spiral down if we want to maintain the same distance from it.”

“I would not recommend that course of action for long, Captain. Its disintegration is imminent. We must be prepared to respond instantly to any sudden change.”

“Understood, Commander, but we have people down there. We’re not leaving without them,” Kirk said. “Doctor McCoy?”

“Just keep the damn thing level so I can do my job,” came Dr. McCoy’s tinny voice.

“Orbit steady now, sir,” Lt. Sulu informed the captain.

“Rate of compaction seems constant,” Spock confirmed.

“You got it, Bones. Kirk out.” The captain cut off the call. “Lt. Uhura, warn the away team. Get them off the ground.”

— —

Janice’s ears rang as the searing white faded from her vision. She coughed and kept coughing as her lungs tried to clear her airways. Chalky dust hung in the air. It clung to her clothes, her skin, her lashes. Someone yanked her to her feet and roughly jerked the collar of her shirt over her nose and mouth. Her eyes watered fiercely but at least it was becoming easier to breathe. Then she was being propelled forward, pushed toward the entrance by a vice-like grip.

Moments after the drill had been shut down a massive earthquake struck the cavern. Now, Janice was pushing past chunks of ceiling and stumbling over debris strewn ground. They made it to the mouth of the tunnel where more hands grabbed at her arms and shoulders pulling her inside before she was finally left standing on her own. She blinked bleary eyes, trying to clear her vision, and then wiped at them with the inside of her shirt. Commander Percy, whose firm grip had propelled them to safety, panted heavily, waiting for Janice to collect herself. Lt. Rorke was there too, glancing back the way they had come.

“We gotta move,” Rorke said.

And then they were moving again. Janice didn’t feel like she could catch a proper breath until they had made it up through the building and out of the basin. She stopped still and took in huge gulps of fresh air the moment her boots went from the crunch of sulfur crystals to the soft spring of grass. Rorke nudged her and they kept running, back to where the shuttles stood waiting. A stream of officers in red came pouring out behind them. The ground continued to tremble beneath their feet.

Janice made it to the Copernicus just behind Commander Percy. As soon as she ducked inside she could hear the insistent voice of the communications officer over the comm.

“Landing party, please respond. Enterprise to landing party—“

“We’re here! Copernicus is here,” Janice said, sliding into the pilot seat. “All present and accounted for.” She glanced over her shoulder as Rorke and Rheborg bounded aboard. 

Lt. Uhura’s voice was clipped but clear. “Copernicus, mission parameters have changed. Psi 2000 is collapsing. Your orders are to complete a brief aerial search before returning to the Enterprise. Do not land unless absolutely necessary.”

“Copy that, Enterprise. Copernicus returning to the sky.”

Percy slapped the console, getting Janice’s attention. She jabbed a finger at the windshield and Janice looked in the direction she pointed. There was nothing there.

“What is it?” she asked, beginning her pre-flight check.

Percy slapped the console again. She must have lost her padd during the earthquake. 

Janice shook her head helplessly. “I don’t know what you’re trying to tell me.”

The commander was out of her chair and darting outside before anyone could protest.

“Hey!” Rheborg said. “Get back here!”

Janice chased after the commander ignoring the security officer’s protests. The other two shuttles were already taking off. When she reached Percy the woman was writing in the white powder at the edge of the basin.

Another small outpost. My crew.

“An outpost? You think your crew could be there?”

Percy nodded, meeting Janice’s gaze fiercely.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know where it is.”

She knelt again and quickly scrawled, I do.

The commander was certified to fly a shuttle craft, Janice knew, but they would be putting themselves in danger by conducting another ground search. Still, if there was even a chance—

“I’ll ask the captain.”

Janice turned and ran back to the shuttle, not looking to see if the commander followed. Rorke was standing outside the Copernicus when she got there.

“What the hell,” she said.

Janice brushed past her into the cockpit. “No time.” She pressed the comm. “Copernicus to Enterprise.”

“We read you Copernicus, go ahead.”

“Is the captain there?”

“I’m here, Rand. What—“

“Request permission to make one last ground search attempt. Commander Percy claims her crew may have moved to a small outpost nearby.” Janice looked up at the commander as she entered followed by Rorke. Percy confirmed her statement with a nod.

“Copernicus, the planet is breaking up.”

“Understood, sir, but we have to try. If it was any of us…”

“I know, Lieutenant.” There was a slight pause. “Gravitational pull is increasing. You have seventeen minutes. Stay down there any longer and your thrusters won’t be able to make atmosphere. And Rand? Good luck.”

“Seventeen minutes, sir,” Janice said, setting the shuttle’s chronometer. “Understood.”

