Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The day Nyota Uhura first met Jim Kirk in that bar in Riverside, she thought he was nothing more than a total jackass. A genius jackass, but a jackass, nonetheless. Over their years at the Academy together, she came to the conclusion that he was specifically an annoying genius who couldn’t be allowed to beat her grades (when he did, she got mad and made him study with her).

Now, after years of him as her Captain onboard the Enterprise, he’s still an annoying genius jackass—and maybe he’s her favourite annoying genius jackass. Sometimes. On rare occasions.

Today is not one of those occasions. No, as he draws nearer in his circuit of the bridge, all she feels is dread. There he goes, stopping at each station, looming over its corresponding crew member, chatting to them cheerily, asking them questions—approaching her station far too quickly for comfort.

Today, this man is a menace and he’s a menace who’s getting closer.

Pressing against her earpiece, Nyota makes a show of listening closely. There’s nothing to listen to—hasn’t been all shift—but if she looks busy, maybe Jim’ll bypass her.

No such luck.

‘Working hard?’ asks the Menace himself, coming to lean against her station.

She smiles, showing her teeth. ‘Why, Captain, I always work hard.’

Unlike anyone with half a brain, Jim finds her annoyance funny. ‘I know,’ he says with a wide grin. ‘So, what are you listening to so intently?’

Nyota grits her teeth. He knows damn well she’s not hearing anything.

‘It’s hard to make out,’ she says dryly. ‘I think I’m listening to the distinctive sound of a space jackass.’

Jim laughs out loud. ‘I see,’ he says. ‘Keep a close eye on that. Might be dangerous.’

‘Aye, Captain.’ A smile escapes Nyota, as she sits back in her chair and drops her hand from her ear. ‘So, you’re bored, huh?’

‘So bored,’ Jim says with a weighty sigh.

‘Haven’t you any reports to write? Forms to fill out? Anything to do other than bother me?’

‘Why, Lieutenant Uhura. Anyone would think you didn’t like me!’

Nyota raises an eyebrow. ‘Oh no,’ she says in a monotone voice, ‘how could they.’

Jim laughs again. ‘You love me really,’ he says. ‘You aren’t picking up anything?’

‘Nothing.’ Nyota can’t help letting her frustration into her voice. She loves her job, really, she does—even more after that long year while the new Enterprise was being built. After two weeks without anything new though, cabin fever sets in.

Jim sighs. ‘Well,’ he says, pushing off her station, ‘keep an ear out.’

Nyota waves him away with a roll of her eyes. As Jim moves on to annoy Spock, she returns her attention to her station, absently starting up a new scan as she opens her file on the primary language of the planet they found a month ago—Polythema. The universal translator—of course—has already compiled much of it into its own database. Despite that, it’s Nyota’s job to keep a detailed linguistic record of all unique languages they discover. It's an important part of their exploration duties. While she’s made a good start on compiling a lexicon of the words they heard, there are more to transcribe from the recordings taken. Might as well get back into it.

She gets a couple of new words entered before pausing to pick apart the next one. It’s similar to another word already in the database, however, there’s a subtle weight on the second syllable that completely changes the meaning. If she uses the Federation Standard Pronunciation method for transcription, she can—

Noise bursts in her ear, interrupting her train of thought. She presses one hand against her earpiece, while swiftly saving and closing her work with the other.

‘Captain,’ she says, as she listens closely, ‘I’m getting something.’

Jim—who’s made it to 0718 in his circuit—stops, turning back to her. ‘Is it a message?’

Nyota frowns, focusing. ‘I’m not sure,’ she says slowly. ‘It’s distorted, hard to make out. One minute.’ She activates the Enterprise’s audio enhancement software, adjusting the different sound levels to sharpen up the quality, bit by bit until—

An awful shriek explodes out of her earpiece, sending a phaser-blast-worth of pain shooting through her head. She yelps, leaping from her chair and snatching her earpiece out.

‘Nyota!’ Spock says at the same time as a worried ‘Uhura!’ comes from Jim—who’s hurrying over to her side.

‘Sorry,’ she says, hand on her ear as she tries to breathe. ‘Sorry, Captain, Commander.’

Jim waves her apology away, frowning as he reaches her. ‘What happened? You okay?’

Nyota grips her earpiece tighter, as her breathing steadies. ‘I’m fine, it just—it was too loud, I wasn’t expecting…’

‘I heard it too,’ Spock says, eyebrows drawing together. ‘A rather piercing sound.’

For Spock to hear it from a seat over, it must’ve been loud. Nyota sinks back into her chair. The rush of adrenaline the sudden noise triggered still floods her veins, her hands trembling and her heart palpitating.

She grits her teeth. No ear-splitting shriek is going to best her. Determined, she stops the call and returns her earpiece to her ear. Playing it again—on the lowest setting possible—she raises the volume until it’s clearly audible.

Jim leans against Spock’s chair, waiting with a worried frown on his face as she does so. ‘What is it?’ he asks.

Nyota holds up a hand to stop him and presses her lips together, trying to focus.

It’s an odd noise. Odd and horrible. At first, all she hears is endless screaming, but as she focuses on it, she picks out minute shifts in volume and tone and pitch and breath. She pulls it apart, memorising each change. That’s when she realises that it’s repeating the same long sequence of tiny shifts in sound without stopping.

‘It’s a message,’ she breathes, absolutely fascinated. ‘The language, it’s like nothing I’ve ever heard before.’

There are, of course, tonal languages on Earth, plenty of them, but this. This is something else. It’s most akin to Pirahã—a language found in the historic and recently reconstructed Amazon Rainforest, which is communicated through whistles, non-verbal singing, or hums. The similarities end there; this is something entirely unique. It’s a continual scream, with only the minutest changes to communicate meaning. Nyota suspects there are changes even her attuned ear can’t discern—that a human ear can’t.

She’s taking notes before she’s processed her hands moving.

‘Any clue what it says?’ Jim asks.

Nyota frowns, stopping her notetaking. ‘I’m not sure,’ she admits. ‘It’s entirely alien. We have nothing on our databases like it.’

‘Can the universal translator make any sense of it?’

She tries, setting the translator to analyse the message. Nothing—the language is too unique; they’ve nothing to compare it to. When she reports this to Jim, he frowns.

‘I see,’ he says. ‘What do you think of it? You say it’s a message?’

Nyota nods. ‘Definitely. It repeats the same sequence on loop.’ She pauses. ‘It could be a distress call. That would explain the repetition—it’s a recorded distress message left on repeat in the hopes that someone’ll receive it and help.’

‘You think so?’ Jim stands up straight and heads back to his captain’s chair. ‘In that case, trace it. We need to find where it’s coming from if we’re going to answer.’

Tracing the signal to its place of origin—a barren patch of space approximately seventy-three light years away doesn’t take much time. Travelling to said place of origin, on the other hand, takes several days. Despite the long travel-time, energy on the Enterprise is up.

Nyota keeps the universal translator working on the message in the background, while making her own attempt at translating it—to no avail. There’s not enough in the recording to try and extrapolate anything from it. After yet another attempt right at the end of her shift, she sighs and shoves herself back from the console, glaring at it, holding it personally responsible for her failure.

As she stalks into the officer’s mess, she stews over it. Grabbing a tray of food from the replicator, she catches sight of an assembly of fellow ’58 graduates—including Jim and Leonard—sitting together at a table in the corner.

The other two present are Axel Manheim—now a Lieutenant in Security—and Missy Sinclair—another Lieutenant who’s primarily a helmsman and shuttle pilot. Manheim’s a tall guy, obviously taller than both Jim and Leonard even with them all sitting, red-haired and green-eyed—a combination that’d caused devastation in their Academy years since, despite being objectively gorgeous, he’d also been utterly oblivious to anyone’s attempts at flirting with him. Missy, meanwhile, turned up to the Academy a short pink-haired maniac and has remained a short pink-haired maniac. Nobody knows where she gets the hair-dye. It’s one of many Enterprise mysteries.

Carrying her tray, Nyota plants it down opposite Jim and drops into the seat beside Leonard. ‘I better be on that away team you’re putting together, after all this,’ she says.

‘Oh, you wanted that?’ Jim asks innocently.

Nyota glares at him. ‘Don’t joke with me, James Kirk.’

Leonard—who’s just taken a gulp of his drink—splutters, choking on it. Missy—with entirely too much enthusiasm—bangs him repeatedly on the back, as though she’s helping. She isn’t.

‘Hey, hey.’ Jim holds up his hands. ‘Don’t worry, you were first on the list. I wouldn’t do this without my top communications officer, would I?’

Nyota points at him with a cucumber slice. ‘Flattery will get you nowhere. But good. Who else are you considering?’

Jim grins. ‘Bones.’

Leonard—who’s recovered from his near-death experience at Missy’s hands—makes a face. ‘I knew you’d say that.’

‘Hate to tell you this, you are a tad bit predictable, mate,’ says Manheim—his distinctive Estuary British accent familiar as ever.

‘I am not,’ Jim protests.

‘Are you not taking Commander Spock too?’ Manheim asks, raising an amused eyebrow.

Jim’s mouth opens and closes like a fish for a few seconds. ‘Shut up,’ he grumbles finally. ‘Spock’s the right choice and you know it.’

‘Guess you’re getting predictable in your old age,’ Missy says—confident in her position as youngest person present. She leans forward, grinning widely. ‘So, who else’re you picking?’

‘Not you.’

‘Mean.’ Missy eats a dumpling, unconcerned by this. ‘Who else?’

Jim shrugged. ‘I’ve got Uhura, Spock, Bones. Possibly Gaila as well, for her computer expertise—I’ll decide on that once I see what we’re dealing with. We’ll need Security officers too. Manheim, it’s been a while since you were last on an away mission. You up for it?’

‘Oh, sure, he gets asked,’ grumbles Leonard, poking at his food.

Nyota laughs, squeezing his arm. ‘You love it really.’

Leonard rolls his eyes, a fond smile on his lips. ‘Yeah, yeah. Whatever.’

Manheim, meanwhile, sits back in his chair. ‘I’d be happy to, but you’ll need more than me. Maybe four or five, I’d say.’

‘Lieutenant Elsha’s good enough for two,’ Missy comments through a mouthful of lettuce. ‘Have you seen her practising in the gym? She beats this guy every time.’ Here, she points at Manheim with her thumb, who looks offended.

‘She doesn’t beat me every time—’ he starts.

‘Only most times,’ Missy interrupts.

‘Ignoring that,’ Manheim powers through, giving her a glare. ‘Elsha’s a good shout. She came on when we set off from Yorktown. Might be good for her to get a proper outing.’

Jim takes that in as he takes a bite of his pie. ‘I’ve seen her. She’s good—had great recommendations from her last posting too. Anyone else come to mind?’

‘Ensign King,’ Manheim says immediately. ‘Please. He had top marks in combat at the Academy and it’ll burn some of his energy. He’s driving us mad down in Security.’

Nyota bursts out laughing. ‘Why, what’s he doing?’

Manheim groans. ‘Don’t ask.’

‘Ensign Dara would be good too,’ Leonard says. ‘She recently finished her additional medic training; I’d appreciate a second pair of hands along.’

Jim hums. ‘Think she’s up to the task, Manheim?’

Manheim nods. ‘She’s great. Even managed to impress Chief Giotto during our drills and you know how hard that is.’

That’s for sure. Ever since he got handed the galaxy’s youngest and most inexperienced crew to watch over as their Security Chief seven years ago, Giotto concluded that the only option available to him was to be the harshest taskmaster imaginable in hopes of keeping any of them alive. In his defence, that wasn’t—and isn’t—an easy task.

‘Well, okay.’ Jim swallows the last piece of his pie before continuing. ‘There’s our team. I’ll put it in writing once I get back to my quarters.’ He grins brightly at them all. ‘Now, who wants to play Federation Monopoly with me tonight?’

Groans erupt from all around him and he blatantly basks in the response. Nyota shakes her head fondly. Jim is notorious for bankrupting everyone in Federation Monopoly and they’re all certain it’s because he cheats. Annoyingly, however, no one’s caught him at it, so they can’t prove it. Menace. That’s what he is. A complete and total Menace.

Her Menace. ‘Sure,’ she says. ‘I’ll play.’

The way his face lights up is worth the several hours of frustration that are coming her way. At least it’ll take her mind off that stupid message.

It does—in fact—take her mind off that stupid message, for as long as it takes her to arrive for her shift the next day. The second she spots her console, the message pops back into her mind. She stifles a groan.

Still. She’s not Chief Communications Officer of the Enterprise for nothing and she will not be defeated by one singularly unsettling message.

She takes her seat.

And thus begins yet another shift spent in frustration. This one gains a bright spot of hope when—finally—the Enterprise exits warp speed with a distinctive shudder.

At last.

‘That must be it,’ Jim says.

Nyota turns. There, in the centre of the viewscreen floats a strange ovoid space station, steadily growing bigger as they get closer. There’s no planet nearby, only the station itself, floating in dead space.

Scans prove what was already obvious—this space station is not of any recognisable origin. It’s entirely alien in design and technology.

‘It appears similar to Yorktown in both size and its ability to remain stationary without orbit,’ Spock says, an intrigued eyebrow raised. ‘Beyond that, there are few similarities. It is not made of any known metal, though it shares properties with duranium.’

‘Any life signs?’ Jim asks.

‘Not throughout the majority of the station, however, there are seventy-six life-signs clustered near the middle.’

‘Species?’

Spock waits a moment. ‘The scans identified Romulans and Orions, sir. The rest are unknown.’

Jim sits back in his chair, forehead creasing. ‘They can’t be the ones who sent out the distress signal, can they?’

‘One of the unknowns could’ve sent it,’ Nyota suggests.

‘Maybe.’ Jim doesn’t sound convinced. ‘Hail them, Uhura.’

Nyota obeys. Nothing. Either those people can’t answer—or they won’t.

Jim frowns at that. ‘Can we beam onto the station, Mr. Spock?’

Spock checks. ‘No, sir. There is interference around the station, presumably a defence mechanism. We would have to take a shuttle; there does appear to be an open shuttle bay.’

Jim frowns. ‘Alright,’ he says. ‘Uhura, call Mr. Scott and tell him to come up to the bridge. Tell Doctor McCoy; Lieutenants Gaila, Manheim, and Elsha; and Ensigns King and Dara to get ready and meet me at the shuttle Copernicus.’ He turns, giving her a grin. ‘And prepare yourself as well. You too, Spock.’

Spock is already standing. Nyota grins, excitement lighting up inside of her. It’s been too long since she last went on an away mission. ‘On it, sir,’ she says, turning back to her station.

Chapter Text

Jim—king of unpredictability that he is—goes straight to Sickbay.

This isn’t because he wants to annoy Bones. Okay, it isn’t only because he wants to annoy Bones. It’s also because—as Jim finally made an official rule after one too many away missions where the team got separated, leaving members without medical aid—he needs to pick up his compact medkit.

As soon as Jim enters, Bones’s dulcet tones bellow, ‘Santana! Quit fraternising and get to packing those medkits!’

‘Yes, sir!’ lies Nurse Diego Santana. Fraterniser that he is, he does not stop flirting with Ensign Lucy Dara, who’s stood on the other side of the—fully packed—med-kits. They’re a funny pair: Dara’s dark hair and eyes next to Santana’s pale hair and pale grey eyes; Dara’s tall lankiness, Santana’s squat solid stature. Even funnier is Ensign Fabian King, who’s perched on the biobed behind them and snickering at them, despite him being the one third wheeling.

Keeping his attention discrete, Jim studies the pair of Security officers. They’ll do well, he’s confident. Manheim’s an excellent officer and anyone he suggests, Jim has faith in—and Bones wouldn’t suggest bringing anyone he didn’t know well and trust.

King sits back in his seat, grinning as he says something. Whatever it is, it makes Dara stick out her tongue at him and shove him. This doesn’t do anything to subdue King at all—as he laughs loudly enough to be audible over the Sickbay din. Santana laughs too as Jim turns on his heel and ignores said fraternising. He heads over to where a frazzled Bones is using a dermal regenerator to heal a small burn on an Engineering ensign’s arm. Frustratingly, Jim can’t recall the kid’s name—it’s just out of reach.

‘Working hard to maintain a cheerful atmosphere here, are we?’ he says.

‘Don’t start,’ Bones says, not looking up as the burn morphs from red to pink. ‘We’re almost ready to go. Medkits should all be prepared. First, I need to finish Callahan here’s arm.’

The ensign—Callahan—shifts in place. ‘I can wait, sir,’ he says nervously, eyes flitting between Jim and Bones.

‘You will do no such thing, now shut it,’ Bones says, his gentle movements a stark contrast to his rough words as he carefully moves the regenerator down Callahan’s arm. ‘Santana!’ he yells over his shoulder again. ‘Are those medkits ready?’

‘Yes, sir,’ Santana calls back.

Jim snickers. ‘I think you’re annoying him.’

‘Psh,’ says Bones. ‘He’s the one canoodling with his girlfriend right in Sickbay. Honestly, do you have any idea how annoying it is to have the pair of them mooning at each other all over the place?’

This makes Jim grin. ‘Don’t worry,’ he says. ‘Your Crotchety Old Man Card won’t be revoked if you let them flirt a little before we go.’

Bones rolls his eyes. ‘Shut up, Jim,’ he says, as he finishes healing up Callahan’s arm and grabs a bandage to cover the sensitive skin. ‘Don’t go using it too much,’ he warns Callahan. ‘It’s going to be sore for the rest of the day.’

Callahan nods and makes good his escape from Sickbay.

With Bones’s hands no longer occupied, he turns and stalks over to the Fraternisers. Santana raises an eyebrow—utterly unafraid—while Dara beams a bright smile at him. Yes, Bones is running a very strict ship down here, no question.

‘How is Callahan, Doctor?’ Santana asks.

‘He’s fine,’ says Bones in that tone of his that suggests a threat—an empty one. ‘You three actually manage to pack those medkits while you were messing around or…?’

‘Course we did,’ Santana says, waving one hand over the arrayed medkits. ‘Fully prepared and ready to go, isn’t that right, Luce?’

Dara bounces on the balls of her feet. ‘We went over it three times,’ she says cheerily. ‘With a checklist!’

It’s actually hilarious how much the wind goes out of Bones’s sails when faced with Dara’s bright enthusiasm. ‘And I’m sure you did a great job, sweetheart,’ he says to her.

The praise makes Dara beam, while Santana shakes his head. ‘Unfair practices in the workplace,’ he mutters.

Dara elbows him as King barks out a laugh behind them.

‘And what did you do, King?’ Bones asks pointedly.

‘I’m chaperoning,’ says King cheerily, his Australian accent twanging the words. He’s a big guy, as dark-haired as Dara and tanned skin mottled with freckles. ‘And providing moral support.’

Bones rolls his eyes. ‘Moral support, my ass.’

Laughing, Jim steps up beside Bones, slinging his arm around his neck. ‘So, my medkit ready for me?’ he asks.

Immediately, the trio all straighten up. Jim winces internally—for the first few months, new crew members are always like this—but smiles. ‘At ease,’ he says with a wave of his hand. ‘I’m here for my medkit. You ready, Dara, King?’

‘Yes, sir!’ Dara bounces in place, as Santana sends her the most lovesick look Jim’s ever seen. ‘I’m ready.’

King hops off the biobed. ‘Ready, sir,’ he says, practically standing at attention.

Santana grabs a medkit off the tray and holds it out for Jim to take. ‘Here, sir,’ he says. ‘It has bandages, a sterilising spray, a hypospray containing a low-dose painkiller and a small splint-kit.’

‘Thanks.’ Jim slings it over his neck. ‘Who else has theirs?’

‘Lieutenants Elsha and Manheim, and Commander Spock,’ says Santana. ‘Lieutenants Uhura and Gaila are on their way down.’

‘Great,’ Jim says. ‘You two,’ he says to King and Dara, ‘get to the shuttle bay. We need to leave as soon as everyone’s ready.’

‘Aye, sir,’ they chorus in unison.

King leaves. Before Dara joins him, she pauses to press a kiss to Santana’s lips. ‘Love you,’ she says. ‘See you later.’

Santana blinks, startled by the sudden affection and Dara’s already joined King by the time he remembers to call out ‘Love you too!’ in response. 

He glances at Jim once and promptly goes red, studiously inspecting the medkits on the table, avoiding meeting Jim’s eyes.

Jim laughs to himself, giving Bones’s shoulders a squeeze. ‘I’ll go too. You going to be okay with having to take a shuttle?’

Bones rolls his eyes. ‘I’ll be fine. Just…you aren’t letting Missy pilot, are you?’

‘Nope, she’s nowhere near this.’

‘Then I’m okay. Tell Spock not to do any fancy manoeuvres.’

Jim grins. ‘You got it. You’ll come with Uhura and Gaila?’

Bones nods. ‘Need to make sure they fetch their kits,’ he says. ‘We’ll head over together.’

‘Good.’

With that, Jim leaves Sickbay. He catches up to Dara and King quickly and they go together, passing Uhura and Gaila on the way. As they approach the right shuttle, Jim spots Manheim and Elsha. Both are fully ready, medkits and phasers in tow.

And they’re bickering.

As Jim and his companions draw nearer, he catches Elsha’s words mid-sentence. ‘…see what good proving my total superiority to you in combat will do for you, but if you want so badly to be defeated anew…’ she says.

‘Oh, fighting words!’ Manheim snipes back. ‘I’ll kick your arse!’

They’re planning another spar. Jim grins at the realisation. This, he wants to see.

Elsha sniffs sanctimoniously. A tall muscular Andorian, she isn’t far off Manheim’s height. She easily meets his eyes with a glare, as she flicks her partially shaved silver hair out of her eyes. ‘I think you will find that it is I who will, as you say, “kick your arse”.’

Manheim snorts. ‘You’ve got to be pulling my leg,’ he exclaims. ‘You don’t seriously...’

Neither of them notices Jim getting near enough to stand beside them. Excellent observational skills on display here; he’ll have to tell Giotto to run them through more drills.

‘I most certainly am not,’ Elsha says, looking appalled. ‘My hands are nowhere near…’

‘You two having fun?’ Jim asks, fighting to keep from laughing as both jump violently.

Elsha’s standing at attention—or extremely close to it—within two seconds, while Manheim raises one ginger eyebrow at him. ‘Captain,’ he says. ‘Finally showed up, I see?’

Without saying a word, Elsha shoots Manheim a wide-eyed look.

‘Hey, I took my time,’ Jim says with a shrug. ‘Picked up these two on my way.’

He indicates the two Ensigns, both of whom straighten at being addressed. Dara waves, while King grins and runs a hand through his dark hair, making it all stick up at odd angles.

Elsha ignores them, meeting Jim’s eyes as she inclines her head. ‘All is ready, Captain,’ she says. ‘Commander Spock is preparing the shuttle.’

‘Good. Thanks, Lieutenant.’ Jim heads over to poke his head inside. ‘We ready, Spock?’ he calls.

‘The shuttle is prepared,’ Spock calls back.

‘Bones says no fancy manoeuvres.’

‘Doctor McCoy,’ says Spock frostily. ‘Should keep his piloting opinions to himself.’

‘Oh, you know he won’t do that.’

‘One can hope.’

Grinning, Jim pulls back and sits on the ramp that leads into the shuttle. ‘So,’ he says. ‘When’s this spar happening? I have a few bets to place.’

Visibly scandalised, Elsha breaks into coughs. 

‘There’s a spar happening?’ King asks eagerly as he and Dara come to lean against the shuttle. His grin widens. ‘I would be honoured to run your bets, Captain.’

This horrifies Elsha so much that she takes a step back.

Manheim grins wider. ‘Of course, you’ll be picking the winning side, Jim.’

Jim smirks. ‘Naturally. Hey, King.’ He glances over at King—who raises an eyebrow at him. ‘My credits are on Elsha.’

At that, Manheim stumbles back, hand on his heart. ‘Captain,’ he says, all false indignation. Both King and Dara dissolve into laughter, while Elsha frowns. ‘I am heartbroken—’ Manheim goes on ‘—by this display of distrust. Is this the man who went to the Academy with me? Whom I once wrestled Hendorff for?’

Jim shrugs. ‘What can I say? I know how to pick a winner.’

Despite her disapproval of their banter, Elsha visibly glows at the compliment.

Manheim shakes his head. ‘You truly never know a person.’

Jim gives him a two-fingered salute, grinning.

This breaks Manheim’s serious façade, and he laughs, taking a seat beside Jim. ‘I’m hurt,’ he repeats.

‘Hey, if you win, you can rub it in my face.’

Manheim cheers up at that. ‘Oh, I’ll be rubbing it in, alright.’

‘I would expect nothing less.’

From there, the conversation fades and the others all find their own waiting positions. King and Dara both lean against the side of the shuttle while quietly bickering over something. Elsha, meanwhile…well, she just stands there, back straight, like an Admiral’s about to arrive.

Instead of an Admiral, the doors slide open to reveal Uhura, Gaila, and Bones. All three run into the shuttle-bay, skidding to a stop in front of the shuttle.

‘We’re not late,’ says Uhura, taking a unique tack of asserting her own reality before anyone else can try and question it. ‘You’re all early.’

Beside her, Gaila collapses into giggles, while Bones rolls his eyes to the ceiling. Elsha gapes—quickly pulling herself together and closing her mouth. Both King and Dara laugh and Manheim grins widely.

‘Sure, Uhura,’ Jim says, pushing himself to his feet. ‘You believe that if you need to. Let’s go.’

They all pile into the shuttle. Jim takes the co-pilot seat beside Spock, the others finding their own seats and fastening themselves in. Once they’re ready, Spock starts the engine and they’re off.

With so little else around to block the view, the huge station is immediately visible as they pull out of the Enterprise’s shuttle bay. Despite that, it takes over an hour and a half to make it anywhere near the station. It grows bigger and bigger in the viewscreen, blocking out the distant stars around, a mammoth construction of black metal that swallows in all light. In comparison, the shuttle’s like a toy.

A station this big only has seventy-six lifeforms aboard? It must’ve been made to carry thousands upon thousands—maybe even millions. For there to be so few, something must’ve gone wrong—horrifically wrong.

The sweet smell of rotting grain fills Jim’s nostrils and he swallows hard, digging his nails into his palms hard enough to hurt and trying to breathe through the sense-memories encroaching on his reality.

Beside him, Spock manoeuvres their shuttle down towards the gaping black maw that, presumably, is the station’s shuttle bay. As Spock reported earlier, it’s completely open—no defences in sight. Why? Why block out transporters while allowing ships inside without any checkpoints whatsoever?

Into the entrance, they fly, swallowed whole. Beneath them, the bay opens up, a gargantuan space that might fit the Enterprise, at a squeeze. It’s dark, poorly lit by red-tinted lights from above and below, casting the whole place in sinister shadow.

The narrow pale beams cast by Copernicus’s guidance lights glance off huddled crusted-metal shapes below—ships, abandoned and left to rust. Details are impossible to make out, but from what little Jim can see, there’s more ships than he could easily count. ‘Well,’ he says, as Spock lands them in the only empty spot available. ‘They didn’t abandon ship.’

‘Not unless they all squished into one like a clown car,’ Bones agrees.

A surprised laugh bursts out of Jim as he glances back at Bones—the others are snickering too. ‘You have such a way with words, Bones,’ he says, grinning. ‘Spock, how’s the gravity out there?’

‘I believe there is a barrier between us and the outside,’ Spock says, eyes narrowed. ‘One that is easy enough to pass through, while allowing the artificial gravity in the bay to remain stable.’

‘And the air?’ Bones asks.

Spock raises an eyebrow, examining the readings. ‘Oxygenated. We will be safe.’

‘Great,’ Jim says.

He leads the way out, boots making a metallic ring as they hit the floor, pulling out his palm-beacon and turning the light up to full as he does so. Somehow, it’s even darker than it looked from inside the shuttle. When the others do the same, all their lights coalesce to create an island of brightness in the endless sea of shadow.

The air is icy and dusty, tinged with the tangy scent of rust. In seconds, the cold overwhelms even the warming technology in Jim’s uniform. Shivering, he takes a step forward, brushing his fingers over the side of a nearby ship—the metal is rough, caked with rust. This place has been abandoned for a long time.

How long has that signal been ringing out across the stars? Who sent it? And if they’re not the ones upstairs, who is?

‘This place is creepy as hell,’ Bones comments, frowning. ‘Did they really have to pick red for the lighting?’

‘It is illogical to assume lighting colour choices to have any symbolic meaning, Doctor,’ Spock says. ‘Earth might consider red dangerous, but Vulcan considers it calming. Beyond which, it could, for example, be for the purposes of maintaining night vision or a preference to serve their alien sight.’ Spock pauses. ‘Though, I suppose I see why you might find it…disconcerting.’

‘Disconcerting’s right,’ says Jim, craning his head back to try and catch a glimpse of the ceiling leagues above them. He makes a face. ‘It’s freezing too. We should grab the survival jackets.’

This is hailed as an excellent idea by all and sundry. Bones is the first to duck back inside, followed by Uhura, and everyone else follows suit. Soon, they’re all back outside, dressed in the thick survival gear that Jim’s had more than one occasion to appreciate greatly.

He draws in a breath. ‘Right,’ he says. ‘If we want to get anywhere, we’ll need a map. Gaila?’

Gaila is already examining their surroundings closely. As the Chief Computer Engineer of the Enterprise, she’s best suited to this task. ‘I’ll need to hack the computer mainframe,’ she says. ‘If we…there!’ Her face lights up and she breaks into a jog—making Jim stiffen and hurry to follow.

The rest fall into step with him. Gaila’s bright palm-beacon is a lighthouse leading the way to her. By the time they reach her side, she’s already plugged her PADD into the wall-computer. Her forehead creases. ‘It’s a strange interface,’ she says absently, continuing to work. ‘Ah, those must be the blueprints for the station...’ She pauses and looks closer. ‘Nyota, do you recognise this language?’

Uhura pushes through the rest of them to see. She stares. ‘Their writing system is similar to Polythema,’ she says curiously. ‘Polythema’s spoken language sounds nothing like that distress call though. Perhaps their writing systems share a common origin?’

‘Polythema had only recently achieved warp,’ Jim points out. ‘And their tech was nothing like this.’

‘I don’t mean that this station came from Polythema,’ Uhura clarifies. ‘I mean that, at some point, there might’ve been crossover, causing linguistic similarities. Maybe this species visited Polythema themselves—they could’ve introduced this alphabet to the Polythemians. At any rate, it should help me with deciphering their language in the future, since I’ll have a point of comparison. It’ll be significantly easier than that message on its own.’

‘You said the language in that message was so unique not even the universal translator could decipher it,’ Jim says, frowning. ‘If there’s been crossover, wouldn’t you have picked up some auditory similarities? 

Uhura sighs. ‘Not necessarily. That message was short, besides which, Polythema developed that written language more than two thousand years ago. If they did receive parts of it from this species, who knows how much the languages have diverged since. I’ll have to do further work.’

Jim nods. ‘Got it. Gaila, blueprints?’

Gaila grins. ‘Right here, sir,’ she says, holding up her PADD. ‘I have our scans too, so I can lead us right to the life signs.’

‘Great.’ Jim grins, squeezing her shoulder. ‘Send those to the rest of us too, G, in case we’re separated.’

Gaila’s already doing it as he speaks, her quick clever fingers dancing across her PADD screen. ‘Done.’

‘Alright.’ Jim straightens up, free hand going to his phaser. ‘Lead the way, Lieutenant.’

Nodding in acknowledgement, Gaila rises from her kneel and heads to the left. Jim keeps close by her side, hand on his phaser. She flicks him a fond smile and turns her focus back to her PADD without a word.

The exit out of the shuttle bay isn’t too far from the wall-computer Gaila hacked. It’s large and circular, surrounded by curious symbols engraved into the cold silver metal doorframe. All it takes is a few taps before the doors slide open, groaning as they go.

Out they step into a long circular corridor; floor corrugated, both walls and ceiling panelled, lit by similar red-tinted lights to the shuttle bay—these ones lining the sides at odd intervals. Thankfully, they do a better job of lighting up the smaller area—the red remains a creepy colour choice that doesn’t do much for the ambiance, but not much can be done about that. The same rust from the ships has crept in here, eating away at the walls. Doors are set intermittently into the walls.

Gaila turns left and the rest of them follow her. The only noise is the slight tap of their shoe-soles against metal and the faint blowing of air-vents brushing them with stale air. Nobody speaks, as the corridor bends to the right and they follow it, heading up a slight incline.

The silence itches under Jim’s skin. He wants to talk. Somehow, though, it feels wrong and he has no idea why. It’s like he’s back in the Academy library—or else at a memorial, like the one for their classmates after the Narada.

Through the winding tunnels they go. On Gaila’s PADD, the blueprints reveal a veritable warren of intertwining tunnels, within which there’s a second smaller circle hub. It looks almost like cotton candy, strands wrapping around a central stick. Off the tunnels are rectangular areas that seem to be living quarters—they’re all marked with the same symbols and to have so many of them, they’ve got to be something like that. The tunnels bend around them, winding for miles around the centre, an interlinking maze slowly making its way up to the top. After an extended period of following these intertwining pathways, Gaila finds them a rusty turbo lift that creaks as they step into it. Despite its rickety appearance, it still has power and sweeps them upwards by a good few levels.

This brings them out into a wide promenade that once must’ve been the centre of life on this station. It’s a little brighter than the shuttle-bay, illuminated by round floor lights—about two thirds of which are broken or dying—spaced out from each other by about two metres. The few surviving lights on the ceiling that stands a good few hundred metres above shine down, catching on metal walkways crossing above them, presumably leading into rooms in the walls—it’s too dark to be sure. The room is wide at their entrance point with a good number of surviving lights, growing increasingly dimmer and thinner further back in the room.

An old night-club flashes its neon signs in that same strange language from the computers, its doors smashed and hanging open. Beside it, an enormous casino has, its alien letters broken and hanging down. Former restaurants and bars lie abandoned. Many of the tables have old plates and cutlery, all left haphazardly in place—that is, those that are upright, a lot of both tables and chairs have been thrown aside, lying in pieces all over the floor. A faint scent of smoke wraps around them, origin unclear.  

‘What the hell happened here?’ Jim says, more to himself than anyone else. This station must’ve been attacked by something, and the inhabitants, whoever they were, didn’t win that fight.

‘There’re no bodies,’ Bones says, his forehead wrinkling as he shines his palm-beacon into the depths of an old shop—unfamiliar items of sale line the shelves; it hasn’t been ransacked. ‘I mean you said it yourself, Jim. They didn’t leave, not with all those ships in the bay. And, well, they clearly didn’t win either. So…’

So where are all the dead?

Jim frowns. ‘Could the bodies have decomposed?’

‘Maybe.’ Bones eyes the casino building, taking a few steps towards it as he frowns deeper. ‘Depends how long it’s been and depends on the species, I guess. It’d have to’ve be decades for the bones to decompose too, especially given how cold it is.’

So, possible but unlikely. Jim takes that in. ‘I see.’

‘Based off the tricorder readings,’ Spock says, drawing Jim’s attention to him. He stands examining his tricorder, not too far from Bones, who’s peering into the casino. ‘There are few traces of any carbon-based lifeforms here. Not enough to be left over from long-ago decomposed bodies.’

‘A slave raid?’ Gaila suggests.

‘Possibly,’ Jim agrees. ‘We need more information to say anything for certain. Uhura, any idea how long ago that message was sent?’

Uhura sighs. ‘I don’t know. We could probably get the date from the computers it was sent from—wherever they are.’

Annoying—and predictable. If Uhura couldn’t translate it, logically she won’t be able to date it either. Still, it’s frustrating.

‘It was likely sent from their bridge,’ says Elsha, her antenna twitching nervously. ‘Any idea where it is?’

Gaila frowns at the map. ‘I’m not sure since the writing’s not in Standard. There’s a room higher up—above what I suspect is Engineering—it’s about the right size and it appears to have command stations built into it.’

‘Then that’s where we’re heading next,’ Jim says. He turns to call back the members of the crew who’ve wandered off—meaning Bones and Spock, as well as poor King and Dara who’ve been nervously keeping an eye on them both. (Security officers don’t have an easy time on the Enterprise, that’s for sure.) Jim catches Spock’s eye where he’s half-knelt to examine a broken bottle. Bones has disappeared into the casino. ‘Guys, we’re moving on!’ he calls.

Spock nods, rising, as Dara, who’s standing behind him, straightens and brushes her fringe out of her eyes.

King—who’s by the doors of the casino, keeping an eye on Bones—frowns, leaning inside. ‘Doctor McCoy?’ he calls. ‘Captain’s calling!’

Jim raises an eyebrow. Did Bones not hear him or…?

‘Doctor?’ King repeats. He glances back at Jim, frowning deeper. He takes a step inside the casino, calling out another ‘Doctor!’.

No answer.

Spock inclines an eyebrow. ‘It would appear,’ he says. ‘That the good doctor has found himself something he deems more interesting than our mission.’

Jim rolls his eyes at the comment, hurrying over to King’s side. ‘Bones?’ he says, shining his palm-beacon into the dark interior of the old casino, revealing an array of broken brightly coloured machines, all of which are unfamiliar in design, against faded-yet-trippy colourful flooring. He squints, trying to catch sight of Bones’s blue uniform. ‘Bones!’ he yells, an old worry walking its spidery tendrils up his chest. He takes a few steps inside. ‘When’d you last see him, King?’

‘About a minute ago. He was right here. He must’ve gone further in, sir. I…I’m sorry, sir, I lost sight of him and…’

‘Don’t worry about it,’ Jim reassures him immediately. ‘We’ll find him. Come on.’

With that, Jim takes the lead, striding into the casino, pulling his phaser out with his free hand. King follows him, falling into step beside him.

‘I don’t know why he’d go in here,’ King says slowly, shining his own palm-beacon over flashing machines and scattered piles of little square tokens. ‘I mean, casinos are sick but it’s not like it’s active. What’s so interesting about an abandoned casino?’

Jim’s not sure. It’s not like Bones to wander off like this—not without a good reason.

Like if he saw someone who needed help.

‘Bones!’ Jim calls, his voice strangely loud in the quiet room. ‘You know I could write you up for this?’

King kindly doesn’t snigger at that. Jim appreciates his restraint.

Together, they make their way through the obstacle course this place’s become. The casino’s main floor is gigantic, winding lines of corroded machines making the free area into a complicated maze. As they reach the other side, Jim spots a bright light ahead, down a flight of stairs. Given the best lighting they’ve come across thus far in their search of the station comes from dim neon-letters and half-broken floor lights, it must be Bones’s palm-beacon.

Jim darts forward and down the stairs. ‘Bones!’

Bones, who is at the foot of the stairs, jumps and spins to face them. ‘Jim? What…?’

‘We were calling you.’ Jim leaps the last five steps in one bound, prompting an irritated look from Bones. He doesn’t comment, apparently aware he’s on thin ice right now. ‘What’re you doing down here?’ Jim continues.

Bones blinks and returns his attention to their feet—or, rather, something by their feet. As King jumps down the last few stairs too, Jim follows Bones’s gaze to something black and solid.

‘What is that?’ he asks, staring.

‘According to the tricorder,’ says Bones. ‘It’s bone. Not from any known species, but there’s enough similarities to recognise it as bone.’

Jim leans forward, studying the remains. It looks like part of a skeleton. It’s not like a typical humanoid’s—that much is obvious despite its incompleteness. It’s got more than two arms, for one thing.

‘It’s so weird,’ King marvels, moving closer. He tilts his head to the side. ‘Looks like a four-armed gorilla.’

Ignoring this unhelpful addition, Jim looks back to Bones. ‘Are there any others?’  

Bones shakes his head. ‘Not that I found,’ he says. ‘I searched. Scans didn’t show anything either.’

‘How’d they die?’

Bones raises an eyebrow at him. ‘The big old hole in their head might give you a clue.’

Jim leans closer. With the black of the bone itself and the darkness around, it’s hard to spot. After a second, he sees it. Cracks web out from one big hole in the skull, possibly in the forehead—though there may be three foreheads, which is confusing.

‘Definitely shot,’ Bones confirms. ‘With an old projectile weapon, at that. At least it was a quick death, poor devil.’

‘Why’s the bone black?’ King asks. ‘Is that…how they naturally look?’

‘My guess would be yes,’ Bones says. ‘But I can’t confirm it without comparing it to another of their species.’ Sighing, he straightens up. ‘Gaila’s theory’s still strong.’

A slave raid. A sad and all too common fate out here in the depths of space, beyond the Federation’s borders.

Quiet and thoughtful, they return to the promenade. As they step out of the casino, the rest of their team visibly relax. Spock tilts his head as Jim and Bones reach his side. ‘Doctor,’ he says. ‘I presume it was something you felt was of great importance that drew your attention. I do wonder at your forgetting regulations that strictly state…’

Bones cuts him off. ‘There’s a body down there.’

Spock stops short, eyebrows raising. ‘Fascinating. How old?’

‘Not sure,’ says Bones dully. ‘It was a skeleton, must’ve been there a long time.’

‘You did not scan it?’ Spock prods, raising imperious eyebrows. 

Unlike usual, Bones doesn’t rise to the bait. ‘I did,’ he says, his voice quiet as he stares at something in the distance. ‘Tricorder hadn’t a clue. We’ve never encountered this species before; no idea how long they take to decay.’

Spock frowns, eyes darting to Jim and back to Bones. ‘I see,’ he says finally. ‘We should examine the remains further, once we’ve completed our mission.’

Bones nods without saying a word. He’s rather deflated, staying silent as Gaila retakes the lead, heading deeper into the room, towards the rounded end that—according to the blueprints—forms part of the central cylinder. The cotton candy stick, if you will.

Falling back to Bones’s side, Jim nudges him. ‘You okay?’ he asks softly.

Bones blinks, glancing at him. ‘What?’

‘You seem a bit…’ Jim shrugs. ‘Down.’

‘I found a corpse, Jim, that hardly merits me jumping up and down for joy, does it?’ Despite his words, Bones’s tone lacks its usual acid.

Opting not to push, Jim switches over to a different topic. ‘What made you go down there to begin with? Did you see it from upstairs?’

No answer. Bones doesn’t look at him.

‘Bones?’

There’s a sigh. ‘…I thought I saw something.’

‘The body?’

‘No, something different.’ Bones grits his teeth, running one hand through his hair. ‘It was only a shadow, but I…I thought it was moving. Just for a second, then it was gone.’ He laughs shakily. ‘My eyes playing tricks on me, I guess. Least it led me down there. Poor guy deserves some kinda burial; hopefully Nyota can figure out their funeral customs.’

‘We’ll do something. Polythemian traditions might be close enough, if need be.’

Bones hums, falling silent.

Deciding that Bones is best left to his thoughts for now, Jim returns to the front.

Gaila greets him with a warm smile and a squeeze of his hand. ‘Is Len okay?’ she asks, voice so quiet it’s barely audible, in deference to the others walking not far behind her.

‘He’s fine. Shaken by the body, that’s all.’

Gaila’s forehead wrinkles but she doesn’t say anything more. She knows as well as Jim that Bones is used to bodies. Finding one shouldn’t shake him.

As they continue, Jim runs over Bones’s words in his mind. Bones saw movement down there—that could explain why he was shaken by the body, he wasn’t expecting whatever it was to be dead. Somehow, that doesn’t feel like an adequate explanation. Whatever Bones thought he saw itself seems to be what set him off-balance. And what did he see? A trick of the light? Perhaps.

Perhaps not.

Jim resolves to keep it in mind. He’s seen enough weirdness on their five-year-mission to not dismiss anything so easily.

Chapter Text

Leonard’s palm-beacon is sweaty in his hand.

Nothing—it was nothing. The creepiness of this whole place was getting inside his head, making him see things that weren’t there. That movement, that shadow—it wasn’t real. Even the memory itself doesn’t feel real—it’s slipping away from his grasp, like it’s barely set jello he’s trying to keep hold of in his hand. Hell, he didn’t see anything for sure—only a half-second of motion across his beam and the utterly irrational sense that the darkness itself was grinning at him.

He's being stupid. The tricorder scanned every inch of that corridor and all the rooms leading off it and there was nothing out of the ordinary whatsoever.

Leonard grinds his teeth, clenching his tricorder and palm-beacon harder, forcing himself to speed up his walk. Ahead, a massive structure looms out of the darkness where the floor and ceiling lights have died. The palm-beacon lights illuminate the walls, revealing thick layers of rust that largely obscure the silver metal beneath.

‘Fascinating,’ Spock says, interrupting Leonard’s thoughts as he cranes his head back.

‘I’m sick to death of that word,’ Leonard grumbles at him, pausing by his side. ‘What’s so fascinating anyway?’

Spock glances at him, eyes lighting up as he gives one of his brighter smiles. ‘This structure is of an entirely different material than the rest of the station—and, I suspect, of a different make. If I were to make a guess…’

‘You never guess.’

‘If I were to guess,’ Spock says pointedly. ‘I would say that this cylindrical section was built first and the rest was added onto it at a later date.’

‘How old would you say it is?’ Leonard says curiously.

‘That, I do not know.’

‘Thought you knew everything.’

This prompts an amused eyebrow-raise. ‘I have never claimed to know everything, Doctor. If I did, life would be a great deal less interesting.’

This, Leonard can’t dispute. He turns his attention back to the structure as the front of their group approaches the massive metal door.

‘Thing’s huge,’ Leonard says, glancing up all the way at where the structure meets the ceiling. If those blueprints Gaila has are to be believed, the full thing’s ten times bigger than this—and the thought makes Leonard feel miniscule. ‘Must’ve been a nightmare adding all this onto it, if that’s what they did.’

‘Indeed. It would be—’

‘Fascinating,’ Leonard inserts.

This triggers a quick eyeroll from Spock as he continues, ‘Yes, fascinating to discover how this station was made.’

Ahead, the massive mechanical door groans open.

Inside lies a large open circular room. The walls and floor are white where their palm-beacon light hits them, made from a peculiar metal. Unlike everything outside, it’s untouched by rust. A wide circular desk sits in the centre of the room—everything is as askew as outside, unfamiliar technology thrown this way and that, cracked and rusty. As he follows the others inside, the beam of Leonard’s palm-beacon falls on a trail of faint grey splatters dotting away from the door.

One hand going to his tricorder, Leonard sets it to scan the substance.

Biological. Those are bloodstains, albeit strange ones. They have as high a carbon level as the bones did. Presumably, they’re from the same species. He sets the tricorder to scan a wider radius and is regretfully unsurprised when it picks up many, many different drops of similar substances.

‘There was one hell of a fight here, blood’s all over the place,’ he says. ‘No more bodies yet.’

‘There’re scratches over here,’ Manheim reports. He’s found his way over to another turbo-lift, as worn and rickety as the one they used earlier. Leonard follows him over, swallowing hard at the sight he finds—claw-marks carved deep into the floor, leading away from the lift’s doors. Manheim presses his lips together, forehead creasing. ‘Looks to me like someone was dragged out of the turbo-lift.’

That’s exactly what it looks like. For a moment, Leonard envisions a person desperately fleeing, digging their claws into the floor as they’re dragged backwards, with no way of stopping it—no way of saving themselves.

He shivers. Again—unwillingly—he recalls the staircase, recalls that movement, recalls the complete and utter wrongness that took him over, like when you’re in the dark and you think there’s one more step than there is.

Stupid. He’s being stupid. There was nothing there. He scanned the whole place.

Jim stoops to examine the claw-marks, as Spock leans over him to do the same. ‘They were trying real hard,’ Jim says.

Spock frowns, moving closer. He reaches out with one long-fingered hand to brush the grooves. ‘There is residue in here,’ he says. He sets his tricorder to scan it, his frown deepening. ‘Doctor,’ he says abruptly. ‘Scan this. Is it similar to your previous results?’

Leonard shakes himself out of his frozen stupor and obeys. He frowns himself, examining his results in closer detail. ‘Kind of? It’s not entirely the same, but it has significant similarities. I would say this is still blood, just mixed with something else my tricorder doesn’t recognise.’

Spock nods. ‘I had the same result.’ He looks to Jim. ‘Perhaps a drug? Though I do not believe that any ordinary drug would persist for this long.’

Frowning, Jim rises to his feet. ‘Check if any of the other blood splatters show the same readings,’ he orders. ‘Bones, did the skeleton show any trace of this?’

Leonard checks his scan of the skeleton, as Spock heads over to the nearest bloodstain. ‘Some,’ Leonard confirms. ‘Nowhere near as much.’

Jim raises an eyebrow. ‘And there wasn’t any in that first blood sample you found?’

‘Not a bit.’

‘Could it be a normal variation in their species?’ Jim asks.

‘Could be,’ Leonard agrees.

His gut, however, disagrees. He’s not prone to ignoring his gut. Then again, his gut still believes there was something at the foot of that staircase—it might not be the most reliable witness today.

Spock returns, reporting a mixture of both samples containing the additional chemical and samples lacking it. This seems to confirm that it’s a natural variation.

So why can’t Leonard make himself believe that?

They take the turbo-lift up a few floors. Gaila leads them out into another corridor after that—apparently, that particular lift doesn’t go straight up to the bridge. In fact, the route to the bridge must’ve been designed to be as confusing and off-putting as physically possible. Up one lift, up a flight of stairs, through a bunch of cold uninviting rooms with confusing purposes, on and on. That’s without mentioning the sheer amount of damage done to most of the rooms. Several have massive gaping holes in the floor or ceiling; there’s piles of broken metal and tech. More claw-marks and bloodstains dot much of the surface area that remains.

Leonard has no idea how many floors they’ve gone up—he’s distantly aware Jim’s made two separate check-ins with Scotty, meaning it’s been over an hour at least—when Gaila stops in front of a door. Said door has an emblazoned plaque on it in that same alien language. ‘Nyota,’ she says.

Nyota doesn’t need any further explanation. She steps to the front, studying the plaque. Her eyes widen. ‘Captain,’ she says.

Jim raises an eyebrow. ‘Yeah?’

‘Not you.’ Nyota waves dismissively. ‘That’s what it says. Well, it doesn’t specifically mean “captain”, it means “leader”. It’s what they called you on Polythemia, remember? They don’t have a word for “captain” itself.’

Jim steps closer, paying more attention to the plaque. ‘Meaning this is…’

‘The Captain’s quarters.’ Nyota nods.

Jim grins. ‘Perfect. Gaila?’

Gaila is already hard at work opening the door. It slides open to reveal an opulent state-room, decked out in thick carpet and an array of furniture—all the lights are turned off, it’s lit only by the eerie red from the corridor and—more so—of their own palm-beacons. Swiftly, Gaila manages to turn the lights on—the bright yellow light revealing the area in more detail.

There’re two rooms, a main room—holding several shelves filled with silver slabs and an elegantly-sculpted desk and chair rising up out of the floor, both made of pale grey metal that shines under their beacon-lights—and one beyond it, visible through an open doorway—holding a small bed.. On the desk sits a metal oval, surrounded by several of the slabs from the shelves—similar in appearance to PADDs.

Gaila heads straight over to the desk and taps the oval. Immediately, bright light shoots out of it vertically, arranging itself into a wide rectangle hologram. A computer. A functioning computer.

Jim grins widely. ‘Now that is a hell of a find! Think you can hack it, G?’

Gaila plops herself down on the chair with immense theatricality. ‘Seriously, Jim?’ She raises an eyebrow at him.

Jim laughs. ‘Right. Stupid question.’

With that, Gaila sets to work. ‘There’s tons of data on here,’ she says, forehead creased. ‘The Captain—or Commander, whatever—they kept extensive records and logs. I don’t understand much of it though.’

Nyota comes around the desk, leaning over to examine the holographic screen. ‘I should be able to translate it,’ she says. ‘But it’ll take some time.’

Leonard tenses at her words—he doesn’t want to stay here longer than necessary and, conversely, he also doesn’t want to leave Nyota here either. He fights back the queasiness that tries to crawl up his throat, gritting his teeth.

Jim taps his fingers against his thigh. ‘Spock,’ he says slowly. ‘Could you retrieve the information we need from the bridge? Or do we need Gaila?’

Spock tilts his head to the side. ‘While I do not claim to have Lieutenant Gaila’s level of expertise, I do believe I can ascertain those details from the bridge systems. If not, we would simply have to return here and fetch her.’

Jim takes that in, his mind whirring behind those bright eyes of his. Finally, he says. ‘Alright. Here’s what we’ll do. Lieutenant Uhura and Lieutenant Gaila, you’ll both stay here and work on that computer. Lieutenant Manheim, you’re on guard duty. Once you’re done here, contact us and we’ll rendezvous.’

The three in question all nod, smiling. They aren’t concerned in the least.

So why is everything in Leonard screaming that this is all a terrible idea, that splitting up is a terrible idea? The queasiness, the wrongness, is all-encompassing. Standing there, protected by yellow light, his attention is drawn—like something is pulling him—to the tinted-red darkness outside the door. For a second, he could swear it’s laughing at him.

It’s not real. It wasn’t real at the bottom of the staircase and it isn’t real now. There is no danger here except for whatever life-forms are up above—and it’s the rest of them that’re heading to kick that hornet’s nest, not these three. Whatever attacked this station is long gone; it’s been far too long. It’ll be perfectly safe in this room until Nyota and Gaila are done.

Leonard tightens his grip on his tricorder, running through the stupid breathing exercises he’s learned to help with his anxiety. It helps, but not enough.

Taking over the role of guide, Jim activates the map, leading them back outside. The door closes on the rest of their team with a faint sigh. Jim immediately sets off at the head of the pack. Leonard instinctively moves to join him—experience has taught him that it’s never a good idea for him to be too far from Jim. That kid gets into trouble faster than the weather changes.

As they go up higher, they pass through several layers of mess halls and—subsequently—big industrial kitchens with unfamiliar appliances. After this, they come out into a large factory-like area—filled with processing machines that flash their lights and beep dully, still trying to do their job with nothing left to process. Above this, there are long meeting rooms that must’ve been repurposed from some other use—there’re sections where things have clearly been ripped out of the walls and covered haphazardly with metal plates.

From here, the tunnels grow thinner. Several of the areas they need to pass through are inaccessible—blocked off by atmospheric failure—and Jim leads them instead into long thin access tunnels so low that they’re forced to bend double to make it through. Leonard forces himself onwards, trying not to think about the walls closing in on him and the air going out. After a while of this and several ladders upwards, they finally escape back into the bigger tunnels.

They eventually reach what must be the Engineering section of the station, a complicated array of rusty pipes and worn machinery that all chugs and whines, still running after all this time. The place is enormous, stretching high above them, criss-crossed by endless walkways like a great metal spider web. In the centre, protected by layers of transparent material, is the station’s power core—a bright blue glowing ball of energy that is constantly in motion.

Spock’s in love—the pointy-eared nerd’s making love-eyes with that big glowing core. To be fair to him, it is beautiful and, more to the point, unique. From Leonard’s limited engineering knowledge, there isn’t another power-source like this one in the whole of the known galaxy. If he were less off-beat and uneasy, Leonard’d make a crack at Spock about Nyota not being gone that long. Sadly, he’s not feeling it. Instead, he moves closer to Jim, who’s scanning the layers of walkways with narrowed eyes.

‘Bridge is up above this place,’ Jim says, frowning. ‘We need a way to the top. Surely there must be a turbo-lift somewhere around here.’ He moves the map closer to his face. ‘Ah, here,’ he says, grinning. ‘Got it. Follow me.’

He leads on, deeper into the belly of the station’s Engineering.

They’ve been walking for about fifteen or so minutes when Spock stops short. When Leonard tries to ask what’s wrong, he holds up a hand, frowning in concentration. ‘We’re not alone, Captain. Noises, coming from there.’

He points directly where Jim was already leading them. Great.

Jim draws in a breath. ‘Okay,’ he says, keeping his voice quiet, as he turns to face their team. ‘We knew we’d run into those life-signs eventually. Be ready to grab your phasers but keep them on stun. Let’s try to keep this peaceful, alright?’

They all nod and Jim turns back around, back straightening, fully switching gears into the polished Captain of the Enterprise. ‘Let’s go.’