— —

Spock was running, breathless, through the halls with three security personnel following closely behind. He reached the threshold of the engine room and skidded to a stop. He scanned his surroundings with precision and quickly located Mr. Scott. The chief engineer was kneeling on the floor next to a panel. It had been ripped from the wall, wires and parts brutally exposed and sticking out in all directions. The security officers accompanying him spread out to search the area and he moved to crouch next to Scotty who was swearing viciously under his breath.

“The wee devil slipped by me when my back was turned! I dinnae have eyes in the back of my head, Mr. Spock.”

Spock ignored the jumble of words in favor of clarity. “What exactly did Mr. Riley manage to do?”

The Scotsman threw up his hands in exasperation. “What hasn’t the lad managed to do? He’s spry, that one. Quicker than a jackrabbit in spring. I coudnae been turned ‘round more than a few seconds. He tore the panel clean off, made a mess of my switches, and the good Lord in heaven knows what else.”

Spock had to focus in order to understand every word. The chief engineer’s Scottish brogue became especially thick when he was incensed. 

He lifted a quieting hand. “Mr. Scott, a complete assessment will be necessary.”

“Aye, and you’ll have it just as soon as—” He broke off with a dismayed cry. “The engines!”

Spock comm’d the bridge. “Captain.”

“What is it?” Kirk replied.

Mr. Scott interrupted, “He’s turned the engines off. Completely cold. It’ll take thirty minutes to regenerate them.”

“Without warp capabilities we don’t have that kind of time. Our orbit is decaying. We can’t break away on impulse power alone,” Kirk said. A sense of urgency was the only indication that the captain was feeling any of the mounting pressure. 

“I can’t change the laws of physics. I’ve got to have thirty minutes!”

“Scotty, we’ve got six without those engines.”

“Captain, you can’t mix matter and antimatter cold. We’d go up in the biggest explosion since—“

“We can balance our engines into a controlled implosion,” Kirk cut him off smoothly.

“That’s only a theory. It’s never been done.”

“Never been done, yet. Mr. Spock?”

He was already moving. “There’s an intermix formula. It’s never been tested. A theoretical relationship between time and antimatter.”

Mr. Scott’s expression was one of apprehension but despite any reservations he might have he was quick to act and handled himself well in high-pressure situations. Sensing the captain’s faith and trusting the first officer’s abilities, he finally accepted the situation and began issuing orders over the comm.

“Engineers, man your stations. Engine rooms, report. Cycling station, report. This will be an emergency restart of engines.”

Spock spoke over his shoulder as he left the engine room. “Stand by to intermix. I’ll call the formulae from the bridge.”

— —

The earth trembled and Janice had to fight to keep her footing as another upheaval threatened to send her toppling. They had been searching the outpost and its surrounding area for the past eight minutes, calling out in the hope that they would get a response. There had been signs of recent use—some of which were worrying—but if any of the scientists were nearby none of them had seen fit to reveal themselves.

Janice was making her way back to the Copernicus. Their time was running out and they would need a swift exit if they were going to make it back to the Enterprise in time. She launched into her pre-flight check and kept the engine running as she waited for the others to join her. The chronometer clicked through the seconds one by one. Four minutes left, then three.

“Come on, come on,” Janice muttered to herself, tapping out a staccato rhythm with her fingers on the control console. “Where are you?”

Two patches of red came into view and relief coursed through her. Rorke and Rheborg were running toward the shuttle. She squinted, looking for the commander’s dark hair but there was no sign of her. The ground gave another sudden shudder and then the security officers were clambering aboard.

“Punch it!” Rorke said.

“Where’s the commander?” Janice demanded. Rheborg exchanged a look with Rorke. “What?” 

Before they could respond, Commander Percy came into view. She stopped a little ways off and just looked at Janice through the shuttle’s visor.

“What’s she doing? Tell her to get in here,” she ordered Rorke, who was closest to the door. The lieutenant stuck her head out and shouted something to the dark haired woman. The commander shook her head.

“No? What does she mean no?” She made to rise, but Rheborg pushed her back down and gave her a look. It wasn’t unkind, but Janice read a truth in her expression that she didn’t like.

Rorke withdrew into the cabin again. She had kept calling to Percy but the commander refused to move.

“Go get her,” Janice demanded of Rorke. They had one minute forty-seven seconds left. “Don’t just stand there, do something. Knock her out if you have to, just get her onboard.”

“Rand. She’s lost her entire crew.”

Janice looked back at Percy, silently pleading with her. You don’t have to do this.  

The commander gave her a small smile then lifted her hand to her forehead in a crisp salute. The look in her eyes reminded Janice of an expression she’d seen in Kirk’s gaze. A person accepting their role as a leader, whatever sacrifices that might entail, no matter the burden, whatever the cost. Commander Percy was a captain who hadn’t gone down with her ship. Janice could see she was determined to go down with her crew—if they were even still on this planet.