Their resolution to keep things peaceful lasts approximately five seconds. They round an enormous vertically-layered engine-coolant system more than fifty metres in height only to be greeted by an array of Orions, Romulans, and assorted unfamiliar species—all working hard to strip the machinery down to their essentials. This—in itself—doesn’t mean things have to turn violent.

No, that’s all on their opponents.

The second they catch sight of the Enterprise officers, their leader—a tall female Romulan, curly brown hair cut short and swept back from her face to reveal pale skin and a ridged forehead—barks out orders, a disruptor pistol appearing in her hand as she aims and fires at Jim. He dodges, his own phaser rising to fire back.

The rest of the pirates are quick to obey her, pulling out an array of miscellaneous weapons and firing at the Enterprise team. Leonard ducks for cover instinctively, skidding behind—or rather between two of the vertical layers of—the engine-coolant system, and the others do the same—Jim’s not far from him, ducked behind a sparking console, Dara and Elsha both with him, while Spock and King take up spaces on either side of Leonard.

Blasts continue to fly back and forth, as their opponents find their own makeshift shields. Unlike the Enterprise crew, the pirates do not have their weapons on stun.

A beam hits the wall above Leonard’s head as he ducks down. The engine-coolant system doesn’t make for the best shield; there’re altogether too many gaps but it’s all they have.

‘Look, we’re not here for a fight!’ Jim calls from behind his own makeshift shield. ‘I’m Captain Kirk of the starship Enterprise, we’re here in answer to a distress call! We’re on a mission of mercy; we don’t want to fight you!’

Leonard tries to peek through to see how Jim’s words are landing. With a sharp ‘Doctor!’, Spock yanks him out of the way of another blast that comes dangerously close to hitting his head. Instead, it hits the pipes behind him—they send out an annoyed blast of boiling steam that catches Leonard on the cheek. Burning pain sparks across his face and he swears, flinching back from it, free hand shielding his eyes.

Jim’s talking—Leonard’s missed half of it, he’s sure. ‘…positive outcome for both of us if we discuss it calmly. We are not interested in any laws you may or may not be breaking, I swear it.’

Jim’s hardly ever interested in whatever laws people are breaking, not unless it hurts someone. He’s done too much law-breaking of his own in that dark and sordid past of his. If these guys knew a thing about him, they’d know that. 

Another blast flies dangerously close to Jim’s head and he barely gets out of the way. Clearly, they don’t care either way.

Keeping his head down, Leonard checks on Spock and King. Thankfully, they both look fine—no injuries to be found. Spock pokes his phaser through one of the gaps, aiming and firing before dropping to the ground as another blast hits the spot where he was seconds ago.

King is between Leonard and the wider open space to their left—which, Leonard thinks irritably, is probably the point. As more beams hit the pipes that’re shielding them, more steam floods out of them. Leonard yanks King back, just in time to avoid the kid getting scalded.

King grins in thanks as he slides back into place.

This isn’t looking good for the Enterprise crew: not with their six vs their enemies’s…way more than six.

More blasts. Jim, Elsha, and Dara are firing back. Leonard grips his own phaser tight, peeking through and firing. His blast doesn’t hit anyone, instead landing above them with an angry spray of steam.

As of right now, they’re in a stalemate and no stalemate lasts forever.

‘Captain!’ Spock calls.

Jim groans, as he takes another shot and ducks back down. He grips his phaser with white knuckles as he glances between Leonard’s trio and the attackers. ‘Fall back!’ he orders. ‘Stay under cover!’

Keeping his phaser at the ready, Leonard obeys, hunkering down behind his make-shift shield and creeping out of the side, King ahead of him..

‘Do not move any further,’ a cold, accented voice says.

Leonard closes his eyes in frustration, before straightening up. A tall Romulan man—all decked out in a hodgepodge of Romulan, Klingon, Orion, and even Federation gear—stands behind him, aiming a disruptor pistol right at his head. A short male Orion—far paler green than Gaila with dark shorn hair and a array of tattoos—holds his own weapon on King, while another Romulan has a weapon aimed at Spock. Further to their left, Jim and the other two are at weapon-point as well. One of their captors is the brunette Romulan leader.

Right then. Leonard glares at the Romulan in front of him. ‘What the hell d’you want?’

Spock’s eyebrows rise at the same time as—in what has to be the most unself-aware move he’s ever made—Jim groans out a deeply put-upon ‘Bones’. King steps closer to him, glaring hard at the Romulan.

The Romulan himself is unimpressed, looking Leonard up and down with a twist to his upper lip. Without a word, he grabs Leonard’s shoulder hard, yanking him away from his two companions. This triggers an aborted attempt from Spock at pulling him back and a protest from King, earning him a blow to the head.

‘Hey!’ Jim snaps in King’s defense.

Elsha and Dara both move to help, only to be caught and held tight.

Leonard pulls against the grip, trying to check on the kid. His captor has none of it, tightening his grasp. The sound of struggling comes from behind as—presumably—both Spock and King are brought along too. Leonard himself is shoved into Jim’s side.

Jim instinctively steadies him, without moving his eyes from the Romulan leader holding her disruptor pistol on both.

As Spock and King are forced to join them, the male Romulan glares at them all. ‘Starfleet,’ he grinds out.

Jim straightens his back, sending a glare right back. ‘I’m Captain James T. Kirk of the USS Enterprise,’ he begins. ‘And we are here on…’

‘Captain Kirk,’ the Romulan interrupts, glare intensifying. He takes a step forward and spits at the floor in front of Jim.

Jim grins. ‘You’ve heard of me then,’ he says amicably. ‘Who might I have the pleasure of addressing?’

The man scowls, tensing up. Before he can snap back or outright hit Jim like he clearly wants to—a not-uncommon impulse around Jim Kirk—the leader interrupts. ‘Hexilius.’

A muscle ticks in the male Romulan’s—Hexilius, apparently—jaw but he steps back, sending her a venomous glare as he does so. She ignores him, instead turning back to Jim. ‘Captain Kirk,’ she says. ‘I am Solara, first mate to Captain Neko. What are you doing in this place? It is far outside of your Federation space, is it not?’

‘It’s outside of Star Empire space too,’ Jim points out.

Solara tilts her head to the side. ‘We are not of the Star Empire,’ she says shortly. ‘Tell me, what are you and your crew doing here? Are there more of you?’

‘We received a distress call from this station,’ Jim says. ‘We came to aid whoever sent it. Was it your crew?’

‘It was not,’ Solara says. ‘We too intercepted a signal, though it appears to be purposeless. There is no one here for you to aid.’

‘So you figured you’d rob ‘em blind?’ Leonard snaps. ‘Right Good Samaritans you are.’

This probably isn’t the wisest thing to say.

Hexilius, behind Solara, takes great offence to this (accurate) comment and—before either Jim or Leonard have time to move—steps forward and sharply backhands Leonard across the face, sending him reeling into Jim.

Dara gasps from where her upper-arms are firmly in the grip of a thick-muscled Orion woman.

One arm comes around Leonard’s back to steady him, as Jim raises his head to glare at Hexilius. ‘Hey! That wasn’t necessary!’

Solara sends Hexilius a quelling look, turning back to Jim. ‘Perhaps your man would do best to not speak, Captain.’ She eyes them all, pressing her lips together. ‘Search them,’ she orders. ‘Remove any weapons. Captain Neko will want to speak to them.’

Chapter Text

Jim keeps his anger well-buried as he and his crewmen are roughly searched and stripped of all weaponry—though not, he notes, of their communicators. It’s not time yet for him to act, he has to play along.

His crewmates get the memo, not fighting back despite clearly wanting to. The nearest miss they have is Elsha nearly losing her temper when their captors take her ushaan-tor. Thankfully, she keeps her anger at bay, resigning herself to glaring viciously as the Romulan in question hangs the weapon on his belt.

Bones remains beside him, thankfully. Jim has no idea what Bones’ll get himself into without him, given the mood he’s in. While Bones isn’t exactly a master of diplomacy or subtlety, normally he’s not quite so quick to antagonise people holding weapons on him.

Jim meets Spock’s eyes. Spock raises an eyebrow at him, eyes moving to Bones and back to Jim again. He’s noticed too.

Solara holds up a hand, gaining her crew’s attention. She issues a series of sharp orders: thirty-seven crew members are to stay down in Engineering and continue stripping the engine, while the rest are to come with her to escort their prisoners up to the bridge.

Jim’s not sure he appreciates being called a “prisoner” even if it’s technically true. He prefers the term “temporary guest”.

Once she’s done, Solara clicks her fingers and her crew obeys. While about half of them return to what they were doing, the rest follow her as she leads them through to the turbo-lift Jim already spotted on the map, pushing the captured Enterprise crew along as they go.

It’s with concern that Jim notes Hexilius shoving Bones—and having entirely too much fun with it. Jim instinctively moves to shield Bones from the creep—which Bones doesn’t appreciate from the glare he shoots Jim in response. Jim shrugs, giving him a quick grin. Hexilius continues to push Jim along, though he seems annoyed by losing easy access to his favoured shovee.

That’s Jim. The bane of all bullies since day one.

They reach the turbo lift and Solara turns, flitting a look across the motley collection behind her. ‘We’ll do this in two lots,’ she says. ‘Hexilius, you keep three of them down here, while I’ll take three of them up, then you follow. Understood?’

Jim’s gut tightens. He doesn’t like the idea of leaving any members of his crew without his supervision, especially not with that bully of a Romulan.

Frustratingly, he has no choice. Solara doesn’t care about how they’re split up, so Hexilius takes over deciding. Jim isn’t surprised when Hexilius grabs Bones and yanks him out of the group, knocking him off-balance. Hexilius goes on to gesture to several of the other crewmen who grab Elsha and King, pulling them out of the group too. Both frown, looking to Jim for guidance. Regretfully, he shakes his head and they don’t protest. Several more crewmen separate to help guard, while Solara leads the group holding Jim, Spock, and Dara into the turbo-lift.

Jim keeps his breathing even and doesn’t fight back. The harder he makes this, the longer his three crewmates will be apart from him.

The turbo-lift is as worn and old as the one from earlier, but at least it works. It moves worryingly jankily—Jim’s personal experience of turbo-lifts is that they’re fast and don’t make alarming groaning noises as they move—but it functions. It takes them all the way up through Engineering. When it stops, about a minute passes before the doors slowly open—revealing a dimly red-lit corridor, along which Solara proceeds.

Up a flight of stairs, they reach a thick door. It looks like it once must’ve been highly secure. Now, however, Solara ignores the keypad and the scanners, in favour of hitting the button below all of that and the door slides open.

Inside is the bridge—or command centre, whatever. It’s enormous and ovoid in shape, like a big old space egg. Wall to wall, it’s lined with stations in very poor condition. The centre is set in the floor, a circular indent lined by computers and benches. All around, people bustle, trying to fix this or hack that. Many are actively stripping some stations for parts. A few children—ranging from maybe seven to twelve—run between, carrying tools or messages from one group to another.

And in the middle of it all stands a tall Romulan woman. She’s relatively young—in as much as Jim can tell, he hasn’t much experience with Romulans—probably a couple of years older than Jim. Her dark hair is bound back from her angular face in an intricate braid, revealing olive skin and dark eyes that take in the bustle with disconcerting attention. Unlike her crew, she doesn’t wear a mishmash of different clothing styles. No, she wears the attire of a Romulan officer—a Commander, no less—worn and faded with age. 

‘Captain,’ Solara calls.

The woman—Captain Neko—turns, those disconcerting eyes landing on them. ‘Solara,’ she says, her voice low and faintly raspy. ‘These are the intruders?’

‘Yes, sir,’ Solara says. ‘Captain Kirk of the Enterprise, along with two members of his crew. The other three will be joining us in a moment.’

Neko inclines her head. ‘I see.’ She strides closer, looking him up and down. ‘So this is the infamous Captain James Kirk.’

Jim gives her a sharp grin. ‘That’s me,’ he says. ‘Guess my fame’s spread far. Nice to meet you, Captain…?’

Neko’s lips curl. ‘I am Neko, captain of the Zerinira.’ Her eyes move to Spock and Dara. ‘And your crew?’

‘Commander Spock and Ensign Dara,’ Jim introduces—as behind them, out the door, footsteps echo off metal. The rest of his crewmates are arriving. ‘As I was saying to your first mate, Captain, my crew and I are here answering a distress call we intercepted—the same one you yourselves received. We’re not here to fight you.’

Neko raises an eyebrow. ‘You aren’t? Would Starfleet Command approve of that, I wonder?’

‘Why would they care? This isn’t Federation space.’

‘No, it is not,’ Neko agrees, as the rest of Jim’s team are brought in.

Jim spares a second to check on them. Other than a few new bruises—Bones’s face is steadily bruising, while King has blood seeping from a split lip and Elsha has a cut on her forehead—they’re fine. He quenches the relief, unwilling to show it here and now.

‘These are my other crew members,’ he says, turning back to Neko. ‘Doctor McCoy, Lieutenant Elsha, and Ensign King.’

Neko nods, examining them closely herself. ‘Security officers, I presume,’ she says, indicating the three red-shirts. ‘And this one—’ she turns her attention to Bones ‘—he’s your CMO. That’s what his insignia means, correct?’

Jim raises an eyebrow. ‘You know what our uniforms mean?’

‘I have won enough battles against Starfleet to recognise their insignias, Captain.’

Now that’s interesting. She really is a former Romulan warbird Commander? It explains the clothes, at least. ‘Your first mate said you weren’t with the Romulan Star Empire.’

Neko’s answer is a sharp smile. ‘Not anymore.’

Huh. What could’ve made a Commander become an outlaw and pirate out here in the middle of nowhere?

Jim flicks a glance at Spock, whose expression hasn’t overtly shifted. Nonetheless, Jim can tell he’s realised something—the minutest narrowing of his eyes, the slight shift in posture. Filing it away to ask later, Jim turns his attention back to Neko.

‘You say you’re here for the distress signal?’ she asks.

‘Yes.’ Jim crosses his arms, meeting her gaze dead on. ‘The same one as you.’

Neko tilts her head. ‘We found no one here. There were no life-signs. I’m afraid this has been a waste of your time, Captain Kirk.’

Jim shrugs. ‘New discoveries are their own reward, Captain Neko.’

‘What a very Starfleet way of looking at things.’ Neko’s grin shows off her teeth. ‘Tell me. What exactly do you think happened here?’

‘It appears to have been a slave raid,’ Spock says, drawing her attention. ‘The lack of remains would suggest such.’

Neko eyes at him and tilts her head. ‘That is our conclusion as well,’ she says. ‘And the signal?’

‘It remains unclear. Presumably, it must have been sent by the original inhabitants.’

Neko tilts her head to the side. ‘According to our analysis of the computers,’ she says. ‘It was sent approximately sixty years ago, so that does seem likely.’

Sixty years. A long time, long enough that there truly is no helping anyone anymore. Jim holds back a sigh. While there’s plenty of scientific knowledge left to be gained from this mission, it’s a let-down to have confirmed their inability to help.

‘In that case,’ he says, ‘our primary mission is at an end.’ He lets a bright—and maybe vicious—smile cross his face. ‘It would seem there is no need for us to further trouble you, Captain. We will return to our ship.’

Not for good. Just long enough that the pirates will leave—or that Jim has time to gather a proper security detail and deal with them on more even ground. Depends.

Neko crosses her arms. ‘That won’t be happening for a while, Captain.’

Raising his eyebrows, Jim keeps his expression neutral as his chest tightens. ‘Oh? And why is that?’

Neko’s dark eyes trace over each member of his crew present and return to focus on Jim. ‘Do you think me a fool, Captain Kirk? I am to expect that you will simply return to your ship and do us no harm?’

‘We have no intention of fighting with you, unless you provoke us,’ Jim says honestly. He doesn’t want to pick a fight, but he will if he has to.

Neko shakes her head. ‘I’ve had entirely too much experience with Starfleet and their onerous ways to believe that. No, you and your crew will remain here until we are ready to leave. You will tell your ship that you and your team will be remaining here until then.’

Jim grits his teeth. He has no intention of staying here—and the harder Neko and her crew try to stop them, the less inclined Jim is to push for this to end peacefully.

He glances behind, meeting Spock’s gaze. Spock doesn’t look pleased either.

‘Are there any more members of your crew on board this station, Captain Kirk?’ Neko asks, drawing his attention back to her.

‘Nope,’ Jim says—he’s not giving Uhura, Gaila, and Manheim up for anything.

Neko eyes him distrustfully. ‘If you are lying to me…’ she begins only to be cut off by a sharp buzz from her wrist. She raises it, revealing a communicator attached to her arm, and taps it to answer. ‘Yes, what is it?’

‘Captain! We’re not alone down here! There’s something…’ The voice is cut off by a cry of pain.

Jim tenses. What? It’s not his team, surely. Why would they’ve left the captain’s quarters without attempting to contact him? But there’s no one else on board, so if it’s not his people, who is it?

Neko’s expression twists, aiming a glare at Jim. ‘Starfleet?’ she demands.

‘Not a clue, we can’t see them! It’s too dark, lights have gone out!’

Lights have gone out?

As Neko demands further details, Jim checks his crew, stopping short when he catches sight of Bones, who’s gone a peculiar shade of grey. His eyes are fixed on Neko, his breathing jerky. Not wanting to draw attention to his friend, Jim doesn’t acknowledge it, his mind whirring all the while. Why is Bones reacting like that? What is he…

The shadow. Bones said he saw a shadow moving down by the body he found, that’s why he went down the stairs in the first place. Because he thought someone was alive down there.

He claimed it was a trick of the light but is it possible he really did see something—saw whatever it is that’s attacking Neko’s crew?

Bones clearly thinks so.

‘Captain, you gotta help us, we’re not gonna—Leshe, get away from there!’

A horrible scream comes from the other end of the transmission and Neko’s grip tightens on her communicator, knuckles paling under the pressure. ‘Jerto! Talk to me, what’s going on?’

There’s no answer. The call ends with a click.

Neko growls, turning on Jim. ‘What the hell is going on? What did you do?’ she snarls in his face.

‘Nothing! It’s nothing to do with us!’

Neko bares her teeth, turning away from him and barking out a list of names including Solara and Hexilius. ‘You’re with me,’ she orders. ‘The rest of you, stay here and wait for orders. Do not let anyone in other than us.’

Orders issued, she wheels back around. ‘You, Captain, and your crew are coming with us. I’m still not convinced it’s not your people down there. Let’s go!’

With that, Neko yanks out a disruptor and grabs Jim’s upper arm hard, pulling him with her. Jim pulls back from here, earning himself a glare.

He doesn’t give in. ‘You’ll want our PADDs. We have blueprints of the whole station.’

This, Neko pauses to take in, before turning to Solara.

Solara is already moving, collecting the PADDs—though not the phasers—and rejoining their group, giving Neko a nod of confirmation.

That settled, Neko heads for the door. This time, Jim goes along with it, sending a nod of reassurance to the rest of his people. Right now, this is the best way to find out what’s going on.

He only hopes the other three are okay.

Under normal circumstances, Leonard’d probably be more concerned about Hexilius gripping his arm hard enough that his humerus might actually fracture under the pressure. These, however, are not normal circumstances. 

As he and the others are dragged after Captain Neko and Jim, all Leonard’s mind will grasp onto is that shadow. The millisecond-long movement, the sense of being watched, the grinning.

It’s downstairs. He should’ve told Jim everything, no matter how stupid it sounded, no matter how hard he believed—wanted to believe—it wasn’t real.

Nyota, Manheim, and Gaila are down there. Alone, with no warning about what’s down there with them, because Leonard didn’t warn them. The guilt is crushing in its intensity. Leonard lets it take him over, sharpening his resolve, centring him. He failed to warn them. They’re in danger and it’s his fault. Therefore, he has to put it right.

They’ll all escape alive—Nyota, Manheim, and Gaila included. Leonard won’t accept any other option.

Once they’re all in the corridor outside, Neko strides over to a hatch in the wall, turning the wheel to crank it open. Leonard stares in horror at the horrible narrow tunnel that’s revealed, so small that the only way to fit is to crawl. Surely she’s not expecting...

She is. After sending one of her crew ahead first, she shoves Jim toward the opening. ‘You next.’

Jim holds up his hands. ‘Alright, alright,’ he says, doing as she says. 

Leonard stares after him, a cold dread closing around his heart. Oh, hell. This is exactly like the tunnels earlier, except worse because now there’s definitely something deadly out there, that shadow is out there and that tunnel is both tiny and pitch-black. He doesn’t want Jim to go in there, doesn’t want any of them to go in there. Sadly, Neko doesn’t care much what anyone else thinks. One by one, interspersed with members of her crew, the rest of the Enterprise team is sent into the tunnel. Leonard waits his turn, heart pounding in his ears. 

You can do this, he tells himself. Gaila’s down there, Nyota’s down there, Manheim’s down there. You need to warn them. You can brave a stupid tiny tunnel for them.

Spock moves to take his turn, sending a brief eyebrows-drawn-together glance back at Leonard—one that, had it not been coming from Spock of all people, might’ve looked worried.  Setting his jaw, Spock climbs into the tunnel. A couple more of Neko’s crew follow him and, finally, it’s Leonard’s turn.

Hexilius shoves him with too much force towards the hole. Leonard braces himself and crawls inside. 

It’s horribly cramped, floor cold and damp to the touch. Ahead of him, a procession of lights are creeping downwards, casting unearthly shadows all around—moving, twisting shadows. Grabbing out his own palm-beacon, he lights it with fumbling hands, brightening the area around him.

He's not in the dark anymore. As the shadows warp and dance further down the tunnel, he clenches his jaw and pushes onwards.

The tunnel slopes downwards at a gentle rate, pipes weaving in and out of the walls, making many areas hard to squeeze through. He doesn’t let himself stop or slow down, keeping his eyes fixed on the moving lights ahead of him—trying to ignore the horrible grin they conjure up in the back of his mind.

Finally, finally, he makes it out the other side, clambering out onto corrugated metal. Someone helps him up—Dara, from the whiff of rose perfume—and he forces himself to straighten, giving her a grateful smile. She smiles nervously back.

Unable to avoid it any longer, Leonard raises his head, taking in where they’ve come out. Immediately, a sickening weight sinks in his stomach.

It’s one of the countless walkways they saw from down below. One of the top walkways, at that. Now though, he spots something he didn’t before—there aren’t any handrails. None whatsoever, a shameful display of poor Health and Safety regulations. While this one is at least attached to a wall on one side, unlike most of the others, it’s still sickeningly high up.

Spreading out below him is the rest of Engineering, their former battlefield minuscule from up here. Leonard retreats from the side until his back hits the wall, trying not to think about how easily it’d break all the bones in their collective bodies to fall from here. This place is out to trigger every phobia he has, isn’t it? Should’ve known when they had to take a damn shuttle over here.

To his left, Dara’s frowning as she turns and subtly seeks Jim’s attention. Jim notices and manages to get close to Leonard, pressing their shoulders together.

‘You okay?’ he murmurs without moving his lips as the rest of their captors begin to climb out of the tunnel beside Leonard. 

Leonard hums in the affirmative. It’s a lie and Jim knows that as well as him.

Jim doesn’t comment on it, only giving his hand a brief, reassuring squeeze and letting go. He straightens up as Spock carefully takes advantage of the new influx of people to move closer to them both. Once he’s near enough, on Jim’s other side, he murmurs under his breath, ‘I have heard Captain Neko’s name before. She is on both the Federation and the Romulan Star Empire’s Most Wanted list for crimes of theft, smuggling, murder, and robbery, among others.’

‘Oh, great,’ Jim mutters, while Leonard draws in a breath. 

No wonder Neko’s against letting them return to their ship. While, yes, this is not Federation space, technically Starfleet officers are always obligated to capture and turn over any Federation fugitives should they be found. No way Neko doesn’t know that.

This situation’s growing better and better by the minute.

Neko herself climbs out of the tunnel, slamming the hatch door shut behind her. Now that she’s out in the open air—relatively speaking—she renews her attempts to hail her missing crewmates over her communicator. There is no answer. Shooting another venomous glare at Jim, she leads the way downwards. 

Leonard is nearly glad when Hexilius propels him along. The grip remains painfully hard, but it’s at least giving him a sense of security against the deadly drop that remains sickeningly in view. He’d bet Hexilius isn’t going to let him fall off the edge—that’d be too close to escaping.

They continue onwards, across the flimsy walkways, down equally precarious corrugated stairs, across more walkways, until—from the front of the procession—Neko calls out a name, ‘Roguv!’

Leonard tenses, daring to lean around enough to catch a glimpse—it’s an Orion man in his sixties, covered in varying shades of green blood, crawling towards them, dragging himself forward one inch at a time.

Immediately, the still-bubbling anxiety is pushed to the back of Leonard’s mind, the doctor inside him fully taking over. He pulls hard against Hexilius’s grip.

Hexilius turns on him, holding tighter—this time, Leonard’s seriously concerned his arm’ll break—and glaring.

Leonard glares back. ‘Let me help him! I’m a doctor, you idiot!’

Hexilius’s nostrils flare at that, as he draws himself up to his full—admittedly impressive—height. ‘Why you…’

‘Let him come, Hexilius,’ Neko orders sharply. ‘Roguv needs medical aid, now.’

The grinding of Hexilius’s teeth is nigh-audible as he obeys, sending Leonard another hateful glare as he does.

Leonard pays him little heed, immediately pushing through the crowd and over to his patient’s side. He drops to his knees beside him, yanking out his medkit as he gently eases Roguv down into a semi-recumbent position.

‘I’m Doctor McCoy,’ he introduces himself quickly, as he sets to work scanning Roguv’s body. ‘Can you explain what happened?’

Roguv stares at him, then at Neko who inclines her head. ‘I…I don’t know,’ he says. ‘We couldn’t see, Captain.’ He stares at Neko with wide eyes. ‘There was nothing there! I mean, something was there, and also nothing was there, it was like a…a shadow, a…’

Leonard fights to keep hold of his tricorder. A shadow. Shit.

He flicks a look up, meeting Jim’s gaze as his best friend hovers not too far from him. Jim presses his lips together,  eyes stormy.

Leonard grips his tricorder harder as the scan finishes. Not as bad as he was fearing given the amount of blood on Roguv; most probably isn’t his. A nasty wound in his side and a fractured tibia. Not ideal but not imminently life-threatening. 

Roguv’s stammering out more words—none of which make things clearer. ‘...Lia went down first, she was screaming and then Torka and…we couldn’t see anything, Captain! There was nothing there! We couldn’t fight it, couldn’t do anything, it was like…’

Neko frowns deeply, giving him an awkward pat on the shoulder. ‘How’d you escape?’ she asks.

‘I…we lost contact with you, couldn’t get through. I got caught by something and managed to fight it off me. Jerto told me to go, to try and fetch you. It’d cut us off from the turbo-lifts, and I just ran.’

‘May I examine your side?’ Leonard checks, before lifting up Roguv’s shirt so the laceration is visible. It’s deep and ragged, like the flesh was torn as opposed to cleanly cut. There’re traces of near-black debris—dirt or something—in the wound. He’ll have to clean it out, make sure it doesn’t develop an infection. 

Neko scowls. ‘We need to go.’ 

‘He can’t be walking,’ Leonard jumps in, sending her a glare. 

Neko’s eyes narrow. ‘I don’t recall asking you your opinion.’

‘Well, you let me treat him which makes him my patient, so you’ll get my opinion whether you want it or not,’ Leonard shoots back. ‘His leg’s broken and he’ll have one nasty infection building up in that side if it’s not treated properly. He can’t be walking here, there and everywhere!’

‘I can do it,’ Roguv says, attempting to struggle to his feet. ‘Captain, I’ll…’

‘No, you can’t,’ Leonard snaps. ‘You’re…’

Roguv shakes him off, glaring, as Neko looks about ready to fully lose her temper.

Jim jumps in. ‘Wait,’ he says, meeting Leonard’s eyes. ‘Let’s be rational about this.’ There’s a question to his gaze—a question he doesn’t want to ask. Leonard knows what it is. He raises his chin in assent and Jim draws in a breath. Raising his head, he continues, ‘How about Doctor McCoy stays here with your man to treat him, while the rest of us go to check on the others?’ 

Neko sends him a long considering look. ‘And what would you gain from this, Captain?’

‘It’s not me gaining anything,’ Jim says sharply. ‘We need to check on your people and this man needs treatment. It’s straightforward.’

Neko eyes him for a few long seconds. Reluctantly, she nods once. ‘Very well but I’m not leaving my injured man alone with yours.’ She turns and snaps out a few names—including, Leonard notes with frustration, Hexilius. The crew members in question come forward—there’s fourteen of them. ‘You stay here. Watch him.’

Jim’s back straightens. ‘Yeah, I’m not leaving my man alone with that many of your people,’ he says, with entirely too much confidence for an unarmed captive. ‘King, Dara. You two stay and guard Doctor McCoy.’

Both King and Dara are quick to obey, moving over to Leonard’s side. 

Neko growls, stepping closer to Jim, who stares back at her levelly. They engage in a eye-contact battle of wills that stretches out interminably long. Finally, Neko gives in. ‘Alright. The rest of you, let’s go!’

She turns and strides down the walkway. Jim looks at Leonard, at Dara, at King. ‘Stay safe,’ he murmurs. ‘Don’t do anything stupid. We’ll be back for you.’

They all nod. Jim breathes in and out once and follows Neko. The rest follow behind, leaving Leonard, Dara, and King alone with the other pirates.

Leonard doesn’t waste any more time. He sets to work.

Chapter Text

Jim’s decision is wholly logical. Had he not made the compromise of leaving McCoy, Dara, and King behind to care for the injured man and continuing without them, the situation would have surely turned more dangerous. McCoy is decidedly stubborn—this Spock knows well—and Captain Neko appears no less so.

Nonetheless, it is a compromise that Spock does not like. They have already been separated from Nyota, Gaila, and Manheim. Given the apparent dangers, this is not ideal.

It is, however, unavoidable. They must uncover the truth of what has occurred—and that will not be found above.

Jim walks ahead of him, Elsha to his right. Neko remains at the front of their procession. She leads them with single-minded focus down further walkways, stairs and shorter tunnels, until they near the ground below. 

They’ve reached the last long staircase when Neko curses and breaks into a run. Spock tilts his head, moving faster to keep pace as the others follow suit around him. 

Ahead, Jim stops, sucking in a breath, while Elsha chokes and turns an alarming shade of off-teal. She stumbles off the stairs and starts throwing up to the left of them. 

Spock frowns. Lieutenant Elsha is an experienced Security officer. She is not weak-stomached, by any means. Anything that so disturbs her must be horrifying indeed.

Determined to see, Spock jumps the two metres off the side of the walkway. Landing with a faint clang, he freezes, his throat tightening. Before him lies a grisly battlefield, all that remains of the thirty-seven crew members—excluding Roguv—who accosted the Enterprise away-team earlier. Pools of green and blue blood of varying shades drench the ground, dripping through the corrugated metal, interspersed with corpses. 

There aren’t many. Not enough to be all thirty-seven missing, though several have been thoroughly dismembered, making an exact count hard to estimate. Perhaps eight or so? 

Spock restarts his count, focusing on associating the body-parts with each other. What could have done this? What manner of creature tears through bodies like they were paper? Why? 

Nyota is downstairs… Spock pushes the thought aside, recounting the bodies. This time, his total is nine. 

To his left, boots clang against metal and someone brushes his side. Jim.

Without a word, Spock meets his horrified eyes.

Jim doesn’t speak either, lips pressed into a colourless line as he goes to check on Elsha—who’s now dry-heaving. He wraps one arm around her shoulders, gently rubbing at her back, murmuring something inaudible to her.  

‘This…what could have done this?’ Neko’s first mate, Solara, chokes out, her eyes wide. ‘Captain, this is…’

‘I know.’ Neko’s words are cold. She turns, eyes landing first on Spock, shifting to Jim and Elsha. Some emotion flickers in her eyes at the sight of the latter. ‘Kirk.’

Jim straightens, keeping an arm around Elsha, as he glares at Neko. ‘What? You can’t seriously think this was us?’

Neko pauses, tilting her head. ‘No,’ she says finally. ‘I do not.’

This makes Jim start. ‘Oh,’ he says. ‘That…good. That’s good.’

‘Even if it were possible,’ Neko says. ‘This is not Starfleet’s style.’ She turns, giving the gruesome spectacle another once-over. ‘It is clear to me that there is something else entirely at work here. We must regroup, immediately.’

Jim draws himself up, releasing the now-calmer Elsha. ‘I would agree, however…’ 

He glannces at Spock who inclines his head in agreement. The time for keeping the rest of their crewmates’ presence a secret is past. At this point, it is far more dangerous for Nyota, Gaila, and Manheim to be alone without any warning of what has occurred than for Neko and her crew to know of their presence. 

‘There’s one thing I have to admit,’ Jim says.

As her eyes narrow dangerously, Neko’s fingers wrap around her disruptor. 

Jim shows no trepidation. ‘There are three more members of my away-team in this station,’ he says, inclining his chin and meeting her eyes. 

Neko growls, stalking towards him. ‘You lied to me?’

Jim scoffs. ‘Oh, get over yourself, Neko—like I was going to expose my crewmates to you unnecessarily. They were downstairs translating the captain’s log we found. This, though.’ Jim pauses, his gaze drawn back to the bloody ground. ‘This changes things. Right now, I’ve got three people downstairs who have no idea there’s something else here with us. They need to be warned.’

Neko stalks forward, until she’s practically nose-to-nose with Jim. ‘And why would I let you do that?’

Jim holds his ground. ‘Because you’re a captain too.’

Silence. The two glare at each other for a few moments longer before, finally, Neko grits her teeth and runs a hand over her braided hair. ‘Fine,’ she says. ‘But you’re not going alone. I don’t trust you as far as I can throw you. Solara, Chani,’ she continues, turning to her crew. Both her first mate and a young Orion stand up straighter. ‘Go back upstairs. Tell the rest what’s happened. As soon as Roguv can be moved, go back up to the bridge and wait for us there.’

Solara and Chani both nod. Solara shoves the bag of collected PADDS to one of the others, who quickly returns them to the Enterprise crew members, before she and Chani turn and head right back up the stairs they’ve just come down. Neko spins, sending Jim another glare. ‘Lead the way, Captain Kirk.’ 

Nyota sits on the desk, legs crossed, as she frowns down at her PADD. To her left, Gaila’s loading up further logs, sending them each to Nyota. Manheim’s leaning on the wall by the door, ready to pull his phaser at the slightest provocation.

Tapping her stylus against the side of the PADD, Nyota frowns deeper. This language has plenty of similarities to Polythemian which has helped her build up a decent lexicon. The universal translator is hard at work, picking it all apart.

While it’s taking time—too much time, Nyota can’t help but think—slowly, she’s managing to translate it. Thus far, all she has are reports of supply deliveries. Not terribly helpful to figuring out what happened here, but it all adds to the translator’s understanding.

Nyota absently rocks back and forth as she thinks. If she cracks the date, she can at least find the most recent logs. Without that date, the files’re all over the place…

Someone pokes her in the leg and she jumps, fumbling to keep hold of her PADD. ‘Gaila!’ she snaps as Gaila breaks out in gales of laughter. ‘Don’t do that!’

Unable to stop laughing, Gaila sucks in desperate gasps of air. Over by the door, Axel “Dead Man” Manheim is also cracking up and making no attempt to hide it. Truly, Nyota’s losing her touch—she should be too scary for people to laugh at like this.

She glares at them. ‘I hate you both.’

‘Sure.’ Gaila brushes away tears of laughter and pats her on the shoulder patronisingly. Nyota comes this close to trying to bite her hand. ‘Anyway, I was trying to get your attention for a reason. Look.’

Nyota scowls, shifting closer. Immediately, all annoyance flees her body. ‘Are those audio files?’

In answer, Gaila taps on one, letting it play. 

Two speakers come out of the desk, as a voice starts talking. The language is, well, exactly what Nyota would’ve expected from the written version. The similarities with Polythemian are obvious, though there are differences, especially with pronunciation. 

Crucially, however, it’s nothing at all like the distress call Nyota picked up. The one that brought them here in the first place.

She sits forward, frowning, setting the translator to work on translating the audio as she does so. ‘Are the other files in the same language?’

Gaila shrugs. ‘Let’s find out, shall we?’

Manheim leaves his post by the door, coming over to listen more closely, as Gaila plays several more of the files. All of them are in that same language. 

Once Gaila’s played about seven of them, Nyota stops her. ‘That language,’ she says slowly. ‘That’s not the same as the call we picked up.’

Gaila and Manheim both turn to her, frowning. Of course, neither of them heard the original call. 

‘It doesn’t sound anything alike?’ Gaila asks.

‘Not a bit,’ Nyota says. She seeks out the right file on her PADD and lets it play—at a low volume. The scream erupts out, piercing the air, making every atom in Nyota’s body go on alert. It is, if anything, even more unsettling here and now, in the middle of this abandoned space station. It’s unsettling enough that Nyota stops it before it finishes. ‘See,’ she rasps out past a suddenly dry throat.

Gaila has gone waxy, while Manheim instinctively crosses himself. ‘That’s what we came here for?’ he asks.

Nyota nods. ‘I listened to it carefully,’ she says—even though, in this moment, she can’t imagine how she managed to listen to that awful noise as many times as she did. ‘It’s definitely a message, spoken in a language that we’ve never encountered before. I assumed it’d be this station’s language but…’

But it isn’t.

‘So…why, exactly,’ Manheim says, ‘did we pick up that unholy scream and go, “Yeah, that sounds dead fun, we should go mess with that” and not “Well, that’s a blaring red alert, let’s go to the other side of the galaxy instead”?’ 

‘It’s a distress call,’ Nyota says. ‘It’s our job to respond to distress calls.’

Manheim scowls, crossing himself again.

Gaila jumps in before he says anything. ‘Regardless,’ she says. ‘It’s definitely not the same language as the audio logs. Must’ve been sent by someone else.’ She swipes the screen. ‘I’ll send all of these audio files to your PADD, Nyo. You can set the translator on them. Meanwhile, I’ll search for any other files that fit more with what the original distress call sounded like. Give me a…’

She’s interrupted by the buzzing of Manheim’s communicator. Manheim flicks it open. ‘Manheim here.’

‘Manheim, it’s Kirk,’ says the oddly tinny and distorted voice of Jim. ‘You need to watch out. We’re not alone here, there’s something else on the station.’

Manheim frowns. ‘The life signs, sir?’

‘…other than that….’ Jim’s voice is interrupted by bursts of static, blocking out his words intermittently. ‘…found dead….no visual…on our way down…stay….you are…’

The communicator splutters one last time before Jim’s voice is fully overtaken by static. 

‘Captain. Captain! Jim!’ Manheim tries to call him back, but to no avail. Only continual white noise responds. 

Nyota tries her own communicator, as does Gaila. Neither of them gets through to Jim.

Dropping hers back down onto the desk, Nyota runs a hand over her face. ‘Interference is too strong. That didn’t sound good. They’re coming back down?’

‘Seems like it.’ Manheim crosses his arms, frowning deeply. ‘Maybe we should go meet them.’

‘First,’ Nyota says. ‘We need to finish downloading everything off the computer. There might not be another chance. Gaila?’

‘On it.’ Gaila sets back to work with renewed fervour. 

‘Uhura? Lieutenant Uhura, come in.’ Jim lowers his communicator, frowning. No answer. Not from Uhura and not from Gaila either. The few words from Manheim are the only sign the other three received his call at all. 

Neko crosses her arms. ‘Signal’s spotty in this place. You didn’t notice?’

Jim shoots her a glare. ‘And you didn’t mention it?’

Neko shrugs. ‘You got through for a second, didn’t you?’

Jim sighs, flipping his communicator closed and sliding it into his pocket. ‘At least they know we’re on our way.’ Hopefully. Jim’s not sure how much of his message made it through.

He glances at Spock and Elsha, who’re both making their own attempts to break through to Uhura’s team. Spock’s not showing his worry—he never does—but he’ll be feeling it. 

Elsha takes the lead as they continue. While she has no weapon—their phasers have not been returned—Missy wasn’t wrong in her recommendation. Jim’s had a few practice bouts with her in the Enterprise gym; she’s a badass with or without weapons. She’s the logical choice to go first. If, that is, whatever killed Neko’s crew is possible to fight.

Jim really hopes it’s possible to fight. 

According to the blueprints, they’re still in the long cylindrical structure that stretches from top to bottom of the station’s sphere. Ten flat decks extend out from said cylinder—at a rate of once every ten of the cylinder’s floors—on all sides, forming circles around it. The Captain’s quarters where they left Uhura and the others lie about three decks—or thirty cylinder floors—down from their current position.

Jim keeps close behind Elsha. She has the map too but Jim was the one to lead them up here. He remembers the route and—occasionally—has to nudge her in the right direction. 

As on the way up, the corridors are bizarrely laid out—ending at dead ends, or rooms that serve as dead ends, or rooms that lead to other rooms that bring you out in the same corridor you started in, or long stairwells that don’t let out on every floor (you need to find the right stairwell for the right floor if you want to get anywhere at all). Some doors don’t lead anywhere—they’re either for decoration or for the gleeful increasing of Jim’s already sky-high blood pressure—and other doors that lead out into thin air. It’s like the architects were intentionally designing as impossible a layout to navigate as they could. This, itself, doesn’t include the many—many—areas that have been wrecked; ceilings caved in, collapsed floors, broken life-support leaving whole corridors and rooms without breathable air. Altogether, it makes for the most frustrating, least enjoyable expedition Jim’s ever been on, his thoughts continuously buzzing as he goes, burning in his mind—thoughts of Uhura and Gaila and Manheim, who might already be dead for all he knows, might already be torn apart and discarded in pools of their own blood and…

Jim digs his PADD stylus into his palm—a few beads of blood popping out of the skin—the pain something to grasp onto, to fix on and thus stop his spiralling mind short.     

Despite the station’s best attempts, Elsha shows no sign of annoyance or confusion. She keeps her expression blank, never showing a drop of hesitation or concern to the pirate crew that’s on alert for any sign of weakness. Jim’s immensely proud of her. 

They come out of yet another stairwell into a mess-hall—one of several on the way up. Tables and chairs fill much of the floor space, tables fixed in place and chairs overturned. 

Elsha leads them across, heading for the door on the opposite wall. As she nears it, it groans and starts sliding open.

Speeding up, Jim reaches her side as everyone tenses around them. 

The door finishes opening and out steps a tall Orion woman in her late forties. She’s muscular and scarred, clothes dotted with green blood, leaning heavily on the wall as she goes. 

Neko gasps, pushing past Jim and Elsha. ‘Vairra! You’re alive! Did any of the others make it out too?’

Vairra’s expression doesn’t shift as she meets her captain’s eyes. ‘I…I don’t know,’ she says blankly. ‘I don’t remember.’

Neko stops short, a couple of feet back from her. ‘You…don’t remember?’

Vairra tilts her head to the side. ‘Did something happen?’

‘You were with the others, stripping the engine,’ Neko reminds her, frowning. ‘There was an attack. You must’ve escaped. How?’

‘I don’t remember,’ Vairra repeats.

‘Captain,’ Spock murmurs, drawing closer to Jim and Elsha. ‘Aside from several minor lacerations, she is uninjured according to my tricorder readings.’

So what’s made her forget? 

Jim frowns. ‘Could the attackers have mind-manipulation abilities?’ he asks, keeping his own voice quiet. It’s not the first time they’ve encountered something like that—Landru on Beta III, Sylvia on Pyris Seven, and more—and it would explain the memory loss. It might even explain the inability of both the man who originally called Neko and Bones’ patient to describe their attackers. 

‘Perhaps,’ Spock says. 

‘Why kill the others?’ Elsha asks, not moving her gaze from Vairra. ‘If it has those kinds of abilities, surely it could’ve stopped the fight?’

‘That, we’ll have to figure out.’ Jim eyes Vairra carefully. ‘Stay on your guard, both of you.’

While they’ve been talking, Neko has checked Vairra over, frowning. ‘You should head upstairs,’ she says. ‘I don’t like the look of that blood and you seem confused. This lot—’ she thumbs over her shoulder at Jim ‘—have a doctor with them, he’s up treating Roguv. Go to the Engineering room, head up the walkways to the tunnel up to the bridge. They should be along the way.’

Vairra tilts her head. ‘Yes, sir.’

Jim doesn’t take his eyes off her as she leaves, side-stepping their group and heading for the stairwell the rest of them came through. There’s something not right about her. He doesn’t like the idea of her going near his three crew members upstairs. It’s not up to him though, so he doesn’t say a word. He glances at Elsha, who takes his unspoken order with a nod and moves.

Roguv is worsening. He’s sweating, his cheeks turning the colour of white-oak leaves—significantly darker than the natural mint-green he had earlier. Both would be clear signs of fever, if Leonard couldn’t already feel the heat emanating off him.

Leonard grinds his teeth, glancing at Dara who’s holding Roguv’s hand and talking to him in low tones. She meets his eyes without stopping talking, tilting her head to the side a touch—she’s worried too.

He leans forward, trying to focus. Around them, the pirates are complaining to each other. None of them are happy to be staying here much longer; all the more since Solara—Neko’s first mate—and a second crew member named Chani returned with the news that their crewmates downstairs have been massacred. By what, no one knows.

Under orders to return to the bridge as soon as Roguv’s ready, the pirates are increasingly impatient—irritated mutters are growing all around. Well, Roguv’s not moving until Leonard says so and the lot of them can stuff their whining down their own throats and choke on it for all he cares.

Roguv’s broken tibia, at least, is set. It’s not the source of his fever, though.

That leaves the wound seeping blood through the bandage Dara’s pressing against it. Gently nudging Dara aside, Leonard examines the wound more closely. It’s deep—whatever did it cut through several layers of fat and muscle. No organs are damaged, which is a relief. It’s spotted with debris—the black he noticed earlier as well as bits of fabric. The wound is already turning mottled and black at the edges.

Well, he’s found the source of the fever at least.

After giving Roguv the Orion-appropriate antibiotic from his medkit, Leonard sets to work cleaning the wound with quick steady hands. Dara passes him what he needs when he asks for it, while also talking to Roguv to keep him calm and steady through the pain. Leonard’s extremely grateful he suggested she should come along.

As Leonard cleans, his frown deepens. 

While the fabric is easy enough to remove, the black dirt’s not coming out. His best attempts aren’t budging the stuff. It probably needs debriding—and he does, at least, have a scalpel in his medkit with which to do the debriding—but there’s an awful lot of the stuff all scattered around the wound and the thought of trying to perform the surgery, minor as it is, here in such unsanitary conditions is unpleasant to say the least.

Especially given the wound’s still bleeding. Cutting into it would make that a whole lot worse.

Coming to a decision, Leonard begins dressing the wound. He hasn’t got what he needs to do anything much for it, beyond covering it and keeping any more dirt from getting in it. In a fully stocked sickbay, this injury would be no problem. As he doesn’t have a fully stocked sickbay, he’ll make do. 

The pirates continue to mutter around them. Leonard pays them no heed. King’s between them and the rest, he’ll keep them at bay.

As Leonard fastens the bandage, King tenses. ‘Someone’s coming,’ he murmurs.

Dara frowns, her dark eyes flicking downwards and widening. ‘Another Orion?’

Leonard follows her gaze, as Roguv does the same. Sure enough, down below them is a vaguely familiar tall female Orion, buff enough to bench-press Leonard with one hand, slowly making her way upwards.

Roguv’s eyes widen in recognition. ‘It’s Vairra,’ he says, much louder than Dara and King were speaking. ‘Vairra’s coming!’

‘Vairra?’ Solara strides over to the handrail, frowning over the side. Her eyebrows shoot up, a genuine if small smile lighting up her face. ‘It is! Vairra, up here!’

Vairra raises her head and changes direction, heading right up towards them.  

‘She was with the crew stripping the engine,’ Chani says. ‘How can she be alive?’

‘Not a clue,’ says Solara, ‘but there she is. Damn, she’s drenched in blood. Hexilius, Donan, with me.’

Solara heads for the stairs, followed by the two crewmembers she named. All three go straight for Vairra, greeting her with clear excitement.

Leonard eyes her. Something’s weird about her reactions. When the others greet her, she responds a few seconds late. Like she’s merely mimicking the way she thinks she should be responding. A trauma reaction, maybe? She did just survive the brutal massacre of her crewmates.

Leonard files the thought away, watching closely.

Together, the three make their way back up. Vairra’s gaze lands on Roguv as they arrive. 

‘You’re alive,’ she says. Her voice is monotone.

Roguv struggles to sit up, face flushing an even darker green, eyes wild. ‘Are you alright? Did anyone else escape? How did you get away? Are you…’

He cuts himself off, sucking in a breath and collapsing in on himself.

‘What’s wrong? Roguv, I need you to tell me what you’re feeling,’ Leonard says, squeezing his shoulder.

Roguv’s eyes are closed as he fights for breath. ‘Burning,’ he gasps. ‘It’s burning.’

Leonard snatches up his hypospray, filling it with an appropriate painkiller. ‘Dara, hold him steady.’

‘This is the Starfleet doctor?’ Vairra says.

Solara confirms this as Leonard ignores them both. Dara has hold of Roguv, who’s bent double, hands over his ears. Carefully, Leonard places his hypospray against Roguv’s neck and injects.

Roguv collapses in on himself, sobbing under his breath.

‘What did you do?’ While Vairra’s voice is blank, it’s grown louder like she’s trying to express anger and doesn’t quite know how. ‘Why is he in pain?’

‘I gave him a painkiller,’ Leonard says. ‘It should work soon.’

The sooner the better. The poor guy’s still crying, hands holding his side. This’s the fastest-moving infection Leonard’s ever seen—if they don’t get him proper medical attention soon, he’s not at all confident Roguv will survive.

Vairra tilts her head to the side. ‘It does not appear to be helping.’

‘Give it time,’ Leonard says—not exactly optimistic himself. The painkiller is fast-acting. Roguv shouldn’t be crying in pain this long after having it. He grinds his teeth. ‘His wound is already infected,’ he admits. ‘I’ve done what I can but…’

He finds himself meeting Solara’s gaze. She eyes him, then Roguv, then Leonard again.

‘There’s a sickbay on the station,’ Vairra says.

Leonard stiffens. ‘There is?’ Well, of course there is. He should’ve realised that. ‘Where?’

‘Captain said to go back up to the bridge,’ Solara says.

Leonard glares at her. ‘I know that, but this man needs better treatment. He’s already running a fever and there’s not much more I can do without proper equipment.’

Solara scowls, not saying a word. Instead, she stops and considers, eyeing her crewmates as she does so. She looks at Roguv, examining him closely. He’s buried his face in his hands, Dara has her arm around him—still trying her best to soothe him. ‘Alright,’ she says. ‘Here’s what we’ll do. Chani, take a couple of the others and head up to the bridge, tell them what we found below. Rest of us’ll head to the sickbay so the doctor can treat Roguv. Move it!’

Chapter Text

Rather than searching through each file individually, Gaila opts to download the entire database. It’s a big download and she itches in place as it works—this is faster than what she was doing, even if it doesn’t feel it. She’ll end up with untidy duplicates but, after that call from Jim, it’s way more important that she finish up here than that every piece of information is perfectly ordered.

Anxiously, she taps her fingers against the surface of the desk, nibbling at her lip. Nyota’s bent over her own PADD, frowning as she runs the logs she’s already received through the universal translator. Manheim has returned to his place by the door, phaser out and at the ready. He meets Gaila’s eyes and smiles reassuringly. She smiles back. 

Something changes in his eyes, as he pushes off the wall. ‘Did you hear that?’ he asks with a frown, turning towards the door.

‘What?’ Gaila asks.

Nyota looks up from her PADD, glancing between them as Manheim holds up a hand, head tilted towards the door. ‘Hush,’ he says. ‘Listen. Don’t you hear that?’

Silence. Only the faint rumbling innate to a space station of this size. 

Then Gaila catches it. A faint whispering, somewhere off in the distance. For a moment, she’s back concealed underneath floorboards, hoping—praying—that the slavecatchers won’t find her. Her Secret-Holder talks to them, voice unerringly calm, as if there’s no escaped slave-girl under her floor. Gaila whispers prayers to the Many-Faced Lady, begging to stay hidden. 

She snaps back into the station, as a warm hand covers hers. Nyota’s worried eyes meet her gaze, and Gaila forces a smile to reassure her, looking back to Manheim.. ‘Whispering,’ she says.

Manheim’s forehead creases as the noise—the voice—comes again. He checks his phaser and taps the button next to the door. ‘Stay here,’ he says. ‘I’ll check it out. Back in a few.’

With that, he slips out of the door, closing it behind him. 

Gaila draws in a breath, as the download on her PADD reaches 78%. She turns her hand to grip Nyota’s. ‘It’s almost done,’ she says. ‘Once it’s finished, we gotta go find the others. I don’t like this.’

Nyota hums, eyes trained on the door. ‘I agree,’ she says, pulling her communicator out with her free hand and flicking it open. ‘I’ll try calling Jim again.’

As Nyota speaks into her communicator, Gaila returns her attention to the number slowly growing closer and closer to 100%. 

79%, 80%, 81%, 82%, 83%, 84%…

Something rams hard against the door from the outside—a harsh metallic clang rings out. Gaila leaps to her feet, phaser in her hand, as a terrible cry reverberates through the air. Nyota’s up too, her own phaser at the ready.

They exchange glances. Gaila takes the lead, darting over to the door and slamming her hand onto the button. It opens and, as soon as the gap’s big enough to make it through, Gaila slides past it and out into the corridor. ‘Manheim?’ she calls. ‘Manheim! Axel! You here?’

No one answers. 

‘Gaila.’

Gaila follows Nyota’s gaze down to a smear of bright red blood, leading away from the door. ‘Manheim’s?’ Gaila whispers, unable to bring herself to speak louder.

Nyota’s expression is grim, as she raises her communicator and tries to hail him. ‘Manheim, come in. Lieutenant Manheim, come in! Where are you? Are you hurt? Manheim?’

Static alone replies.

A heavy stone makes its home in Gaila’s stomach as she stares at the blood. Slowly, she follows the smeared stain with her palm-beacon beam, tracing it down the corridor until it abruptly cuts off, like whoever was bleeding just vanished. 

Manheim’s gone. A sickness crawls up her throat—he was here five minutes ago, how can he be gone?

‘Captain, come in,’ Nyota’s voice comes from behind her, back by the Captain’s quarters. ‘Captain Kirk, come in! Jim, I swear, if you don’t answer me, I’ll…’ She cuts herself off, taking in a breath. Gaila rejoins her as she switches over to trying Spock. ‘Spock, come in. Commander Spock, come in!’

Static.

Nyota grits her teeth. ‘How long does that download have left?’ 

Gaila goes to check, her hands shaking as she grabs her PADD. ‘It’s at 95%.’

‘Good.’ Nyota sets her jaw. ‘Second that thing hits 100, we’re out of here. Get ready.’

While Lieutenant Elsha continues to take the lead, Jim keeping behind her and watching her back, Spock does the same for Jim. Since the discovery of a surviving member of the engine-stripping party, the pirates have been a great deal more energised and amicable. Spock does not trust this. He keeps an eye out. It would not do to be caught off guard. 

As they go, descending through stairwells, across floors, down corridors, Spock runs through the information they’ve already gained in his mind. 

Fact: there is something else here, other than the pirates and the Enterprise away-team. 

Fact: this something or somethings possess the ability to kill at least eight people in a short space of time. It likely did this without taking major damage itself, though this is not an established fact as of yet.

Fact: this something caused Vairra to forget the entire—distinctly unforgettable—experience. It did this without causing her major physical harm, such as a head injury.

Hypothesis: an alien with hypnotic or telepathic abilities, capable of manipulating minds without requiring a great deal of time to do so and also physically capable, likely an expert hunter. No alien species Spock can recall matches this hypothesis. Therefore, it must be an entirely new creature. This would make sense, since this station is in undiscovered space. 

Fact: they have not encountered this creature themselves. Therefore, it must be elsewhere in the station. It is likely downstairs, if anywhere. 

Fact: Nyota is downstairs. If they do not find her and the others in time, all three may die.