She wanted to scream in frustration but settled for gripping the edge of the console until her knuckles turned white. They were out of time. If they didn’t leave now she would be putting more than just Percy’s life at risk.

Growling, she took the Copernicus into the air, circling over the commander twice before flying into the atmosphere. She imagined her standing there, looking up at the sky as the world fell apart around her. She wanted to cry. Instead, she brought her thoughts into focus and flew like their lives depended on it. She could feel the Copernicus begin to shudder and strain around them. The planet’s gravitational pull had already increased significantly. 

Janice punched open comms. “Copernicus to Enterprise. We’re attempting to rendezvous, but we’re cutting it close.”

“How close, Copernicus?” the captain asked.

“I don’t know if we’re going to make the exosphere,” she admitted. 

The shuttle was trying to shake apart around them and she could see Rheborg white-knuckling the control console beside her.

“We may need an assist. Request stand-by with the tractor beam.”

The thrusters were at full power but even still the shuttle was slowing in its ascent. 

“Rheborg, how are you with shuttle efficiency?” Janice asked as they waited for confirmation from the Enterprise. The Swedish woman opened her mouth but switched to a nod when the captain began speaking again.

“Copernicus, we’ve got power failure on our end. There’s no guarantee we can assist. Break stratosphere and we’ll do what we can.”

“Understood, sir.” They were on their own. “Rheborg, try to reroute some of our system power through to thrusters.”

They managed to squeeze out a little more power by draining other systems including life-support. They would have a breathable, livable bubble for the next thirty minutes and if they couldn’t get back to the Enterprise before then Janice didn’t think much of their chances anyway.

With that extra little power the shuttle was able to nose its way out past the stratosphere and into the mesosphere. She could just make out the silver gleam of the Enterprise in geostationary orbit when the Copernicus began to splutter and choke. The deck lurched under them and Janice felt a plummeting sensation in the pit of her stomach as the Copernicus arched and fell back towards the glittering planet. 

“Copernicus to Enterprise, we really need that assist!”

They weren’t going to make it.

— —

“Spock, we’re losing them.” The captain’s voice was tight.

He acknowledged Kirk with a nod but kept working at his station on the bridge. 

“Fuel temperature,” he said to Mr. Scott over the intercom.

“Level,” came the reply.

“Raise antimatter eight and forty degrees.”

“That’ll take four minutes.”

“We haven’t the time. We’ll have to risk it,” Kirk said.

“Aye, sir. Ready.”

The captain pointed sharply at Lt. Sulu. “As soon as we have power, lock tractor beam.” He took a breath.

Spock had calculated the risks. If the intermix formulae didn’t work they would all perish. If it worked but they didn’t lock onto the Copernicus in time then the shuttle craft would parish, or alternately, there was a chance it would be torn apart as the Enterprise jumped to warp. There was a 0.007 percent chance that nothing would go wrong and both shuttle craft and starship would jump to safety.

“Engage,” Kirk commanded.

There was a rending sound and a flash of searing light. The Enterprise shuddered and then stilled. Spock felt a strange shift in the frequency of the ship’s vibrations beneath his boots. His attention was drawn back to the helm when the helmsman’s voice sparked with excitement.

“We have them, sir!”

The captain, who had been sitting at the edge of his seat, pumped one of his fists. It was a subtle movement and he immediately relaxed both hands into a position of rest afterward.

Kirk comm’d the shuttle bay. “Copernicus, welcome back.”

“Thank you, sir. It’s good to be back—” A cheer arose in the background and drowned out anything else Lt. Rand might have said.

“Captain, my velocity gauge is off the scale,” Sulu said. “But we don’t appear to be moving.”

Spock was also studying the readings. “Engine power went off the scale as well. All measurements appear to indicate we are now traveling faster than is possible for normal space. And yet we remain in orbit around Psi 2000.”

“Check planetary rotation, Mr. Sulu,” Kirk ordered.

“It’s rapidly rotating backwards, sir!”

Kirk sat back. “Time warp. We’re going backwards in time.” There was silence on the bridge as the crew took a moment to process this information. “Helm, begin reversing power. Slowly.”

“Helm answering, sir. Power reversing,” Lt. Sulu confirmed.

Spock studied the planet through his scope, calculating in his head the amount of time they were traveling based on the number of counter-rotations the computer registered. The planet’s dizzying pace slowed to a sedate crawl.

“We’re back to normal time, Captain,” he said. “We’ve regressed a total of fifty-one hours. We have fifty-one hours to live all over again.“

Lieutenant Uhura suddenly rose to her feet in surprise. “Sir, we’re being hailed by the Antares’ research base.”

The captain’s gaze was steely. “This time, things will be different. Lieutenant Uhura, return hail.”

To be continued in: Mudd’s Women