Spock considers this from a distance. The latter is a speculation. This is unhelpful. Factually, Nyota, Gaila, and Manheim are all capable officers—who’ve survived every disaster thrown at them over the years.

This is a fact and this he centres himself on, allowing speculations to float away.

Elsha leads them out of another stairwell and into an enormous robotics lab they passed through on the way up. The technology on display here, as broken and rusted as it is, is fascinating. It is a pity that this station is so dangerous—Spock would greatly appreciate the opportunity to study it all.

They move swiftly through, reaching the door on the far side. Elsha goes to open it and frowns. 

‘Captain,’ she says. ‘It won’t open.’

Jim moves to try himself, expression darkening when the door doesn’t move. He examines it closely. ‘Is this…this door is deadlocked. It wasn’t on the way up, was it? Didn’t we come through here, Spock?’

Spock moves to join him, examining the door himself. It is, indeed, deadlocked. ‘We did,’ he confirms. ‘Perhaps the others locked it in an attempt to defend themselves from something on this side?’

‘Maybe.’ Jim’s frown deepens. ‘Can you open it?’

Spock makes an attempt. It doesn’t work. ‘It appears not,’ he says. ‘We will need to find a different way down.’

‘Elsha?’ 

Elsha examines the map. ‘There’s another way out of this room,’ she confirms. ‘Over here.’ 

She leads the way over to another door, this one leading into a long corridor. Unlike the other, it is not locked. Elsha turns right, following the corridor along until reaching another stairwell. This door slides open slowly.

Down they go.

Download completed, Gaila opens the map and takes the lead. Nyota remains close by her side as they head out of the Captain’s quarters, both trying their best not to look at the trail of blood marking the path.

Their first attempt at going upwards is met with a deadlocked door. Gaila tries to hack it to no avail. Frustrated, she darts back down the stairs, waiting impatiently for Nyota at the bottom and, once Nyota reaches her, hurrying onwards towards the second stairwell marked on the blueprints. 

She reaches it and tries the door, as—on the other side—her eyes meet Lieutenant Elsha’s through the window in the door. 

Both stare, taken aback by the other’s surprise appearance. ‘Elsha?’ Gaila says, as Nyota catches up and stops short beside her.

Elsha frowns and says something. Her voice is completely muted. 

‘We can’t hear you,’ Gaila says, intentionally over-emphasising the syllables of her words, hoping that Elsha can read her lips. 

Elsha points at her ears and shakes her head. She can’t hear Gaila either.

Nyota grabs out her communicator. ‘Lieutenant Elsha, come in. Elsha, come in.’ 

Elsha has her own out too. Despite the metre-long distance between them, there’s no connection. It’s like the door itself is cutting them off. As Nyota continues trying to hail the others from their end, Elsha is joined by first Jim, then Spock—and also a bunch of people Gaila doesn’t recognise.

Jim’s face lights up at the sight of them and he enthusiastically tries to open the door. It doesn’t open and his face falls. Spock makes his own attempt, eyes fixed on Nyota, failing too.

Yep. This door’s sealed as well. 

Meeting Jim’s eyes, Gaila moves one hand up and passes it over her eyes. In Aksa—the sign language of the Orion slaves—it means locked or imprisonment, no way out.

Jim’s expression tightens. 

She taught him Aksa, back in the Academy. He was the first person she taught it to—before even Nyota. Aksa is a secret language, known solely to those who’ve spent time as an Orion slave, passed from slave to slave in the dead of night, and to those a slave or former slave trusted absolutely—entirely consisting of natural movements and gestures, that will never stand out to someone unaware of it.

Aksa is life and freedom. It can only do its job if it’s kept secret, if the masters are kept oblivious to its existence. She was hesitant to teach Nyota, because Nyota doesn’t understand that. To her, language is shared, understood, used to bring people together. A language being a treasure to be held tight to the chest and shared rarely is beyond her understanding. It took years for Gaila to be ready to share it and to explain to Nyota the meaning of it—and even now, she knows Nyota holds the secret for her because Gaila asks it, not because she truly understands.

From the start, she could see Jim knew all too well the value of a secret. He understood, intuitively, what she was doing by teaching him Aksa—“in showing you this,” she was saying, “I am allowing you to hold a phaser to my head and trusting you not to fire”.

He’s never once broken that trust.

As he recognises her gesture, he shifts so his shoulders block the view—subtly so—before he reaches up and brushes his fingers through his hair, then rubs at the corner of his eye. Safe?

Gaila presses two fingers to her cheek. Two of us are.

Jim’s expression darkens. ‘Manheim?’ he mouths.

Missing, Gaila signs back, ignoring the pulsating pain in her heart at the reminder.

Jim tilts his head to the side. Understood. He passes one hand over his left eye. Another way. He points downwards. I’ll find.

They’ll find another way down to Gaila and Nyota.

He repeats the sign for “safe” and taps four fingers in a three-beat pattern. Go to safe place. Presumably, he means the shuttle. He taps his ear, then re-repeats the sign for “safe”. Contact the Enterprise from there. 

Gaila tilts her head to indicate that she understands. 

Jim gives her a worried, warm smile. ‘Be safe,’ he mouths. 

‘You too,’ she mouths back. She brushes her hand over her stomach. Love.

His face softens, as his eyes move to Nyota. She’s been quietly watching them, taking in the same information as Gaila, occasionally peeking at Spock. She meets his gaze, smiles and makes the same gesture. 

He does it back.

In Aksa, the “love” sign—as with the majority of Aksa signs—has multiple meanings. It’s a pet-name, a sign of affection, and a promise. Most of all, it’s a goodbye, a final one—a slave can never rely on a goodbye not being permanent, so they have to make it count.

The stone is back in Gaila’s stomach as she and Nyota reluctantly leave the door—and their crewmates—behind.

Leonard’s not exactly thrilled about moving his patient, but needs must. He’ll be able to do a hell of a lot more for Roguv with the instruments and medicine available in a sickbay than with only his medkit and the small ones the other two have.

Chani takes one of the others—not Hexilius, Leonard notes with an internal groan—and heads back up to the bridge. With them gone, Solara has two of the bigger pirates help Roguv, while Vairra leads the way to the sickbay.

Leonard finds himself with King and Dara to either side of him, both clearly fiercely determined to protect him from any potential dangers. He appreciates it but, frankly, they’re both kids—King’s twenty-five and Dara’s even younger than he is—and the thought of either of them dying for him isn’t exactly a fun one. 

Hell, he’s getting old. King’s the same age as Jim was when the Narada hit. He knew Jim was young but it hits harder now. 

As they go, King talks—softly, trying not to draw any attention from the surrounding pirates. Not about anything in particular, telling stories about the hijinks the younger Security officers get into on the Enterprise. It takes longer than it should—in fact, it takes until Leonard slips briefly, and catches another glimpse of the dizzying drop beneath them, nausea roiling in his stomach as King grips his arm reassuringly—for Leonard to realise King’s trying to distract him from the height.

Damn, King’s a good kid. A troublemaker, if his stories are to be believed—and they are, Leonard recognises enough of them from various injuries he’s had to treat in Sickbay—but a good kid, nonetheless.

Every so often, Dara chimes in with additions to King’s stories. Mostly, she stays quiet, keeping an eye on everyone around them. 

They’ve been continuing in this way for a while, across narrow walkways, interlinking staircases, in and out of small tunnels, when Dara tenses. ‘What was that?’

‘What?’ King asks.

‘Just listen,’ she says. 

They listen. The engine room itself is loud—continual rumbling, hissing, metallic groaning fills the whole place—and their little entourage isn’t exactly staying quiet either. The sound of their feet hitting the metal beneath their feet rings throughout the entire room. It’s hard to make out anything else and Leonard’s not sure what Dara’s referring to.

At first, that is. 

A faint scratching is the first new sound that slips through the engine’s natural cacophony, like a dog at the door begging to be let in. Leonard’s not sure where it’s coming from. Every time he thinks he’s figured it out, it moves. Faint metallic ringing like hard claws clicking against the corrugated walkways echoes around them, coming from everywhere at once.

They aren’t the only ones who’ve noticed it. Ahead, Solara slows, frowning as she tilts her head to the side. She holds out a hand to stop the others. ‘What is that?’ she says.

Vairra takes longer to stop than the others, turning and staring at Solara, her expression blank. ‘What?’

‘That noise.’ Solara turns, eyes roving the enormous room, as an unsettling whispering starts—initially distant yet growing closer every second.

‘I don’t hear anything,’ says Vairra.

‘How can you not hear that?’ a young Orion asks, his expression tense as he pulls his gun out of its holster. ‘It’s horrible!’

Vairra looks at him, tilting her head to the side. Her face doesn’t change, but Leonard could swear something moves up her throat and over her cheekbone, underneath the skin. 

Cold creeps up Leonard’s chest. ‘Something’s wrong,’ he hisses at Dara and King.

Dara shifts closer, as King draws himself up, eyes narrowed at Vairra.

Solara pulls her own weapon, aiming it outwards—there’s nothing for her to aim at. ‘Draw your weapons,’ she orders sharply.

Leonard scans their surroundings. He can’t see anything. The sounds, however, are still drawing nearer. 

Roguv has drained of colour, clinging onto his crewmates’ shoulders with everything he’s got. ‘It’s back,’ he cries. ‘It’s back, we have to go, Solara, we have to go, before it…’

He’s cut off when all the lights go out, leaving them in pitch-blackness. One of the pirates right at the back screams. Snatching out his palm-beacon, Leonard shines it in the man’s direction. Something black—a void-like tentacle—wraps around the pirate’s chest, dragging him backwards as he screams and fights to escape. 

The other pirates fire. Their blasts have no effect. The man vanishes into the dark and—distantly—Leonard remembers those grinning shadows at the base of that staircase. 

It’s here. 

‘We have to run, Solara, we have to run!’ Roguv screams.

Solara growls. ‘Go!’ she yells, aiming and firing as she does so. ‘Lights out and run, now!’

Leonard doesn’t need to be told twice. 

It’s not easy to run in total darkness. With palm-beacons in hand, they do it anyway, racing across fragile walkways without handrails and hoping against hope that they don’t fall off the edge. More screams come from around them, as their lights catch glimpses of people being dragged backwards. The young Orion from before is yanked right off the edge, falling down, down, down, until he vanishes from sight.

Leonard’s heart races as King shines his palm-beacon ahead, the beam catching on a hole in the wall. ‘There!’ King yells. ‘That’s the way out!’

They run for it. 

One of the pirates reaches it first, calling for everyone to follow him. King races ahead—Leonard’s not sure what he’s doing, but he trusts the kid to have a plan. Seconds after King reaches the tunnel, the lights flicker on inside of it. Leonard and Dara speed up their pace.

Another scream comes from the side as another of the pirates is dragged off. Leonard doesn’t slow, despite it going against every fibre of his being to not help someone who’s in danger. 

King starts back towards them as something blocks their path. Leonard stumbles back, flashing his palm-beacon up, illuminating Vairra, expression dull and empty. Underneath her green skin, something is definitely crawling around, across her cheekbones, down her throat.

Leonard grabs Dara’s arm, pulling her with him as he tries to make it around Vairra. 

Dara cries out in pain and Leonard spins. A calloused green hand is clamped hard around Dara’s forearm. He snarls, throwing himself forward, fighting to free her, trying to uncurl the fingers.

Behind them, the whispering grows closer.

Vairra yanks, twisting Dara’s arm hard and clamping her other hand around Leonard’s own upper arm. The grip is like iron, impossible to break.

Dara screams as a sharp—awful—snap resounds from her arm. Leonard throws his entire weight against Vairra’s hold, trying to make it to Dara.

The sensation of Leonard’s own bone giving way under Vairra’s grip is nauseating and he throws himself forward to bite hard on her hand. It has absolutely no effect. 

‘Dara, Doctor! Down!’ King yells.

Neither Leonard nor Dara hesitate. They both throw themselves downwards as much possible. A sickening squelchy crunch comes from above them and finally, finally, Vairra lets go.

Leonard leaps sidewards, pulling Dara with him—barely avoiding the perilous edge, making it to King’s side.

Vairra stays upright for a moment. King comes at her again, slamming his already-bloody metal pipe into her head a second time. There’s another awful crunch, as Vairra’s skull caves in to expose black-veined brain matter, transparent cerebrospinal fluid and green blood dripping down her face. 

She should fall. Should collapse, right where she is. Nobody—Orion, Human, Romulan, Vulcan, or anything else—can survive a wound like that. 

She doesn’t fall. For a single second, she wobbles in place, balance off-set. Then she turns, eyes fixing back on Dara and Leonard.

‘Run!’ yells King, pushing them onwards. 

They run. Leonard keeps one hand on Dara’s uninjured arm, propelling her with them. She stumbles along, half in shock, as they near the exit.

King chances a glance behind them, and shoving Leonard and Dara ahead. Before King himself can escape, something so utterly dark it sucks in what little light is left wraps around his leg and pulls.

Leonard throws himself forward, grabbing King’s hand, trying to pull him back. With a fractured arm, however, he hasn’t a hope. 

From the look in his eyes, King knows it too. 

Unwilling to give up, Leonard throws his entire weight behind his grip, pulling with both hands. Shards of hot pain spike up through his shoulder and into his chest, as the bone in his arm shifts. He still doesn’t let go. ‘Help me!’ he yells, unsure who he’s yelling for. Dara drops to his side, grabbing for King’s other hand. Her added strength does something, but it’s not enough.

No-one else comes. 

King meets Leonard’s eyes and determination fills his face. He sets his jaw and releases their hands. 

Without King holding on, Leonard and Dara’s attempts to save him are futile. King is dragged backwards, vanishing into the black. Leonard leaps forward after him, every instinct screaming at him to help, to do something.

Dara’s uninjured hand wraps around Leonard’s and she pulls him back. ‘We have to go!’ she screams, a half-sob choking her words. 

Dara. He has to help Dara. He can still help Dara.

Sick with guilt and pain, Leonard turns and runs.

Chapter Text

Nyota forces herself to breathe as Gaila leads the way, one hand holding her trusty PADD with the blueprints up and the other holding tight to Nyota’s hand. Nyota grips back equally hard. She is not getting separated from Gaila too, not today.

Gaila leads them down the winding corridor and into a familiar turbo-lift. Once the doors close and the turbo-lift moves downwards, Nyota starts feeding the audio logs into the universal translator through the PADD in her other hand.  

She can’t lead them, can’t find Spock, Jim, Leonard—her friends, her family—and protect them like her every bone screams out to do. This, however—this, she can do. She’ll figure out what the hell is going on. There’s no way that all of this isn’t connected to whatever happened to the original occupants of this station. There’ll be answers in the logs—there must be. 

This, she can do. This, she will do.

The doors slide open, revealing—finally—the enormous entry-room from earlier, the one that leads out into the promenade. It’s eerily quiet with only Nyota and Gaila, their footsteps echoing as they head towards the doors. Only the faint rumble of engines from above merges with the echo until, from somewhere beyond the old reception desk in the back, Nyota hears something. 

She stops, pulling Gaila to a stop as well. Gaila frowns. ‘Nyota?’ 

Nyota shakes her head, listening closely. The noise comes again—it’s a distant voice. Someone is talking. Not a whisper—like Manheim heard before he…well, before—it’s fully speaking out loud.

She lets go of Gaila’s hand, moving closer, straining to make it out. 

The voice grows louder. It’s from further into the station, beyond the back of the central entryroom. Nyota frowns, trying to make it out, as she reaches the reception desk. 

‘…one there?’ The voice calls out. ‘Please, are you there? Captain? Commander? Uhura?’

Manheim. It’s Manheim’s voice. He sounds a little odd—his thick Estuary British accent is fainter, like when he’s trying to “posh himself up”, as he calls it, for diplomatic situations—but it’s definitely him.

Nyota spins around to find Gaila right behind her. ‘It’s Manheim,’ Nyota says. ‘He’s alive!’

Gaila’s expression tightens, as she glances at the doors out to the promenade. ‘Are you sure?’

‘I’m sure,’ Nyota says, as Manheim says something. ‘Listen to it, Gaila!’

Gaila frowns, listening for herself. 

‘Gaila?’ Manheim cries. ‘Doctor McCoy? Please, I don’t know what happened! Answer me, please!’

‘It’s him, Gaila! He’s…’

‘Alive,’ Gaila finishes for her, eyes wide. ‘He’s really alive.’

There’s no question of what they’ll do now. ‘Manheim!’ Nyota yells. ‘We’re coming! Stay where you are!’

As one, they skirt around the reception desk and through the door in the back, out into yet another long corridor. The door slides shut behind them with a resounding clang, as something clicks. 

Nyota pays it little heed. Manheim’s out there somewhere and the Enterprise crew never leaves anyone behind. 

Jim tries his best not to be frustrated with how slow progress has become. Every other door Spock—who’s taken over map-reading responsibilities—finds is blocked. The ones that aren’t don’t lead them anywhere close to downstairs. It feels intentional, like whatever else’s here might be hacking the computer systems.

Jim hopes that isn’t the case . His gut says otherwise. 

He allows Spock and Elsha to go before him—Spock because he has the map and Elsha because, again, total badass—and keeps close behind them, one eye on Neko and her motley crew. This whole expedition is increasingly losing any value for Neko. Only based on their shared captaincies could Jim appeal to her to do this in the first place and that’s losing ground with every locked door they find. 

As they come out into yet another storage area, Neko’s expression hardens. She crosses her arms, meeting his gaze with a dangerous glare. 

Jim swallows hard. He won’t abandon Gaila and Uhura, but he’s also acutely aware trying to escape Neko means leaving Bones, King, and Dara in the hands of angry pirates. 

He steps closer to Spock, who’s examining the other doors out of here. ‘I think we’re…’ he starts, interrupted by a burst of noise from his communicator. Jim jumps, immediately flicking it open and raising it to his mouth. ‘Kirk here.’

‘Jim!’ Bones’s voice is tight, breathless, panicked. ‘Thank goodness! It’s here, Jim, it’s…’ He’s cut off by a scream from somewhere in the background—not Bones, thankfully, but that doesn’t do much to reassure Jim.

‘Bones, what’s going on?’ he demands. ‘Where are you? On the bridge?’

‘No, we…we were going to the sickbay…it came out of nowhere…Jim, we need…’ 

Bones’s voice is abruptly cut off by a burst of static. No matter how hard Jim tries to hail him, static is all that remains. 

He meets Spock’s gaze. Spock’s as stiff as Jim, obvious concern forcing its way out from underneath his iron-clad Vulcan control.

‘What the hell was that?’ Neko snaps. ‘Was that your man upstairs?’

‘That was Doctor McCoy, yes,’ Jim confirms, giving up on trying to call Bones back and flipping his communicator shut. ‘They’re in trouble.’

Neko’s jaw clenches. ‘Then we will go. Come.’

‘Wait a minute, we—’ Jim gestures between himself and his two officers ‘—can’t just leave my other crewmates downstairs.’ Sure, maybe the monster’s upstairs—that doesn’t mean Uhura and Gaila are safe, not with those locked doors blocking their way out.

‘Your doctor is in more imminent danger,’ Neko points out. 

This is true. Jim glances at Spock, who inclines his head. 

‘Let Spock and Elsha continue to try and find a way downstairs,’ Jim says, turning back to Neko. ‘I’ll come with you upstairs.’

Neko’s eyes narrow. ‘I’m not sending any of my crew with them,’ she says.

‘I won’t ask you to.’

Neko inclines her chin. ‘They won’t try and tell your ship to arrest us, will they?’ She sends a pointed glare at Spock and Elsha.

‘At this present time,’ says Spock. ‘I believe there are greater issues at hand.’

Silence. ‘Fine,’ Neko says. ‘Remember your captain’s with us.’

‘We are well aware of that fact,’ Spock says dryly.

Neko eyes him, as if trying to catch him out in a lie, before she shakes her head and turns back to her crew. ‘Upstairs, let’s go,’ she orders. 

Jim sends one last look at Spock and Elsha. ‘Be careful,’ he says. ‘Get to the shuttle.’

Both nod, Spock’s forehead creasing a touch. ‘Focus your attention on finding Doctor McCoy,’ he says quietly. ‘We will be fine.’

Jim smiles cheerily. ‘Oh, don’t worry. Me and Bones’ll be okay. No problem.’

‘Kirk!’ Neko snaps from the doorway. 

‘And I’m off.’ Jim draws in a breath to settle himself. ‘See you in a bit.’ 

The words are a promise, more than anything else. Jim will see them later. This isn’t goodbye.

As he joins Neko and her crew, he tries his best to believe it.

Leonard curses aloud as his communicator cuts out. No amount of hailing breaks through to Jim.

He shoves it back into his pocket, as he and Dara continue to run. Around them, the corridor is lit by those same red lights from downstairs. They’re now almost reassuring. Whatever’s chasing them, it doesn’t seem to like the light much.

Despite that, it stays behind them, surrounding them—whispering in the walls.

Dara stumbles. Leonard instinctively catches her, looping her uninjured arm around his shoulder. ‘I got you, honey,’ he says gently, as they hobble on. ‘Hold on to me.’

The poor girl’s gone grey and clammy. She won’t stop shivering and the doctor in Leonard distantly diagnoses the initial stages of likely hypovolemic shock. Dara won’t last much longer. Ahead, the surviving pirates continue to run. Roguv’s being helped along, but he’s flagging too. Neither of them can handle much more of this.

Solara opens a door at the end of the corridor. ‘In here!’ she calls, racing inside. 

They follow, coming out into a veritable paradise of greenery and flowers. It’s a garden, lit by solar lights from up above, making it the best lit room thus far. Unfamiliar plants surround them; alien vegetables grow up walls and in patches. 

Leonard hefts Dara up more firmly, ignoring how his own injury screams out as her hand brushes his upper arm. They follow the group further in, along winding paths that crawl around great jungle-esque trees and massive bushes. 

As those in front slow their pace, Leonard and Dara get closer.

Roguv’s mumbling. By this point, he’s no longer truly aware or coherent—his words are slurred and confused. What little Leonard understands are reiterations of the same warnings from before, “they’re coming” and “no escape” and other cheerful things like that.

Leonard frowns, tightening his hold on Dara. They need to stop. This can’t go on.

‘We need to find somewhere to rest!’ he calls. ‘There’re injuries to treat!’

He is ignored. 

If Spock were here, he could’ve told them what a terrible idea it is to ignore Leonard—especially when his patients are on the line.

Leonard growls, hefting Dara up higher and pouring every bit of energy he has left into speeding up enough to reach Solara—who, he assumes, is still in charge. He grabs hold of her arm, pulling. ‘These two need rest!’ he snaps.

Solara turns, glaring and throwing him off. ‘You forget yourself, Starfleet.’

Leonard glares back. ‘One of your own people needs it; Roguv’s delirious! We’ll kill him if we keep pushing him like this!’

‘And what do you suggest? We allow that…’ Solara struggles for words, her jaw tightening. ‘Thing to catch up with us?’

‘I suggest we find a safe place to rest!’

‘Solara, whatever it is, it’ll be coming!’ one of the other pirates hisses at her—a short, squareish unfamiliar pink alien. ‘We can’t afford to wait around.’

‘If he’s so determined to feed himself to it, why not leave him?’ Hexilius suggests, aiming a disgusted look at Leonard. ‘And anyone else who’s too weak to make it.’

This is clearly aimed at their injured and Leonard’s not having any of that. 

‘I don’t give a damn what you do to me,’ he snaps. ‘You cannot abandon them, they’re injured!’ He turns back to Solara, meeting her eyes, his voice turning pleading. ‘Solara, you know that wouldn’t be right, you know it. Is it honourable to abandon your companions because they’re injured?’

Solara’s jaw tenses. 

‘What do Starfleet scum know about honour?’ Hexilius demands, storming forward.

‘We don’t have time for this!’ says another Romulan—Donan, if Leonard remembers correctly. ‘Solara, that thing’ll be coming! We need to move!’

Solara holds up a hand, eyes fixed on Leonard’s. ‘If we find somewhere safe, we’ll stop,’ she concedes, turning to face the rest. ‘Keep an eye out for somewhere to stop and keep up the pace! Let’s go!’

With that, they start off again. 

Clutching Dara tightly, Leonard forces himself to put one step in front of the other. She’s relying on him—after that argument, if he lets them fall too far behind, the pirates won’t be waiting for them, even if they do find somewhere to stop.

Above them, the solar-lights flicker—on, off, on, off, on. Leonard’s heart rate speeds up. If those lights go off like the ones in Engineering…

‘Here!’ There’s a yell from up ahead. One of the younger pirates has reached one of the walls. ‘There’s a door, it’s got a deadlock seal!’

The lights flicker, turning off for longer this time. 

‘Open it, Carai!’ Solara yells.

Carai obeys, throwing the door open and racing inside. As Leonard fights to speed up the pace, the lights flicker once and give out completely.

Darkness surrounds them, the sole light coming from that storeroom where Carai has turned them on. It, at least, gives them a goal—everything around Leonard is so dark that he hasn’t a clue where anything is. 

That awful whispering returns, all around them, and Leonard curses. 

He abandons helping Dara along, instead picking her up in a firefighter carry and racing for the door. Knocking into hard wood, stumbling through tall grass, Leonard fights to keep going and desperately ignores Dara’s moans of pain. The door grows closer, closer, closer.

There’s a cry from his left. Leonard doesn’t slow. 

He keeps going, keeps running for that doorway until finally he stumbles inside, practically collapsing onto the hard metal floor. Seconds after, the door slams shut and an deadlock seal activates with a whoosh.

For now, at least, they’re safe.

Chapter Text

A low electronic hum grates against Spock’s ears, growing increasingly egregious as he and Elsha find themselves repeating the same futile cycle without ceasing. They find a new route down, discover it’s blocked—by a deadlock, by structural damage, by environmental control damage—and are forced to retreat. No route downstairs can be found and the buzzing grows increasingly disruptive to his thinking, a cold sensation crawling under his skin.

They have, by this point, left the cylinder behind them, taking a bizarre and irrational route out into one of the surrounding decks. The outer shell is their present goal, through which they’ll—hopefully—find their way downwards to the shuttle bay at the bottom of said shell.

Elsha hits the button next to the door at the end of their latest corridor, cursing under her breath when it doesn’t open. ‘Where to next, sir?’ she asks.

Spock checks the map. ‘This way.’ He leads the way back down the corridor, stopping at a door further along. 

This one—thankfully—opens, letting them through into a rec-room—similar to the many on the Enterprise. Their beams of light illuminate worn and dusty chairs, shoved here and there, cluttering the space. Several shelves filled with grimy games line the walls. Darker grey stains—dried pools of alien blood—blend in with the metal floor, surrounding chairs and discarded cups.

Spock leads the way through into a second corridor beyond. Each door they check along their path leads into another rec-room. 

They pass through one more rec-room, beyond which lies a bigger game room. Unfamiliar consoles and a jungle gym take up much of the space. Beyond this, there is yet another long, winding corridor. 

The walls are still humming. Far above, the engines emit a subdued yet unrelenting rumbling—that too is prickling at his nerves.

Retaking point, Spock grips his palm-beacon tighter. As he walks, he sets his mind to the task of composing a report on the poor design choices made in building this station. His report will be logical and utterly irrefutable. 

The imaginary report is deeply calming. 

They do not follow this new corridor through to its end. Rather, Spock stops half-way down, in front of a small square hatch in the wall. ‘Through here,’ he says, checking the blueprint in his hand.

Yes. This should take them down to the next deck. One step closer to Nyota. And one step away from his Captain and McCoy.

All round him, vibrating the floor, the engine rumbling makes his brain itch—makes him want to do something extremely illogical like bash his own head against a wall. Ignoring the thought, Spock sets to work opening the hatch. It pulls up to reveal a small vertical tunnel, the palm-beacon light glinting off a rusty ladder set into the back wall of it, leading down into the darkness.

Elsha shifts beside him. ‘We’re climbing down there, sir?’ A trace of apprehension escapes her measured tone.

Instead of answering verbally, Spock takes a second to confirm the ladder’s location. Once he’s confident, he sets his jaw and deactivates his palm-beacon, reaching inside to grip the top rung of the ladder.

Cold corroded metal presses against his skin and—unable to keep from holding his breath—he climbs inside. As he’s swinging his legs down, there’s a dizzying moment where his feet don’t find the ladder and he doesn’t breathe again until the hard rung meets his boots.

Wrapping one arm around the rung, he grabs his palm-beacon and reactivates it. ‘Follow me, Lieutenant,’ he orders before he begins his slow descent downwards.

Bit by bit, switching the palm-beacon from hand to hand, he climbs down. Thankfully, the ladder is undamaged, beyond a coating of rust, and—despite Spock’s unspoken concerns—no rungs are missing. Above him, the ladder creaks under Elsha’s weight as she too progresses downwards—her palm-beacon flashing from side to side as she goes.

Finally, Spock reaches down with his foot to find solid ground—or, rather, a corrugated grate separating the access tunnel from the ventilation system beneath. He hops down. ‘I have reached the end, Lieutenant!’ he calls up, searching around for the exit. ‘Continue down, it is perfectly safe.’

He shines his palm-beacon around the enclosed space, spotting the hatch. Excellent.

Carefully, he crawls out into yet another long corridor, as red-lit as all its predecessors. 

Metal rings behind him as Elsha jumps the last few rungs. Spock turns back to light the way for her to climb out after him. She rises to her feet, shining her own palm-beacon around the space surrounding them.

‘Where are we now, sir?’ she asks.

‘The deck below.’ Spock pulls out his PADD to check the blueprints. ‘Though what purpose this deck served, I do not know. This way, Lieutenant.’

He strides forward, leading the way down the corridor, hoping that this route will—slowly—eventually lead them to the surrounding shell. Their footsteps echo as Elsha hurries to follow him. Upon reaching the door at the end, Spock tries it and is—loath as he is to admit it—somewhat relieved when it opens easily, letting them out into a new corridor.

This one is wider than what came before, still lit in red, and far messier. Spock’s palm-beacon illuminates deep scratches in the walls and floor—as though it’s been set upon by a furious le-matya. Grey alien blood is splattered all over the place, wherever there’s an available surface. Broken weapons lie discarded, residual footprints have been left in those dried pools of blood spilled on the floor, and—most interestingly of all—there are bodies.

Well, calling them bodies would be bold, much as it would be bold to call the remains found up in Engineering bodies. They’re more like chunks of bodies—a skeletal hand here, a smashed skull there, several broken vertebrae over there. A fractured femur—or something akin to it—lies less than a metre from Spock’s feet.

Behind him, Elsha chokes. ‘What…sir…what happened here?’

‘The same as happened upstairs, I would imagine,’ says Spock.

Leading the way, he regards the remains with a clinical intrigue. It is all the more difficult to ascertain how many bodies there may have been originally when he knows little of the biology the parts originated from. The further down the corridor they go, the more remains are revealed.

The door at the end could not be deadlocked if they wished it to be. It has been torn out of its place, revealing further carnage in the hall beyond.

‘How many people died here?’ Elsha breathes, her palm-beacon beam lingering on a gaping three-foreheaded skull not far from the door.

Spock has no answer. When one considers how large the station is, and how many inhabitants must’ve been required to run it—let alone need so much space—the number of potential dead beggars belief.

He does not say this. ‘This way,’ he says instead, continuing down the new corridor.

Despite herself, Elsha hurries to catch up with him. Together, they stride down it, ignoring the remains that litter their path. Spock puts his foot down. Age-weakened bone cracks underneath his boot.

He moves his foot and, clenching his teeth, keeps going.

At the end of this corridor is a greater door. Much like the rest of this area, the remnants of a vicious and bloody battle encompass it. The door originally must’ve been much like the ones they saw earlier leading into the cylinder from the promenade and leading out of the shuttle bay.

This one, however, has been wrecked. The door itself remains closed—technically—but something has torn huge sections of it out, leaving behind broken pieces that barely maintain the appearance of a door. Familiar symbols poke out from underneath disfiguring claw-marks, embedded into the doorframe. The metal door is cratered inwards, like something remarkably strong repeatedly smashed itself into it.

Like something was fighting to get inside.

It won’t be easy to get through themselves. The door is damaged enough that it won’t open and the torn-open gaps are narrow. It will be a challenge to squeeze through them.

Spock tilts his head to the side, examining them carefully. A challenge, it may be. Impossible, it is not.

Nyota and Gaila are on the other side. He will make it through.

He holds his palm-beacon out for Elsha to take. ‘Wait until I’m on the other side, then pass it through to me and come through yourself.’

Elsha grips his palm-beacon hard. ‘Are you sure, sir? Maybe I should go through first. We don’t know what’s in there.’

Logically, it would make sense to allow Elsha to enter first. She is smaller than him and she’s a Security officer.

Despite this, Spock does not answer and hunkers down next to the biggest and lowest of the holes in the door. This one lies approximately ten centimetres above the ground.

Turning so he’s on his back, he pushes both of his arms through first, followed by his head. On the other side is clawing empty darkness. Spock focuses on squeezing his shoulders through. He scarcely manages it—perhaps it is a good thing he has been separated from Jim and, especially, the much broader Leonard, as they would certainly not fit—and, pressing his hands against the cold metal of the door, he squeezes the rest of his body through after it.

Pain erupts from his back as it catches on the jagged edge of the hole. Spock ignores it, forcing himself to continue until—finally—he’s through.

For a moment, he lets himself stay there, on the cold floor in the dark, breathing.

‘Sir?’ Elsha asks, shining both palm-beacons through the hole. ‘Are you alright?’

‘I am quite well, Lieutenant,’ Spock says, forcing himself to move and holding his hand out for his palm-beacon. ‘Return my palm-beacon and come through after me. Take care to avoid the jagged edges, they are sharp.’

Elsha obeys. While she squeezes through after him, Spock rises to his feet, shining his palm-beacon around this new area.

It’s a chemical laboratory. Much like the halls outside, it shows clear signs of a struggle. Thankfully, there are no remains in here and few bloodstains—presumably, the door did its job in holding off the danger enough to prevent further deaths. Long countertops with deep sinks built into them cut across the floor in rows. Broken test tubes and beakers litter every available surface. Much of the equipment (both what remains in one piece and what is broken) is familiar to Spock, or familiar enough that he can make an educated guess at its purpose, but there are a good number entirely alien to him.

Elsha stands up beside him and, putting aside his scientific curiosity, Spock continues, leading Elsha through the fascinating area without stopping.

They pass through several more scientific areas. These are not all chemistry labs like the first. Rather, they morph more into technology labs, though Spock cannot begin to figure out what technology they were testing here—if only because whatever they made was soon torn apart, leaving broken wiring and parts scattered all over the floor.

The back of the room is entirely glass, revealing a computer area behind. As they step through into it, Spock slows, eyeing the computers. ‘There may be information pertinent to our present predicament on those.’

‘Can you access them, sir?’

Spock doesn’t dignify that with a response. Activating the nearest computer, he starts combing through the database. As Elsha’s footsteps move away from him—no doubt checking the rest of the room—he comes across the scientific logs. There are a good many of them and he sets them to download onto his PADD. While the download creeps slowly towards completion, he explores the rest of the database. 

The written logs are, of course, all in that alien language. Despite his lack of understanding, Spock has experience enough with scientific study to puzzle out the nature of the notes. The information itself is inaccessible, but if he’s correct, the scientists in this particular lab were testing some form of technology. Whatever it was, it doesn’t appear to have worked. There are a multitude of different records of similar tests with the minutest of changes, repeated over and over. 

Spock tilts his head to the side. What exactly were they testing? 

‘Commander!’ Elsha’s voice—sharp and alarmed—snaps Spock out of his focus. 

He moves swiftly, palm-beacon beam roving the room and brushing her red-shirted back, through a doorway further in. ‘What’s the matter, Lieutenant?’ he asks, as he joins her.

Without a word, Elsha shines her light forward. 

Spock turns, following her beam. There, cast in shadow, barely lit by Elsha’s palm-beacon, sits a skeletal corpse, right in front of a flashing console. All that remains are bones—black obsidian-like bones—facing into a testing chamber.

Slowly—finding himself illogically unwilling to do so—Spock moves his own palm-beacon to illuminate the testing chamber. Immediately, he freezes, throat tightening.

Behind the sheet of glass, inside the chamber, are corpses. Too many corpses.

They’re surprisingly well-preserved, all things considered. Despite the rot that has visibly set in, much more of their now-pinkish flesh remains than on the body in the chair. They lie clustered together, as if seeking comfort from one another in their final moments. At a glance, Spock guesses there must be more than ninety bodies inside. 

He strides over to the console standing in front of the test chamber, examining it. After a few moments of fiddling with the controls, he frowns deeper. ‘The air has been entirely sucked out,’ he says slowly. ‘Reducing the room to an airless vacuum.’ That must be how their remains have survived the intervening years relatively intact. 

‘That’s what killed them?’ Elsha asks. 

‘It would appear so.’ Spock turns his attention back to the skeleton sat in the chair. From this angle, a large hole in what looks like the skull—oddly-shaped as it is, three foreheads and all—is visible. The discoloured blaster-like weapon lying on the floor to the right is the prime candidate for cause of death.

‘Did…that one kill the others?’

‘And then, I suspect, killed themself.’ Spock moves his light slowly up and down the body. Scraps of their uniform remain, though not enough to reveal the original design. ‘A mass murder-suicide.’ He looks back up at the bodies inside the chamber. 

‘There’s something…’ Elsha’s words trail off as she leans forward, fiddling with something on the body’s lap. She straightens, holding up a short strip of gold metal and shining her palm-beacon on it. Along it lie engraved letters—a nametag. ‘Isn’t that the word Lieutenant Uhura said meant Captain, sir?’

Spock takes the tag, examining it himself. ‘Indeed,’ he says quietly. 

So. This is the Captain—or Commander—of this station. And those people inside, they’re the crew, or what’s left of the crew. 

‘Their own Captain killed them?’ Elsha’s voice wobbles. ‘Why? Why would…There’s so many in there, how did the Captain force them inside? Why didn’t they fight back?’

Spock shines his light into the chamber, moving the beam across the bodies. She makes a salient point. One person would not be capable of forcing more than ninety people into a chamber to die, even if he were the only one with a weapon—which isn’t the case, there are more weapons beside the bodies inside. ‘Perhaps,’ he says, ‘they believed that the Captain was doing the right thing.’

‘By killing them?’

Spock considers the remains littering the halls outside, the bent and torn door, the bloody remains of Neko’s crew in Engineering. ‘Perhaps to them the alternative seemed worse.’

There’s a long silence. Finally, Elsha speaks, her voice hushed as though she might wake them if she isn’t careful. ‘They didn’t…you don’t think they suffered much, do you?’

Spock does not answer. He has no answer.

Jim’s stomach churns as he keeps pace with Neko. They’re almost back at Engineering.

This is Altamid all over again. A year and a half since that nightmare ended, he still wakes up on the floor more often than not, thrown awake by violent distorted dreams of being separated from his crew, of those under his command dying screaming because he didn’t save them, taunting him with gruesome imagery of the many ways he could’ve lost his friends to that damn planet.

He swore this wouldn’t happen again. When he agreed to take captaincy over the Enterprise-A, when he set foot onboard her for the first time, he swore to himself that the horrors of Altamid would never be repeated.

Yet here he is. It’s not the same, the Enterprise herself is perfectly safe as is most of her crew, but it feels the same.

Again, he’s without his family—this time he’s even without Chekov, immensely grateful as he is for that because knowing Chekov and Sulu and Scotty and Jaylah are all safe is the one thing keeping him sane right now. Again, his crewmates might be dying and he can do nothing to stop it.

Again, he made the damn choices that led them here in the first place.

He hates this. He hates this.

He really hates that he doesn’t know if Bones is alright. Jim’s known Bones for years—seven, specifically—and he’s seen his best friend in a whole host of moods; scared, happy, miserable, furious, panicking, grief-stricken, and everything in between. Rarely has Bones sounded that terrified.

They enter the main engine room. It’s pitch-black—impossible to make out anything. To Jim’s right, Neko mutters something under her breath and snaps out an order at one of the others, who quickly obeys. Something whirrs to their left and the lights flick back on. Jim fights back the memory of corpses strewn across the floor, of engine pipes splattered with blood and viscera. That’s not going to happen. Bones will be fine, Dara will be fine, King will be fine. 

He’ll find them, he’ll help them. He will. 

As they reach the bloodied area, Jim tries to suppress the mental image of Bones in pieces, of Dara with her throat torn out, of King torn in two. He keeps his eyes on their destination, aiming for the stairs they came down before. Before he reaches it, someone grabs his arm and pulls him up short. It’s Neko, glaring at him. 

Jim glares right back. ‘Which way’s the sickbay?’

‘We’re not going to the sickbay,’ Neko says.

Jim stares at her. ‘Bones…I mean, Doctor McCoy said they were heading towards this place’s sickbay. We need to help them.’

‘First,’ Neko says sharply, ‘we’re going to the bridge.’

Heat rushes through Jim’s veins. ‘My crew are in danger! I am not going anywhere except to help them!’

Neko’s lip curls. ‘You will go where I tell you to go. That was the deal.’

‘I’m not leaving my friends.’

‘You’ll do what I tell you,’ Neko snaps. She shoves him at a big buff Orion man. ‘Make sure he doesn’t escape. We’ll go after the others when I’m good and ready. First, to the bridge.’

The crewman in question grips Jim’s arm tightly and, when Neko moves, forcibly propels him after her. Jim already knows he’s nowhere near this guy in strength—he fights the grip anyway. It’s not long before he gives up trying. While he could probably break free if he played dirty, he wouldn’t make it far. Besides that, he has a better chance at helping Bones and the others with Neko and her crew at his side than alone.

He tries very hard not to think about what could happen to them while he’s being dragged along on this detour—he doesn’t succeed.

They reach the turbo-lift quickly and Jim’s shoved inside. This time, no one waits behind and Jim buzzes in place as the lift labours upwards. It’s like electricity burning under his skin, screaming at him to do something, anything. He only realises he’s shaking his leg when his designated-arm-holder shakes him violently, telling him to quit it. 

Jim shoots the worst Orion insult he can conjure right back at him. All that saves Jim from the guy’s retribution is the lift-doors opening. Instead of hitting him, like the man was clearly planning on, he’s yanked out and “accidentally” shoved hard into a wall, earning him a bloody nose.

Worth it. 

Neko marches ahead, leading the way up to the bridge. The door is closed as they approach. Neko hits the button to open it and, slowly, it slides open, revealing darkness beyond. 

The lights are out. 

Neko rolls her eyes, stepping inside. ‘What possible reason could you have for turning off the lights?’

No reply.

She swears under her breath and fumbles for a light-source. ‘This isn’t funny, idiots.’

Jim’s arm-guy pulls him forward and into the room, as the other five follow them in. As Jim’s foot touches the floor, it squelches. 

Something cold creeps up his spine. On his tongue, he can taste metal.

His arm is released. Jim doesn’t move. Not at first. Not until he manages to convince his limbs to let him lean down and touch the floor. Something warm and wet and sticky coats his fingertips—and, for a split second, Jim’s thirteen again and he just drove a knife into a man’s throat.

Heart pulsating in his ears, Jim pulls out his palm-beacon from its pocket in his survival jacket. The beam flickers on, revealing deep green blood. Vulcan—no, Romulan blood. Spock’s downstairs, Spock is fine.

‘Captain Neko.’ The words come from Jim—though he doesn’t feel like the one saying them.

Neko mutters something to herself before she snaps, ‘What?’ at him. There’s an undercurrent of fear to her voice. She’s covering it with anger—Jim’s done that too often himself to be fooled. 

Jim shines his palm-beacon forward. Nothing but an endless sea of mixed green and blue blood greets it—a macabre cloying flood, coating the floor. 

‘That…’ Neko’s voice fails her. ‘That’s…’

The lights turn back on, revealing the once-bustling bridge, deserted. Blood alone remains, covering the floor. There are no bodies, which is strange because with that much blood, no one survived this attack.

‘Captain, what…’ The man who was pushing Jim around minutes before says, his voice trembling. ‘What’s…?’

‘I don’t know.’ Neko doesn’t move. Doesn’t look around at her crew. Doesn’t do anything except stare at the blood. ‘I don’t…I don’t know, Andak.’

Andak falls silent. 

Jim doesn’t look at him, at any of them. ‘I’m sorry, Neko. Really, I am.’

Neko doesn’t reply. No one does. 

Gaila clings to Nyota’s hand, as they run through rooms, down corridors, down stairwells, in search of Manheim. Sporadically, Manheim calls out for them, trying to guide them, but a voice alone isn’t easy to follow, especially not in such a labyrinth of a space station. 

They race down another flight of stairs as Manheim calls, ‘I’m in a bay! It’s not the shuttle bay but it’s too dark to see much!’

‘How’d he get down there in the first place?’ Nyota asks, at a normal volume. They gave up on trying to answer Manheim a while ago, breathless from running. ‘We were all the way upstairs.’

Gaila doesn’t have a clue. Something feels off about this whole thing but what else can they do? If there’s a chance Manheim needs them, they’ll do whatever it takes. That’s how the Enterprise crew works. How they’ve always worked.

Gaila grips Nyota’s hand tighter.

The door at the bottom of the stairs leads out into another corridor. Following Manheim’s voice, they go right down to the end of it. There, they find a big engraved door, similar to the one from the shuttle bay. 

‘Uhura?’ Manheim yells. ‘Gaila?’

His voice is definitely coming from somewhere behind this door. Gaila and Nyota exchange relieved grins. They’ve found him. 

Gaila sets to work on unlocking the door. It’s not easy, the security is much higher on this door. Still, after a few minutes of working, the door slides open, revealing an enormous, red-tinted shadowy bay beyond. As Gaila shines her palm-beacon around, she glimpses torpedoes stored along the edges of the space. A weapons bay.

There’s no sign of Manheim.

‘Manheim?’ Nyota cups her hands around her mouth to call. ‘Where are you? Come to the door! It’s open!’

‘This way!’ 

He doesn’t sound far. Gaila and Nyota exchange glances.

‘Come here,’ Gaila replies. ‘We don’t have time to be messing about, Manheim!’

‘It’s just a little further,’ is Manheim’s only response. 

Nyota frowns. ‘What’s he playing at?’ 

Gaila shakes her head, mystified. ‘Quit screwing around, Manheim!’ she yells.

Manheim ignores her words. ‘I’m over here!’

‘This is ridiculous.’ Gaila groans, running a hand over her braided hair.

‘Well, we didn’t come all this way just to leave him,’ Nyota says with finality. ‘We’ll have a look around, but I swear, when we find him, I’m going to kill him.’ 

Without hesitation, Nyota sets off into the weapons bay. Gaila follows, mind buzzing. This isn’t right. Something about this is wrong. Why would Manheim be screwing around like this when he more than anyone knows something dangerous is here? He was the one attacked, for crying out loud!

Slowly, Gaila pulls out her phaser, gesturing at Nyota to do the same.

They continue together, side-by-side, deeper and deeper into the weapons bay. A whole arsenal fills the room, hanging from the walls, sitting on shelves, most of unfamiliar design. A line of swords hangs in the back, blades forged from white metal engraved with symbols, catching the light from the palm-beacons as it brushes over them. An array of phaser-like firearms—rifles, hand-guns—line the shelves to the right, their metal exteriors glinting under the beams that briefly light them up.

It’s colder here, leaking through her fastened survival jacket.

The walls curve outward as they come into a long and wide room, split in two by a transparent sheet of glass that’s been smashed in one place, cracks spiking out from the point of impact. One side contains long thin lanes, each designated by tiny flashing lights that go up the sides, while the other has askew seats and tables. A shooting range, maybe?

There’s still no sign of Manheim. 

Nyota mutters something under her breath, before yelling, ‘Where are you, Axel? Come out! This is getting ridiculous!’

‘I’m right here,’ says Manheim, from behind them. 

Gaila yelps, spinning around. Beside her, Nyota almost falls over, sucking in a breath. 

Manheim tilts his head to the side, a strange smile on his face. He—well, frankly he’s a mess. His survival jacket is gone, his red uniform shirt torn, revealing deep open cuts smeared with black. His face is bloody and, as he steps into the light of Nyota and Gaila’s palm-beacons, Gaila spots more blood caked onto the left side of his head, staining his ginger hair.

‘What the hell happened to your head?’ she asks.

Manheim steps further forward. ‘It is fine.’

‘Well,’ Nyota says. ‘At least we’ve found you. Come on, we need to go. Captain Kirk said…’ As Nyota recounts their orders to Manheim, Gaila takes a step forward, and another. Her gaze doesn’t move from that wound on his head. 

Another step forward. 

She stops, heart beating faster. Bloody as it is, she thought his wound was nothing more than a straight-forward laceration. From this new angle, however, it’s clearly anything but. Flashes of white bone poke out from between pink-and-grey mush, actively seeping blood and clear cerebrospinal fluid. Something black writhes in the centre of it—some kind of slug taking a bath in Manheim’s brain.

‘Nyota.’ Gaila grips her phaser tighter, slowly raising it. 

Nyota glances at her, cut off in the midst of her explanation. Manheim turns, hiding the wound. His eyes meet Gaila’s. For a long second, all three of them are motionless.

Gaila’s heart beats loud in her ears—one, two, three beats.

Fresh blood mixed with transparent fluid slides down from Manheim’s nostrils. 

‘You aren’t Manheim,’ Gaila says, her voice horribly loud in the total silence.

‘Not...’ Nyota starts. 

Before she can finish, Manheim—whatever’s taken over Manheim—turns to look at her. Nyota cuts herself off, wide-eyed. Gaila takes several steps towards her, keeping her eyes fixed on Not-Manheim. 

He returns his attention to Gaila, releasing a rehearsed-sounding sigh. ‘Well. That’s that.’

As Gaila brushes Nyota’s side, Not-Manheim smiles that same empty smile. Whispers start up from somewhere behind him, like the audience for a play muttering to each other as the lights go out and the curtain rises. 

Manheim’s green eyes disappear behind a gooey film of black, crawling out of his eye-sockets and down his cheekbones. Behind him, the red lights go out, as something rears up, a tsunami of shadow.

‘Run!’ Nyota cries, grabbing Gaila’s hand and yanking her alongside as she breaks into a sprint.

Behind them, the thing that’s no longer Manheim begins to laugh.

Chapter Text

Scotty taps out a rhythmic beat on the arm of the Captain’s chair. Around him, the rest of the bridge crew go about their tasks. Everything is as it should be. 

Well, other than one small detail. 

They haven’t heard from the away-team in four hours. Given the rule about half-hour check-ins, this is a bad sign. Leonard, Nyota, and Gaila could’ve forgotten it—all three tend to get wrapped up in whatever they’re doing, losing sight of minor issues like staying in touch—and even Jim easily loses track of time. Spock, however, is always unnervingly punctual. Besides, the issue’s not only on the away-team’s side. 

‘Give it a go again, Holland,’ he tells the communications officer currently on shift. The young half-Bolian woman obeys, once again trying to hail their away-team. 

‘No good, sir,’ she says, frowning. ‘We’re still not getting through.’

Scotty frowns, drumming his fingers against his thigh. ‘Chekov, what’re the scans looking like?’

‘We are still showing life-signs from all eight away-team members,’ says Chekov, as he examines the readings on his console. ‘One Vulcan, one Andorian, and six humans. They’re still scattered all over the station, sir.’

That’s the other worrying thing. About an hour and a half into the mission, the team started splitting up and they’ve grown progressively more distant from each other as time’s gone on. This isn’t unusual for an away mission, but when combined with the inability to contact any of them, Scotty doesn’t like it. 

Scotty absently turns the Captain’s chair to the left, to the right, to the left again. Coming to a decision, he opens a channel to Security. ‘Giotto. Scott here. I want you to prepare a back-up team. We might be needing you.’ 

Out in the gardens, on the other side of the door, the whispering doesn’t stop.

Dara’s on top of Leonard, from when they both fell to the floor upon making it inside. As everyone falls deathly silent, he lets her down to the floor next to him. 

And something rams hard against the door.

Leonard jumps, the movement jarring his arm. He bites his tongue hard to keep from crying out, blood seeping into his mouth. Dara bites down on her shirt-collar, burying her face in his shoulder. 

The door bangs over and over, the metal straining to hold its shape. Whispers wrap around the room. It—whatever it is—crawls in the walls, the ceiling, the floor—yet it doesn’t come inside. 

The banging at the door stops. The whispering doesn’t. Whatever’s outside hasn’t left, but it’s not actively trying to break in anymore.

Leonard lets himself breathe out. 

‘What the hell was that?’ Hexilius demands. He levels a glare at Roguv. ‘Roguv, what did you do?’

Roguv is in no shape to defend himself. He leans heavily against one of the others, bleary gaze circling the room, focusing on nothing. 

‘It’s not Roguv’s fault,’ Solara says. ‘Whatever that thing is, it’s what killed our crewmates downstairs. Roguv didn’t create it, Hexilius.’

Hexilius scowls. ‘What is it then?’

‘I…’ Solara sucks in a breath. ‘I don’t know.’

Leonard sits up straighter, running a hand through his hair with his uninjured hand. ‘Dara?’ he whispers. ‘I need to examine that arm of yours.’

Dara nods into his shoulder. She shifts to sit up, whimpering as the motion nudges her arm.

The sound draws both Hexilius’ and Solara’s attention to them. Leonard ignores them, focusing on Dara. ‘Don’t you go moving that arm,’ he says. ‘Let’s get you over by that wall.’

The room they’ve taken refuge in is an old storeroom, filled with an assortment of alien equipment and plants. The shelves are overgrown; greenery like the plants outside has crept out of its pots and trays to conquer the area around them. It’s thoroughly crowded, especially with seven surviving pirates as well as Leonard and Dara.

Ignoring the stares from the pirates, Leonard and Dara work together to move her over to the clearest wall space available. 

Carefully, he starts his examination. It doesn’t take more than a glance for him to decide that her survival jacket needs removing. Something bulges under the material, tearing through it in one section to reveal bloodied ivory. When he scans the area, his instinct is confirmed. An open fracture: the bone has broken the skin. 

Leonard doesn’t show any of his very real worry over this development. Instead, he gives her a reassuring smile. ‘Okay, honey,’ he says. ‘I’m going to give you a painkiller, alright? This jacket needs to come off.’

Dara nods, her face grey.

Gently—because Leonard can be gentle with hyposprays for people who aren’t total idiots—he injects it into her neck. The painkiller takes effect quickly and, once he’s confirmed that it’s doing its job, he starts cutting through the sleeve. Dara helps by using her other hand to hold her injured arm steady for him, giving them two whole hands put together! Of course, it’d be easier if they still had—

Leonard cuts his thoughts off, forcing down the emotions that threaten to surge up. Don’t think about him, don’t think about it, focus on Dara. 

He refocuses on cutting. The material’s tough—it’s designed to handle high-stress situations without damage. Despite that, with his scalpel and some careful manoeuvring, he manages to remove the sleeve surrounding the wound.

The segment directly over the open fracture will require the gentlest of touches; it’s stuck to the exposed flesh and bone. Leonard slowly peels it off. Even through the painkiller, a spasm of pain crosses Dara’s face and she drops her head back against the wall.

‘Sorry, honey,’ he says. ‘We’re done with that bit. I’m going to take a look.’

He leans forward to inspect the wound. 

It’s bad. Vairra, somehow, managed to snap both the ulna and the radius, sending sharp ends of bone out through the skin. Frankly, Leonard’s impressed Dara managed to do all she’s done since it happened. 

It’s the kind of break that requires surgery to fix. Leonard can’t perform surgery here. He doesn’t have the tools or the medication necessary. Even so, staying like this—open to all and sundry—is begging for a nasty infection. She’s practically guaranteed an infection, regardless, and the last thing Leonard wants is to make matters worse. What he can do is stabilise it—Dara can’t be running around with a bone sticking out of her arm; the amount of harm that could do to all those sensitive nerves and arteries and other bits surrounding those sharp fragments is frightening. Prior doing anything else, Leonard presses two fingers to her wrist—careful not to nudge the wound a scarce few centimetres above it. He waits for a moment. There, a fast yet steady pulse.

The injury isn’t impairing her circulation. That, at least, is good. Her arm needs re-aligning, but it’ll wait for as long as that pulse remains steady.

First things first, he’s got to clean it out—as much as possible, in this not-remotely-sterile environment. Already, it’s gathered bits of black debris. Cleaning it is about as much fun as it sounds; the painkillers Leonard has on him are not nearly strong enough for this. Dara has to bite down hard on her jacket-sleeve to cope without biting clean through her tongue. The wound ends up not nearly as clean as Leonard’d prefer it. He doesn’t have much choice, however, so he leaves it be.

That done, they work together to apply pressure to the wound, hoping to stop the sluggish bleeding. Leonard grabs out a sterile dressing and covers it. That leaves the splint kit. It’s with a great deal of relief that he grabs it out and attaches it to her arm, setting it to build a decent cast around her arm—it should keep the bones from shifting too much before he can operate. At least he can do that one handed. 

The machine attaches to her elbow and her wrist, whirring as it replicates a dark blue material, slowly, wrapping around her arm. Once her arm is fully wrapped, it goes around a second time to seal it. Once it’s done, Leonard slips it back into his medkit.

The final thing he does is—painfully—remove his own jacket and wrap it around Dara’s shoulders. Hopefully, that’ll warm her up. 

‘There you go,’ he says softly. ‘We’re done. Have a rest, Dara.’

Dara is already drifting off. Leonard squeezes her uninjured hand before sitting back and glancing over at Roguv. He needs to check that cut again and see if the antibiotics have worked at all.

Leonard goes to rise, only for a sharp stab of pain to remind him of his own injury. Dammit. 

A quick scan tells him what he already knew. A diaphyseal humerus fracture. Thankfully, it’s not as bad as it could’ve been—there’s not much nerve damage—but it’s bad enough to require a splint. 

Right, that’s first on the list. He grabs the kit out from where he’s stashed it and—with a great deal of annoyance—sets it to splint his own injury. It wraps his entire upper arm and elbow. All that’s left to do is grab out a sling and put it on.

With that—challenging with one arm—task done, he squeezes Dara’s hand again. ‘I’m going to check on Roguv. I’ll be right back, okay, kiddo?’

Dara hums in response. 

Leonard pushes himself to his feet and heads over to check on Roguv. The man doesn’t recognise him, shying away into his crewmate.

Said crewmate, a large guy of an unknown species who has six arms and a big head, pushes him up. ‘It’s the doctor, Roguv,’ he says. ‘You remember him. Don’t be stupid about this.’

‘He’s not being stupid,’ Leonard corrects. ‘He has a fever. Roguv, I’m sorry, I need to check that cut of yours.’

Roguv shakes his head. ‘No, no, no,’ he says, voice slurred and confused. He continues to repeat it, like a mantra. 

Leonard frowns. ‘Would you let…’ He glances at the six-armed guy questioningly.

The guy figures out what he’s asking. ‘Crush.’

‘Right. Would you let Crush have a look at it?’ Leonard says. Roguv’s clearly confused and delirious, but Leonard would prefer not to force medical treatment onto him if possible. 

Roguv blinks at him with dazed eyes and eventually nods.

Crush works to undo Leonard’s nice, tidy bandages, exposing the wound. Leonard hisses at the sight. 

Black veins trace their way out of the mottled wound, crawling up his chest. It’s the weirdest infection he’s ever seen—and it has definitely grown worse since he last looked at it. The antibiotic is doing absolutely nothing and Leonard can’t understand it.

Crush eyes him. ‘Is that bad?’ he asks in hushed tones.

‘We really need to get him to a sickbay,’ is all Leonard says in response. ‘Can you put this fresh bandage on for me? I’ll talk you through it, okay? I don’t think he wants me touching him.’

Crush obeys. 

As they finish re-bandaging the wound, Leonard checks the dressing over. ‘Best we can do at the moment, I’m afraid,’ he says, as he rummages for a painkiller and an antipyretic from his medkit. He loads them up and injects them, one after another. It’s a sign of how much Roguv’s sunk into his fever that he doesn’t protest. ‘That should ease his pain and bring the fever down,’ Leonard explains for Crush’s benefit.

Crush’s forehead is creased. ‘Thanks,’ he says shortly.

It’s the first time any of the pirates have thanked Leonard for helping Roguv and he softens under it. ‘It’s my job. Keep an eye on him. Tell me if anything changes.’

Crush goes to nod only to freeze, staring at something behind Leonard. 

Leonard doesn’t have to look to know that Hexilius is behind him. The hatred practically exudes from the guy. Still, it’s best not to leave someone who absolutely loathes your guts behind you. Rising to his feet, he turns and goes to cross his arms, remembers one’s broken when he encounters the sling and instead awkwardly hangs his uninjured arm by his side. ‘What d’you want?’ 

That probably isn’t the best tack to take. Frankly, Leonard couldn’t give less of a shit right now. 

Hexilius bristles. ‘You done with your patients, Doc?’

Something about the way he emphasises “Doc”, as if being a doctor is something to be ashamed of, rubs Leonard the wrong way. He straightens his back, glaring back. ‘As much as I can be,’ he says icily. 

‘And does the good doctor think his precious patients can move now?’

Leonard draws himself up. ‘And where are we going to go? It’s right outside! We’d never make it past!’

‘Not with your patients dragging us down, we wouldn’t,’ Hexilius agrees.

A seething heat sweeps through Leonard. He’s not saying…of course he is. ‘One of them’s your crewmate! D’you have no sense of loyalty?’

Hexilius growls. Before Leonard can dodge, Hexilius has hold of his collar. ‘What does a human know of loyalty?’

‘Hell of a lot more than you, apparently,’ Leonard says, refusing to be intimidated. 

Hexilius’s nostrils flare and he raises his other hand. Leonard prepares for the blow, not regretting his words. Before it lands, Hexilius’s wrist is caught in mid-air. 

By Solara.

Looking thoroughly fed-up, she holds his arm back, glaring at him. ‘That’s enough, Hexilius. Leave him be.’

‘Didn’t you hear what he…?’

Solara cuts Hexilius off. ‘He’s not wrong.’

Her words have an immediate effect on Hexilius—and, for that matter, on the other pirates, who all tense. Hexilius’s face flushes. ‘Sir!’

‘You heard me.’ Solara tightens her grip enough that Hexilius winces. ‘We are not going to be turning on one of our own, understood?’

Hexilius’s expression tightens. ‘You…’

‘I said.’ Solara twists his arm hard. ‘Is that understood, Hexilius?’

Hexilius’s mouth opens and closes. ‘Yes, sir,’ he grinds out finally.

‘Good. Release the doctor.’ 

With clear reluctance, Leonard’s collar is released. He steps back, out of reach. Just in case. 

Solara’s grey eyes fix on him for a second as she tilts her head over towards Dara. Taking the gesture as the order it is—and not wanting to anger the one person who’s on his side—Leonard obeys, heading over to slump down next to Dara. She leans into him, shivering. 

Turning her attention back to Hexilius, Solara’s gaze sharpens. ‘Do not undermine my authority again, Hexilius.’

With that, she releases him, going to check on Roguv. 

Hexilius grinds his teeth as he rubs at the twisted joint. He turns, keeping his head held high. As his gaze lands on Leonard, his expression darkens. Leonard maintains eye contact until Hexilius turns his gaze away, scowling as he goes to talk to one of the others. 

Letting his head sink against the wall, Leonard forces himself to breathe. That whispering is ever-present, all around them—a constant threatening undercurrent. 

Dara shifts. Heat radiates from her, leaking through his uniform shirt. He frowns, reaching up to press a hand to her forehead. Fever. Definitely a fever. 

The memory of those black veins creeping out of Roguv’s wound jerks him up into a seating position. ‘Dara, darling,’ he says softly. ‘I’m sorry, I need to check something, okay?’

‘Okay, Doctor,’ Dara says, dazed.

Carefully, keeping an eye on the pirates to make sure none of them notice, Leonard lifts the survival jacket he draped over her and checks her arm. There, at the edge of her cast, those same black veins sneak up past her elbow. 

‘Doctor McCoy?’ The words are more a breath than truly spoken.  

Leonard meets her wide eyes. She’s fully awake now. Forcing a smile, he drops the coat back over her hand and grabs out another antipyretic from his medkit. ‘It’ll be fine, honey,’ he tells her as he injects it into her neck gently. ‘Just a bit of an infection. Once we’re back on the ship, I’ll treat it in no time. For the time being, let’s keep it to ourselves.’

Dara nods. She’s trembling. 

Taking in a deep breath, Leonard sits back and wraps his uninjured arm around her shoulders, encouraging her to huddle into him. ‘Sleep, kiddo. Best thing for you. I’ll keep an eye out.’

‘Yes, sir,’ she murmurs back, letting her head slump onto his chest.

Leonard sends a glance around the room. None of the pirates are paying them any attention. Good. Best it stay that way, at least until Leonard learns more about that infection. Solara is talking with Crush, gaze focused on Roguv. At least one of these pirates has a conscience. Hexilius is muttering to one of the others—another Romulan. Neither of them look happy.

Leonard sighs.

Jim’s coming. Leonard knows he’ll be coming. It’s too late for King—and, at the thought, Leonard’s throat tightens—but Dara’s still here. Dara’s still alive and so is Leonard. Jim will come for them. He will get them out of here.

Jim won’t accept any alternative and Leonard won’t either. 

Dara’s breath catches. He glances down at her. ‘Dara?’

She doesn’t say anything, pressing her face deeper into his chest. A choked-off sob makes it out and Leonard holds her closer. ‘I know, honey. I know.’

‘…He’s gone,’ she whispers, the words muffled and barely audible.

Leonard’s heart aches. He has no words with which to comfort her, not here, not now. Instead, he brushes his fingers through her hair, trying to soothe her. A thick lump has taken up residence in his throat, throbbing in place. She was close with King, he recalls.

There is nothing for him to say—nothing he can say. He can only hold her and let her cry.

Tap. Tap. Tap. 

The noise cuts through the whispering outside, through the low rumble of conversation inside, drawing everyone’s attention. Dara yanks herself away from him and sits up straight—swollen eyes and damp face suddenly visible—as, on the other side of the room, Roguv does the same. 

Tap. Tap. Tap. 

Once more it comes. The same three taps against the deadlocked door. From the outside. 

‘Hello in there,’ says Vairra’s voice. ‘You know, you really should give up. There’s no escape, I’m afraid. Please open the door.’

One silent moment passes. Another. 

No one moves. The pirates are all in shock, unable to comprehend what’s happened. Jim can’t stop staring at the green blood dripping from his fingertips. It’s far too eerily similar to Spock’s. 

He forces himself to look away, wiping the blood on his pant-leg. It’s not Spock’s. Spock is fine. 

Neko—a scarce few feet from him—tenses up. She glares down at the blood, her hands curling into fists. ‘You…’ she grinds out. ‘You did this.’

At first, Jim isn’t sure who she’s talking to. Her glare rises from the blood to him. 

He takes a step back, his shoe squelching. 

‘You did this,’ Neko repeats. ‘I don’t know how or why, but you did this!’ Her voice crescendos as she stalks forward. 

Jim stares at her. ‘We didn’t do anything! I’ve been with you the whole time!’

Neko is having none of his logic. She points a shaking finger at him. ‘You got us to leave the bridge and now they’re all gone! It was you!’

Jim grits his teeth. ‘Neko,’ he says. ‘We had nothing to do with this. My people are in just as much danger as yours.’

‘None of yours are dead yet, are they?’ snaps Neko.

Unbidden, Bones’s terrified voice over that call comes back to him. ‘It was my doctor who called for help earlier. Come on, Neko, you said you know Starfleet! Is this Starfleet’s style?’

‘I’ve heard the so-called “Hero of the Federation”, Captain Kirk, is something of a maverick. Who’s to say what you’d do?’ Neko snaps back. 

‘I’m…’ Jim starts.

Someone sobs.

The noise is so out-of-nowhere that it stops them both short; Jim stops talking and Neko freezes, losing all her fire. Jim turns, trying to spot who’s crying. 

It’s not any of the hardened pirates around them.

The sob comes again and—this time—Jim’s able to pinpoint its location. It’s coming from the other side of the room, underneath the consoles right at the back. 

Instinctively, Jim moves towards it, boots slipping and sliding as he goes.

Another sob. It’s coming from under the central console, a communications station. There’s a space beneath it and, without hesitation, Jim goes down on his knees, heedless to the blood soaking his pants, sickeningly sticky against his skin.

‘Hey there,’ he says. ‘I’m Jim. What’s your name?’

Through the shadows underneath the console, Jim makes out a pair of teary eyes. ‘You’re Captain Kirk,’ says a soft high-pitched voice.

It’s a child. Distantly, Jim recalls several children in the bridge earlier, though he doesn’t know which one this is. Where are the others? Is their blood in the pool on the floor? Nausea crawls up his throat at the thought.

‘Yeah, I am,’ he says—forcing a calm tone. ‘Did you see me earlier?’

The child makes a vague hum that might be a “yes”.

Jim smiles. ‘Call me Jim. So now you know who I am, think you can return the favour?’

‘…Eda.’

‘Nice to meet you, Eda,’ Jim says. ‘Are you part of Captain Neko’s crew too?’

Through the darkness obscuring her face, Jim makes out Eda nodding.

‘Eda,’ Neko’s voice is sharp. She’s right behind Jim now. ‘What the hell happened?’

Eda flinches further into the shadows. ‘I’m sorry, Captain, I didn’t…’

‘Hey, hey,’ Jim says, glancing briefly at Neko—who looks taken aback and a little stricken—before leaning forward and smiling reassuringly at Eda. ‘Nobody’s blaming you, it’s not your fault. Are you hurt?’

‘…no,’ Eda says, gaze flicking up to Neko and back down to Jim. ‘I hid.’

‘Very clever of you, too,’ Jim says.

‘I’m sorry, Captain,’ Eda mumbles. ‘I was a coward. I hid.’

Neko sucks in a sharp breath. ‘It’s…it’s alright, I’m not mad. It’s fine. I just…I need you to tell me what happened, Eda. Did you see what attacked the others?’

Eda shrinks back at that.

Before Neko can demand the answer, Jim steps in, shooting her a quelling look and turning back to Eda. ‘Hey, Eda, are you a boy, girl, or neither?’

The non-sequitur startles a laugh out of Eda. ‘Girl,’ she says. ‘I thought Captain Kirk was smart.’

‘Hey, I’m playing catch-up here,’ Jim complains lightly. ‘I’m plenty smart. All my friends would tell you that. I’m like the smartest guy around!’

Eda giggles—a faint edge of hysteria to the sound. ‘You’re silly.’

‘Now that,’ Jim says, placing a hand on his heart. ‘I proudly lay claim to. Reckon you could crawl out of there?’

When Eda hesitates, Jim smiles. ‘It’s okay if you don’t want to,’ he reassures her. ‘But look—’ he pulls off his survival jacket and waves it at her ‘—you can wear my jacket. Isn’t it cool?’

‘I can wear it?’

‘Absolutely. You just gotta come out so I can give it to you.’

‘…Give it to me and I’ll come out.’

Jim heaves a sigh. ‘You drive a hard bargain, kiddo. Fine. Here.’

He hands the jacket through to Eda, who eagerly wraps herself in it. Despite being a miniature pirate herself, Eda is as good as her word and crawls out from underneath the communications console.

She’s about seven, an Orion with dark green skin and short-cut black hair. Jim’s jacket drowns her thin little frame. Even as she cuddles into it, it doesn’t conceal the familiar scars. Gaila had them too, once, before the Battle of Vulcan when the severe burns she suffered in the destruction of the Farragut required major skin-grafts to restore her to health. Around Eda’s little neck are the barely-healed burns from an electric collar. Around her wrists—as she tries to push up the big sleeves to free her hands—are the distinctive scars from chains rubbing skin raw.

With immense willpower, Jim crushes his fury. Smiling, he reaches up to brush his nose with his left thumb. Hello, in Aksa.

Eda’s eyes brighten in recognition. She mirrors the gesture with her right thumb.

‘Eda,’ Neko interrupts, making a clear effort to stay calm. Eda still shrinks in on herself. ‘Can you tell me what happened?’

Eda peeks up at her with big eyes. ‘I don’t know, Captain,’ she says quietly. ‘It went really dark and…’ She chokes up, rubbing at her eyes hard with one hand. ‘They were screaming…’

Exactly like Roguv said happened in Engineering.

Jim exchanges glances with Neko, who sets her jaw.

‘I think…we heard something, before it went dark,’ Eda continues shakily. ‘Someone was whispering, really loud. Then the lights went out in the hallway. And then…Chani went to check and he got…dragged away. I hid then, cause I was scared.’ She looks up at Neko with those huge eyes of hers. ‘That’s when everything went dark. I’m really sorry, Captain…’

She’s not scared of Neko, Jim realises. It’s more like she’s in awe of Neko and desperately wants to please her. She fears Neko’s disappointment, not her anger.

He rocks forward, drawing Eda’s attention. ‘You were really brave, Eda.’ He sends Neko a pointed glare. ‘Wasn’t she?’

Neko blinks. ‘Oh, erm, yes. Very brave, Eda.’

Could’ve said that less awkwardly. Eda lights up anyway. Jim grins and glances at Neko. ‘We should go. The others need us. After this…’

‘Yes,’ Neko says, a grim expression on her face as she turns on her heel and strides over the room towards the rest of her surviving crew.

Jim pushes himself to his feet, glancing down at Eda. The little girl is staring at the bloody floor, face several shades lighter. Her shoes are already soaked. With one hand, she reaches out to touch it, flinching back at the sensation. ‘Are the others gonna be okay?’ she asks, her voice fragile.

Something in Jim’s chest aches. She doesn’t realise yet, what that much blood means. And right now, telling her wouldn’t help.

‘I’m sure we’ll find them,’ he lies. ‘Now, I don’t think you’ll get far on those twig legs of yours. Fancy a ride?’

Eda sticks out her tongue. ‘I don’t have twig legs.’

‘Oh, really?’ Jim raises an eyebrow at her. ‘Well then, Miss Big Buff Legs, want a ride?’

‘What kinda ride?’ Eda asks.

In answer, Jim turns and hunkers down to show her his back. ‘Climb on. You’ll ride in style.’

This prompts another fragile giggle. A warm, light body clambers onto his back, little calloused hands wrap around his neck. Once she’s safely on, Jim rises to his feet, making a show of how heavy she is—she isn’t.

For a moment, a phantom weight—heavier than Eda—settles on his back. A soft little voice whispers in his ear, ‘Can you really carry me?’

Aron’s only a toddler but Jim’s weak from hunger and only thirteen besides. Still, he tightens his grip, determined. ‘Course I can,’ he says—and it’s a promise as much as it’s a reassurance.

Behind them, pounding footsteps grow nearer. They’ve got to go, they’ve got to go, if they’re caught…

The hold around his neck tightens and a new voice speaks. ‘Captain Jim? Are you okay?’

Jim slams back into himself. The floor is drenched in green blood, Neko talks to her crew on the other side of the room, and there’s a light weight on his back.

‘Captain Jim?’ Eda asks again.

‘I’m fine, kiddo,’ Jim reassures her, drawing in a breath. It seems no matter how far he goes across the cosmos, Jim is destined to always end up back here, with a child on his back and monsters all around. ‘Let’s go to your captain.’

Chapter Text

‘Hello?’ Vairra repeats. She sounds like a customer-service employee, Leonard realises with a touch of hysteria. Soon, she’d be inquiring about his issue and putting him on hold for four hours—centuries of advancement and they still haven’t fixed that. ‘Can you hear me in there?’

Dara shifts next to him, her eyes wide as she stares at the door. Every muscle in her has visibly tensed.

‘Dara?’ Leonard tries to draw her attention. ‘Lucy? She can’t get through. We’re safe in here. Lucy?’

Dara curls in on herself, trying to cover both her ears with her one uninjured hand, as Vairra’s voice comes again. ‘Please open the door,’ she says, as calmly and politely as if she were a fellow crew member aboard the Enterprise asking Leonard to hold the turbo-lift door for her. ‘It’s quite easy. Just unlock it from inside. The mechanism is right next to the door.’

A powerful revulsion sweeps through Leonard. How can she—or whatever creature’s taken over her, because there’s no way that’s the Orion pirate woman she was before, no Orion could survive a head-injury like King had given her (and, for a split-second, grief claws up his throat and he shoves it down, he hasn’t time for that)—talk like that?

Gasps and grunts draw Leonard’s attention over to the second of his patients. Roguv’s fighting Crush’s grip, eyes wild as he strains. ‘Let me—let me go—let me go!’ he cries out, reaching out towards the door.

Leonard rises, one hand on Dara’s shoulder as he debates between who needs him more. And something moves underneath Roguv’s skin, across his throat.

Everything slows.

‘Come on, let me in,’ says Vairra from outside—and Leonard recalls the movement underneath her skin as she snapped Dara’s arm. ‘It would be better for all of you. I promise I’ll make it quick!’

That black infection, it’s what turned Vairra into…this.

Leonard’s throat closes. Beside him, Dara makes a soft noise of pain and he realises that his fingers have tightened on her shoulder. He releases her immediately, murmuring a soft apology, as his hand runs through his hair. If Roguv’s infected, Dara’s infected too.

‘Let me go! I have to go!’ Roguv cries, fighting Crush’s grip.

‘If he wants to go, let him go!’ Hexilius snaps.

‘He isn’t in his right mind!’ Leonard snaps right back at him.

This earns Leonard a venomous glare from Hexilius. Before Hexilius responds, Solara interrupts them. ‘We are not throwing any of our own out there,’ she says.

‘And what do you suggest we do?’ Hexilius says, switching his glare to her. ‘Cause from where I’m standing, we’re all doomed unless we find a way to get that thing away from the door. If Roguv’s so desperate to go out there, he could give rest of us time to escape!’

To Leonard’s horror, several of the other pirates are nodding in agreement.

Solara straightens her back, eyes cold. ‘We are a crew and we will act as a crew, Hexilius.’

‘Damn it, Solara! You’ll get us all killed!’ Hexilius snarls.

Tap, tap, tap.

Roguv screams, throwing all his strength against Crush. The splint on his leg is bent with the force of it and Leonard moves towards them. Before he reaches him, Crush cries out in pain, hand bleeding.

Roguv bit him, Leonard realises, as Roguv finally breaks free. Not for long because Crush regains a grip seconds later, but the damage is done.

‘He’s gone feral!’ snaps one of the other pirates, a silver-haired Orion. ‘He’ll kill us all!’

‘He’s sick,’ Leonard protests, as he reaches Roguv’s side and grabs out a sedative from his medkit. ‘He doesn’t understand what’s going on!’

Crush holds Roguv down, as Leonard applies the hypospray to Roguv’s neck. The other pirates continue to argue over their heads as Roguv sinks down to the ground, jerking, shivering, yet not actively fighting any longer.

Leonard runs his hand over his face, as he turns his attention to Crush’s wounded hand. No black debris in there yet—which hopefully means the bite wasn’t enough to infect him too. Leonard quickly cleans it out and bandages it up, not daring to dose him with antibiotics—he has no idea what species Crush is or how he’ll respond to whatever medication Leonard’s carrying.

As he ties the final knot, there’s a cry of pain from behind him. Leonard’s on his feet before he processes it’s Dara’s voice. He races over, as she curls in on herself, crying.

‘Dara, honey, what’s wrong?’ he asks. ‘Lucy, talk to me.’

Dara shakes her head. ‘It hurts, it hurts,’ she sobs out. She throws her head back, slamming it into the metal wall behind her with far too much force.

Alarmed, Leonard catches her head, keeping her from doing it again. ‘Lucy, sweetheart, talk to me. What hurts?’

Dara keeps on shaking her head, making an aborted attempt to use her injured hand to block her other ear. ‘I can’t, I can’t, I can’t, it hurts, Doctor please, it hurts!’ She lets out a horrible scream, biting her lip hard enough that blood drips out from between her teeth.

Leonard snatches up his tricorder. As the scan starts up, she screams again, hurling herself forward. He drops his tool, catching her. ‘Dara, stop!’ he hisses. ‘Tell me what’s wrong!’

‘Let me go! I gotta go! Let me go to it!’

It?

Dara throws herself against him, struggling hard. Leonard holds on tight, squeezing her to his chest.

‘She’s gone crazy like Roguv!’ comes a voice from behind them. ‘It’s spreading!’

Leonard squeezes his eyes shut. This is exactly what he wanted to avoid. There’s nothing he can do to prevent them from finding out now, however, so he hugs Dara tighter, as she sobs and moans in his arms.

Jim, you’d better come soon.

Spock sets his jaw. The discovery of the testing chamber and the bodies therein does not change their goal. They must reunite with Nyota and Gaila, and they must contact the Enterprise.

He takes the lead as they head further into the science labs. Rooms upon rooms filled with more broken equipment greet them, as they progress further. According to the map, there should be a door out into the outer shell this way—a few more rooms and corridors away.

As they reach another computer room, Spock stops. Right at the back sits a communications console. Presumably it was once used to transfer the scientists’ research through the station itself and, likely, to their home planet.

Now, it is an opportunity.

Spock heads straight to it, examining the controls closely. While he is not anywhere near Nyota’s level of expertise in communications, he does have a decent understanding of the technology that underlies it. This console, at least, isn’t so drastically different to their own technology that Spock cannot figure it out.

‘This may allow us to contact the Enterprise,’ he says, taking the seat in front of it. ‘A full communications console is more likely to break through whatever interference is blocking us than the shuttle’s systems.’

Elsha nods, taking up a place near the open door to keep an eye out, as Spock goes to work.

The console still has power, but Spock’s initial attempt to hail the Enterprise fails to break through the interference. He sets about boosting the signal, taking apart several of the computers surrounding them to connect their individual parts to the console along with Spock’s own communicator.

It is with what Spock privately admits is immense relief that his next attempt is met with a familiar voice. ‘Spock, that you lad? Where’ve you been? You missed the last few check-ins!’

‘Mr. Scott,’ Spock says. ‘My apologies for the delay, there has been a development.’

‘We assumed,’ Scott says dryly. ‘Is everyone alright over there? What’s happened?’

Spock takes in a breath and begins a swift, comprehensive summary of the events of the last few hours. Scott comes close to interrupting him several times. Spock keeps talking. Time is of the essence.

‘—At present,’ Spock concludes, ‘we have no active contact with any other members of the away team. Lieutenants Uhura and Gaila are presently on the lower level, while Lieutenant Manheim remains missing. Captain Kirk has gone to aid Doctor McCoy and Ensigns King and Dara. I do not know if he has found them yet.’

‘If the life-sign readings are accurate, he hasn’t,’ says Scott. ‘We’ve got three different single life-signs and two with two together. Reckon McCoy’s group musta been split up a wee bit too.’

Spock draws in a breath. This isn’t ideal—Jim will have a harder time rescuing their missing members if they aren’t all together—but, at the same time, Spock hasn’t considered the idea that Manheim might be alive. In truth, he assumed the opposite.

Jim needs to hear all this.

‘We need reinforcements, Mr. Scott,’ Spock says. ‘The situation is out of control. Uhura and Gaila need extracting but Elsha and I have not yet found a way down to them and I believe the Captain should be informed that McCoy and his team have been split up. Send over a security team to meet Uhura and Gaila.’

‘Aye, sir,’ Scott says. ‘We’ll be right over.’

The call ends and Spock takes a moment to breathe. A team coming from the shuttle bay stands a much higher chance of finding Nyota and Gaila than Spock and Elsha. Based on McCoy’s last call, the danger is above them not down below. Nyota and Gaila—as in need as they are—are the less pressing concern of the two.

As Spock rises from his seat, the buzzing of electricity running in the walls grows all the louder, all the more grating. ‘Lieutenant Elsha,’ he says, refusing to pay heed to it. ‘We’re going back to the Captain.’

The red-tinted shadows of the weapons bay flash past as Nyota and Gaila run. Behind them, Manheim—or Not-Manheim, rather—continues to laugh like Nyota’s never once heard Manheim laugh before. After years of playing games, eating meals, and mocking Jim together, she’s heard the real Manheim laugh a lot.

Her heart pounds against her ribcage; her breath comes fast. Gaila races ahead, slamming her hand on the button next to the upcoming door, and darting through as it slides open. Nyota focuses on catching up, lungs aching as she goes. She makes it through the doorway, and Gaila slams the button a second time, shutting it behind them.

‘Come on!’ Gaila cries. ‘This way!’

They’re back in a corridor. Behind them, something scratches at the door as Nyota races after Gaila.

‘Do you have a clue where you’re going?’ Nyota calls.

‘Kinda,’ Gaila calls back. ‘This route should take us back upwards. We’ll have to go around to get back to where we were!’

Since Nyota led them astray. Gaila doesn’t say it—Gaila would never say it, she’s too loyal—but Nyota feels it all the same. Nyota’s the one who insisted on going after Manheim. They were so close to being safe and Nyota’s the reason they’re not.

She clenches her teeth and runs on.

At the end of the corridor, Gaila opens another door, leading into a dark stairwell. Back where they came from, the door slides open. ‘Uhura! Gaila!’ calls Not-Manheim in a sing-song voice. ‘Come back! You wouldn’t leave me here alone, would you?’

Nyota hits the button to close the door hard enough to hurt and starts up the stairs. Up, up, up they go.

‘Go right to the very top!’ Gaila gets out between breaths, several steps ahead of Nyota. She points directly up, past several landings. ‘That’s the door!’

Nyota doesn’t reply. She keeps her focus on running.

Below, the door slides open. Starfleet-issue rubber soles tap faintly against metal. ‘This isn’t very fun,’ Not-Manheim says.

Ice rushes through Nyota as she dares to glance down, running at full speed. He tilts his head to the side, an unnaturally wide grin on his face. Nyota’s breathing stops. Her foot catches the next stair and she falls, pain exploding  in her ankle, an audible snap rippling through the air. Back down the stairs she tumbles, hitting each one with a sharp echoing thud.

‘Nyota!’ Gaila screams, racing for her.

Not-Manheim laughs. Reaching Nyota’s side, Gaila drags her to her feet—excruciating pain evicerating Nyota’s leg the second she puts weight on it. Sending a desperate look downwards, Gaila tries to pull Nyota up the stairs.  As Not-Manheim’s footsteps echo off the walls and pain makes black spots take over her vision, Nyota shakes her head. ‘Gaila, you’ve got to go, you’ve got to run,’ she insists.

‘Shut the hell up,’ Gaila snaps, eyes flicking around. ‘Right. Here we go.’ She turns and hunkers down. ‘Hop on.’

Nyota grits her teeth. She doesn’t argue. Not-Manheim’s getting closer.

She climbs on and Gaila stands up, taking the stairs at an agonising pace. Nyota clings on, holding tightly as the floors pass.

They reach the right door and Nyota opens it, leaning forward to hit the button. Once they’re through, Gaila drops Nyota none-too-gently and turns her attention to the door. She works at a fast pace, her fingers dancing across her PADD, until the door deadlocks with a sharp rush of air and a click.

Not-Manheim’s face appears in the window, unnatural grin and all. He tries to open the door and fails, his grin not wavering.

He can’t get through. It can’t get through.

Nyota sucks in a breath, pain racing up her leg into her hip as she chokes back a sob. They’re safe, for now.

Not-Manheim tilts his head to the side, giving an exaggerated shrug as he turns back, heading down the stairs. Gaila collapses to the ground next to Nyota, hands finding purchase in her thick curly hair.

‘I wasn’t sure that would work,’ she admits breathlessly. ‘You okay, Nyota?’

Nyota wishes, dreadfully, that she was okay. She peeks at her ankle. ‘I think it’s broken,’ she says weakly. ‘I’m so sorry, G, I was stupid, I should’ve been…’

Gaila stares and the next thing Nyota knows, she’s wrapped up in a tight hug. ‘It’s not your fault, Ny,’ Gaila says into her hair. ‘It’s okay. We can do this.’

‘You have to leave me here and run, Gaila,’ Nyota says. ‘I can’t.’

‘You can and you will.’

‘Gaila, go!’

‘No,’ Gaila says, pulling away to glare at her. ‘I’m not leaving without you.’

‘Gaila…’

‘No.’ Gaila’s glare doesn’t weaken. ‘I’ll carry you all the way if I have to. We’re both getting out of here alive.’

In the face of Gaila’s fierce determination, Nyota is forced to agree. Gaila grabs out her compact medkit, setting the splint kit to build a—very temporary—splint around Nyota’s ankle and injects a dose of the mild painkiller. It doesn’t do much in the face of the burning pain but Nyota refuses to show it.

She struggles to stand with Gaila’s help and, Gaila operating as Nyota’s crutch, they set off together.

Chapter Text

As soon as Spock’s transmission ends, Scotty is giving orders. ‘Chekov, you have the conn. Send word to Giotto to prepare level 2 phasers.’ He turns to Sulu. ‘Sulu, with me. Whatever’s going on over there, having your sword along can’t hurt our chances of surviving.’

Sulu’s already standing up, face set and fierce. ‘Aye, sir.’

Scotty leaves the Captain’s chair as Chekov takes his place, pale and determined. ‘Good luck,’ he says. ‘Bring them back.’

‘That’s the plan,’ Scotty says, giving the kid a quick confident smile which Chekov returns. Scotty turns on his heel. ‘Sulu, come on. We need to go meet Giotto.’

Sulu falls into step with him as the two make their way down to the shuttle-bay. Giotto and his people aren’t there yet. Sulu busies himself preparing the shuttle while Scotty checks that they’ve got everything else they need.

The door into the bay slides open to reveal Jaylah, as ferocious as the day Scotty met her on Altamid. ‘Montgomery Scotty,’ she says, striding up to him, her staff-weapon already strapped to her back. ‘I will come with you to help our crew.’

‘Lassie…’ Scotty trails off, thinking the better of it. Jaylah’s one of their best fighters. Besides, he’s pretty sure she’ll find a way over to that station regardless—if she has to steal a shuttle of her own to do it. ‘Alright, lass,’ he says with a sigh. ‘Hop on board. You been told what’s going on?’

‘James T. and the others are in danger,’ says Jaylah. ‘And I will help them. Crew is family, yes?’

Despite himself, pride swells up inside Scotty. ‘That it is, lassie. That it is.’

Jim keeps little Eda firmly secure on his back as he follows Neko and her crew back down to Engineering. The only time he lets her down is while they crawl through that same tunnel from earlier, quick to pick her back up afterward. She holds on tight, face buried between his shoulder blades.

They reach where they left Bones and the others quickly from that point. As they already expected, there’s no sign of anyone.

Neko leads the way towards the station’s sickbay, as per Bones’s call. She keeps up the pace, practically running. Jim appreciates the speed, though it’s hard to keep up safely with a little girl on his back while crossing thin handrail-less walkways. As they descend a flight of rickety stairs, he spots the first sign of Bones’s group. Left-over droplets of blood—in blue, in green, in red—stain the corrugated metal floor. A broken disruptor lies on the walkway below, split in half. As they progress further, the bloodstains become more numerous. Blood must’ve been sprayed all over the place, droplets mixing with each other. Further broken weapons appear along the path, along with a few broken communicators.

Jim recalls Bones’s desperate message. Yeah. This looks about right.

It definitely isn’t helping his worry, that’s for sure. Ahead, despite the gory trail—or perhaps because of it—Neko doesn’t slow, doesn’t flinch. Doggedly, she keeps on, without looking down once.

As they approach an enormous tunnel, Eda peeks over Jim’s shoulder and gasps. Jim follows her gaze. He tenses.

Out of the tunnel’s darkness emerge several of the pirates from earlier. Two—a young Orion boy, maybe thirteen or fourteen years old, and a beefy Romulan man—were with Bones’s group, the other three were on the bridge: a short, elderly Orion; a female Orion, nose and lip pierced; and a child of an unfamiliar species, maybe ten at most.

Jim grips Eda’s knees tighter, keeping the little girl firmly in place as she tries to lean over him. ‘Adai!’ she calls. ‘Luko! Handa! Where’d you guys go?’

‘I have the same question,’ Neko says, crossing her arms. ‘What happened?’

The elderly Orion tilts his head to the side. ‘Captain,’ he says. ‘We have been looking for you.’

Cold creeps down Jim’s spine. There’s something off about this. He’s not sure what it is, not sure what’s wrong, but something is. ‘Where are my crew members?’ he calls. ‘Where’s Doctor McCoy? He was with you!’ Two of you, anyway.

As one, the eyes of all five lock on Jim. He takes a step backwards, holding Eda tighter.

Something’s wrong. Something’s definitely wrong.

‘Captain!’ This time, the voice is familiar. Out from the darkness steps King. This should relax Jim. At least one member of his crew is alive. He’s found King. All he needs to do is find Bones and Dara.

It doesn’t.

That sense that something is wrong grows ever stronger. King doesn’t look right. He’s flushed, his arms are covered in bloody scratches that are themselves polluted with black residue. As he stares at Jim, his eyes are hollow.

Dead.

There’s no sign of the good humour and warmth that’s innate to Fabian King.

Wrong, wrong, wrong, something’s wrong. Jim takes another step back.

Eda shifts on his back. ‘Captain Jim?’

‘Neko,’ Jim says as calmly as he can, ignoring Eda. ‘Their eyes.’

Neko glances at him, then the oncoming crewmen. ‘Tell me what happened,’ she addresses them. ‘Why did you abandon Eda, Adai?’

The elderly Orion—presumably Adai—is the one who speaks. ‘She was…hidden.’ The eyes fix firmly on Eda.

She wasn’t hiding from them.

Neko takes a step back, hand going to her phaser. ‘Adai,’ she says. ‘What attacked you?’

‘Nothing attacked us,’ says Adai.

This is an obvious lie and Jim glances at King. ‘King! Where are Doctor McCoy and Ensign Dara?’

King blinks. ‘They are hiding too,’ he says. ‘I cannot get in.’

Bones and Dara wouldn’t lock King out. If they’ve shut him out, it’s for a good reason.

Andak—Jim’s arm-gripper from earlier—takes a few steps forward, staring at the Orion boy. ‘Sai,’ he says tentatively. ‘Kid? You okay?’

Sai looks at him, blank-faced. ‘I am fine.’

Andak moves closer, frowning as he examines Sai closely. ‘Did you…’ He cuts himself off. ‘Captain,’ he says, taking a step back. ‘I don’t think—’

Before he can finish, all six of them turn as one, focused on Andak. Sai grins a little too wide as something crawls out of his mouth.

‘That’s not them!’ Neko yells. ‘Andak, get back!’

Andak doesn’t get the chance to obey. He only sends a single glance back at Neko before Sai moves, catching hold of Andak’s arm with one skinny hand, as the shadows bend around him. The others move, surrounding him.

From inside the knot, Andak screams—long and loud. Unable to do anything at all, holding Eda’s little legs tight, Jim turns and runs.

Eda’s warmth leaks through his uniform-shirt. He focuses on it. Not on Andak and whatever the hell they’re doing to him. Not on the fact that one of Jim’s crew has been…twisted, possessed, whatever. On the little girl currently relying on him to keep her safe.

Another cry comes from behind him. He doesn’t slow. Eda’s weight thumps on his back as he runs and runs, racing for the solid floor below the many walkways. There, at least, he’s not at risk of him and Eda falling to their deaths.

‘This way!’ Neko’s voice comes from behind him.

Jim risks a glance at her. She’s turned towards the left. There’s another tunnel there. Jim’s not sure where it leads, but he has to assume she knows what she’s doing. He follows.

They reach the tunnel as more cries come from behind. Once they race inside, Neko waits long enough for two of her people to reach them before slamming the button to close the doors. They snap shut, as King and the others reach the right walkway.

‘What about the others?’ Jim asks, as Neko turns and heads down the tunnel.

‘Whatever that is, it got them,’ Neko snaps back, speeding up. ‘We need to go! This is the way to the Security deck, we’ll get an idea where everyone is from there.’

Jim grinds his teeth and, regretfully, speeds up himself.

‘Doctor, please!’ Dara cries, throwing herself forward. ‘I have to go! I have to go!’

Leonard holds on tighter. Every shove, every flail sends shards of pain through his arm into his chest. He ignores it; he can’t let her go, he can’t.

Roguv’s still sedated. Even in his drug-induced stupor, he’s moaning and writhing, begging to be let out. Crush looms over him, expression sharp and angry as he glares around the room, daring anyone to come near.

Dara pauses in her thrashing. There’s another knock at the door.

‘Come on, friends,’ says Vairra through the door. ‘How about you open the door and give those two to me? They’re already mine, you know. They’ll turn on you in a minute, why not hand them over?’

No way in hell.

For a single long second, Dara doesn’t move. The next, she hurls herself into Leonard’s broken arm. Pain explodes, racing across his chest, shooting down to his fingers, turning the world numb and black for no more than half a second.

It’s enough. Dara’s free and running at the door.

Leonard leaps for her, bringing them both crashing into the floor. Agony erupts from his broken arm as Dara screeches. She lifts her head up toward him, and slams it into the hard metal floor. Over and over, she bangs it, blood dripping through her hair and down her face and neck, slamming it back into Leonard’s face each go.

Leonard fights to hold on. He is not giving Dara to whatever the hell’s out there. He isn’t. He was the one who suggested her for this damn mission and he’s sure as hell not going home without her.

Lucy Dara isn’t expendable, isn’t disposable. She’s a person. She’s twenty-three, sickeningly in love with Diego Santana, and is always hanging out in his Sickbay when she doesn’t have a shift. She has six siblings back home, hates chocolate and loves pineapples, her favourite colour is green, and she brought Christine a cupcake for her recent birthday.

She will not die here.

He struggles to meet Solara’s horrified eyes. Perhaps it says something about how nightmarish this situation is that even a hardened Romulan pirate is displaying horror. ‘Get me the sedative!’ Leonard pleads.

Without hesitation, Solara races over to Leonard’s medkit. She snatches out the hypospray and, a second later, the cold metal is pressed into his hand. He manages to adjust it to the right dosage, plunging it into Dara’s neck.

A moment later, Dara’s struggles cease.

Leonard sucks in air, arm radiating white fire up into his shoulder. The splint’s been knocked out of place, fracture has definitely worsened.

No time to worry about that.

‘You see!’ Hexilius cries. ‘It’s true! They’ll turn on us in a second! The logical thing is to get rid of them!’

Solara glares at Hexilius. ‘For the love of the Goddess,’ she snaps. ‘Do you have no faith in our Captain? She will come.’

Ducking his head down, Leonard struggles to lift Dara with his uninjured arm. Another hand brushes his. He jumps. A young Orion woman he vaguely remembers as the one to lead them to the storeroom to begin with frowns down at him. Carai, her name is. She leans forward and wraps her scarred arms around Dara’s chest.

‘You take her legs,’ she whispers, giving him a weak smile.

Leonard nods gratefully, hooking Dara’s legs under his uninjured arm and lifting. Together they move her towards Roguv and Crush, who’re in the rear of the storeroom with an overflowing shelf at their back.

‘The Captain’s probably already dead,’ Hexilius says. ‘You don’t really believe she could survive that thing, do you?’

Leonard flinches at the words—images of Jim and Spock and Elsha all torn to bits flooding his mind. A sharp kick brings him back, as Carai glares at him from the other side of Dara. She jerks her head towards Crush and Roguv. Leonard draws in a breath, setting his jaw.

They continue.

‘You actually believe she’s dead?’ Solara asks, a mocking undertone to her voice. ‘It’ll take a hell of a lot more than that to kill Neko.’

‘What if she is dead?’ asks a short tubby pink alien shakily. ‘Solara, I don’t want to die here!’

‘We will not die here,’ Solara says resolutely. ‘I swear that to you, Bako. You will not die here, not if you trust in our captain.’

A sharp bark of laughter bursts out of Hexilius. ‘Don’t be naïve, Solara. Neko’s dead and we’re next if we don’t do something.’

Finally, Leonard and Carai approach Crush and Roguv. Crush shifts to make room as Dara’s settled down beside Roguv. Leonard sinks to the floor beside Crush, uninjured hand running through his hair.

‘This is not up for discussion, Hexilius!’ Solara snaps. ‘I am in charge here, not you.’

‘Well, maybe it should be me!’ Hexilius spits.

Leonard’s head shoots up to stare at Solara’s stiffened back, as Crush and Carai both tense. The entire room is motionless, like the words cast a spell over them.

‘What?’ Solara grinds out, breaking the silence that’s settled over everyone. Her hand is gripping her disruptor, slowly starting to slide it out of its holster.

‘I said maybe I should be in charge,’ Hexilius repeats. ‘I’m not sure you’ve got our best interests at heart. You’ve gone soft, Solara.’

Crush slides his weapon out of its holster, rising to his feet. Another pirate—nose-bridge ridged and left ear pierced—turns her disruptor on Crush, glaring. This triggers Carai’s move towards her own weapon, as the silver-haired Orion does the same, both meeting the other’s eyes and freezing in place.

‘It doesn’t matter what you think,’ snaps Solara, her disruptor clearing the holster—though she doesn’t raise it, not yet. ‘I am the first mate of this crew and I am in charge.’

The third Romulan snorts. ‘You’re only the damn first mate because you’re her friend,’ he says the last word with disdain. ‘You’re hardly objective, Solara.’

‘I promise I’ll let you all go if you give those two to me!’ Vairra calls from outside. ‘They’re already mine anyway, they’ll end up with me one way or the other! They’ll kill you to get to me if you don’t!’

‘We’re all going to die,’ cries Bako, yanking a phaser out of his belt and aiming it at Leonard’s little huddle at the back of the room. ‘We’ve got to do something!’

‘We’re not going to die!’ Solara growls at him. ‘Grow a backbone, Bako.’

‘We’ll be dead before the Captain arrives if we let them stay in here with us!’ says the silver-haired Orion angrily. ‘They’ll kill us all!’

Crush flicks his weapon on. Rising to her feet, Carai takes up a position by his side as she pulls her own weapon—a Starfleet-issue phaser, though where Carai got it, Leonard hasn’t a clue.

Leonard reaches forward and slides Roguv’s disruptor out of its holster. He shoots a brief glance down at it. His stomach sinks. No stun setting. Right. Leonard exhales. Cool metal presses against his palm as he rises to take up a position in front of his patients, careful to hide the weapon behind his back—no need to provoke anyone yet.

‘Stand down, all of you,’ Solara orders. ‘If we lose our honour, we have no right to call ourselves a crew.’

‘If we stand down, we’ll all die!’ Bako snarls.

Solara glares. ‘And if you do this, you’ll die for mutiny anyway! Captain Neko won’t let this slide.’

A short cold silence elapses. Hexilius has taken up a position in front of the door—to his left is the silver-haired Orion, to his right the female alien with the ridged-nose bridge. Another Romulan—short for his species—is to her right, while Bako is beside the Orion, looking between Solara and Hexilius as he visibly shakes like jello.

Solara, meanwhile, is firmly in front of Crush and Carai, who stand side-by-side. All three are blocking the others’ access to Leonard, Dara, and Roguv.

Every pirate either has their weapon raised or by their side. Nobody moves.

Leonard doesn’t dare to breathe. Cold fingers walk their way up his back, nausea crawling up his throat. Dara and Roguv moan and writhe behind him, while the whispering continues in the walls. Leonard grips the disruptor tighter, the metal slippy with sweat.

He’s not sure who moves first. Maybe Solara, moving her disrupter up an inch. Or Hexilius, who shifts his weight, preparing to take a step forward. Or Crush who straightens as Roguv whimpers, raising his weapon higher.

But something snaps in the air, the tension exploding all at once.

Weapons are raised and from one of them—Leonard doesn’t see who’s—a blast flies out, hitting Solara squarely in the chest. At first, she doesn’t move. She stays upright, wavering once, twice, before collapsing to the ground—her vacant eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling.

Crush yells in fury, aiming. He’s shot down before he can fire. Carai is dead seconds after, body flopping over Crush’s corpse. Only Leonard and his patients remain.

Hexilius meets Leonard’s eyes, a cold smile on his face. ‘Now,’ he says. ‘Doctor. Step aside.’

Leonard doesn’t hesitate. He has the disruptor up and ready to fire before anyone else can move. Keeping it at the ready, he stands, hand as steady as when he performs surgery. ‘Come near them,’ he says. ‘And you die.’

Chapter Text

Spock leads the way back through the science labs, maintaining a fast pace. Elsha doesn’t have trouble keeping up.

Once back in the grisly corridor outside of the science area, they find their way back up the ladder and into the recreational areas above. Spock opens the door he recalls from their previous trip through and Elsha goes in first, taking in the room with one quick look. She raises her hand, signalling that it’s safe.

Spock steps in after her.

It’s the big games room from before, lit faintly by dim flickering neon lights above and below. The consoles lining the sides of the room are largely cast in shadow, leaving a well-lit if cluttered path along the middle, through a transparent tunnel that cuts through the jungle gym. An icy breeze brushes past Spock—from the air-conditioning units whirring in the walls—carrying with it the faint scent of old plastic and mould.

As Spock closes the door behind them, Elsha heads straight for the tunnel. Spock falls into step behind her, shining his palm-beacon beam all around the room, keeping an eye out.

They’re about half-way through the tunnel when Spock’s beam brushes over something black. Stopping, he returns the light to the same spot.

Whatever it was, it’s moved.

Spock tilts his head to the side, as Elsha shines her own light towards his. ‘Is something wrong, Commander?’

‘Continue,’ is all Spock says.

As they move forward, Spock slowly moves his beam around. Again, it touches something black, like a dense shadow cast by nothing he can see. This time, Spock stops, his beam fixed on it.

The shadow darts out of the light with a hiss.

‘We must go. Now. Something else is here.’ Spock strides forward, aiming for the end of the tunnel.

Elsha is already beside him, easily keeping pace. ‘What is it, sir?’ She aims her own light forward, lighting up what’s left of their path.

‘I do not know,’ Spock says.

This is not a pleasant thing to admit. While typically Spock finds great pleasure in the unknown, in the unfamiliar, this is not a typical situation. His beam roams the enormous jungle gym over top of them. Briefly, the shadow is illuminated again, only for it to flit away.

Spock speeds up his pace.

‘Commander!’ Elsha grabs his arm.

Ahead, her palm-beacon steadily shows the way out. Dancing in and out of the beam is the shadow. Back and forth it goes.

A child-like screechy laughter emanates from everywhere, all around them. Spock takes an involuntary step back and Elsha swears aloud, her palm-beacon light rocketing from side-to-side as she nearly drops it.

Despite the inherent illogic of it—because it has no mouth, has no teeth, has no face—Spock cannot help the conviction that it’s grinning at them.

Side-to-side it goes, this way and that way, in and out of the light, refusing to stay still for a second, like it can’t bear to be in the light that long. Despite its constant movement, it’s blocking the exit. There’s no way through without passing through it.

‘Commander, what do we do?’ Elsha’s voice shakes.

Spock swiftly weighs the few facts they have at their disposal. The creature—whatever it is—doesn’t seem to like the light.

He turns up the power on his palm-beacon and raises it to illuminate a circle around their heads and bodies, pulling Elsha closer to him so the light covers them both. ‘Stay in the light,’ he orders. ‘Move yours to shine on our feet. We need to ensure we remain entirely in the light, do not let it slip.’

Hand gripping her palm-beacon hard enough to turn her knuckles off-white, Elsha obeys. Encased in a column of light, they start forward.

The laughter crescendos. Something sweeps past them, fast enough to hit them in the face with the after-draft. Neither Spock nor Elsha slow, continuing to progress towards the door.

Again, again, and again, it whips around them, trying to put them off. When they continue to move, a long shadowy hand reaches into the light only to be snatched back before it can do any harm.

Perhaps the light hurts it?

Spock files this thought away, as they finally reach the door and Elsha dares to stretch her hand out of the light to hit the button to open it. As it slides open, Elsha tries to draw her hand back and cries out in pain. Her palm-beacon clatters hard against the floor as as she instinctively tries to free herself.

Leaping out into the red-lit corridor, Spock pulls Elsha out with him. She screams in pain, her hand held tight by whatever is inside. Spock shines his palm beacon directly at it, revealing long, void-black, tar-like fingers with too many joints gripping Elsha’s hand tight. Blue blood seeps out from where the tips—the claws—dig deep into her flesh. As Spock’s light touches it, it shrieks and releases her, losing all physical substance as it sinks back into the darkness of the room.

Elsha stumbles back toward him, holding her bloody hand to her chest as she sucks in air, her face several shades paler, her antenna stiff with fear. Her hand needs treating. This, however, is not the place to do it.

‘Come!’ Spock grabs her other arm and pulls her with him, breaking into a run. ‘We cannot give it a chance to catch up!’

Elsha stumbles alongside him. She’s fighting back tears as she cradles her hand. ‘I’m sorry, sir. I lost my palm-beacon.’

‘We have mine,’ Spock says. ‘That must be enough.’

Checking the map on her PADD every so often, Gaila holds Nyota’s arm tight as they hobble together further and further into what looks like a gym. Old rusty gym equipment, some familiar and some not, crowds the wide room. A long corridor in the back leads out of the main gym area, doors opening off it into other huge gymnasiums, floor shining and clear, ceilings high above.

Gaila ignores all of them. This path should lead them out of the fitness deck, taking them back into the cylindrical centre, from which they’ll make it back down to the promenade.

Hopefully.

Every time they take a step, Nyota gasps in pain. Each is agonising to Gaila. She hates putting her best friend through pain, no matter how necessary, and forcing Nyota to walk on a broken leg—splinted or no—is causing pain, no matter how you slice it.

If Gaila were stronger, she would carry Nyota, but she can’t. At least, not the whole way.

She’ll do it if she needs to but if there’s one thing Gaila knows, it’s the wisdom of conserving strength in situations like this. Only an idiot lets fear provoke them into using it all up five minutes into the escape, when they’ve got miles to go before they’re safe.

As another hiss of pain escapes Nyota, Gaila grips Nyota’s wrist tighter, setting her jaw. ‘Just a bit further,’ she says.

Nyota squeezes her hand back, forcing her chin up. ‘I’m okay,’ she lies.

Gaila doesn’t contradict her. It’s more than just a bit further, after all.

The gymnasium corridor opens out into a wide circular sparring arena, made from a concrete-like cream substance and edged in dark metal. Black seats wrap around it, rows of them going higher and higher like in an amphitheatre. A small tunnel leads off from that, leading out into a confusing maze of a locker-room. Endless rows of enormous lockers line winding thin hallways, making it difficult to navigate or remember exactly where they are on the map.

They’ve taken five left turns and two right when, from somewhere ahead of them in the labyrinth, a sing-song voice—horrifyingly familiar and yet utterly alien in its cadence—rings out, echoing off the walls. ‘You won’t escape! I know where you are!’

Not-Manheim.

Gaila and Nyota meet each other’s terrified eyes. ‘G,’ Nyota breathes.

Not-Manheim calls out for them again, closer this time. Gaila’s heart pounds in her ears, her gaze flitting around for something, anything, any source of inspiration on how to get them out of this one. Lockers, lockers, more lockers.

She bites her bottom lip hard enough to draw blood. Think, think, think, Gaila.

‘It won’t hurt that much,’ Not-Manheim calls. He—it—is scarcely a couple of rows away.

Gaila breathes in and out, focusing on the nearest locker. Without a word, she leans Nyota against one of the others and fiddles with the electronic lock until it clicks open with a faint beep. It’s a testament to Nyota’s faith in Gaila that she doesn’t question this at all. Despite its age, it doesn’t creak as she pulls it open. Gaila shoots off thanks to every goddess she knows.

No time for gentleness. She shoves Nyota inside, forcing herself in alongside and closing the door on them. Outside, the door beeps.

Locked.

Still several rows away, Not-Manheim’s voice calls out, ‘Nyota, Gaila! I’m your friend, remember? Do you think I would really hurt you?’

With Nyota crushed against her, it’s hard to breathe. What air available is thin and stale, thick with old mould and dust and sweat. Everything is tightly confined—these lockers are nowhere near big enough to fit two adult women comfortably. The squishing must be agonising on Nyota’s poor ankle, but she doesn’t make a sound. The only noise is their rasping breaths.

Bang!

‘Come on, guys, this is no fun!’ Not-Manheim yells.

Gaila jumps. It’s so close. Footsteps tap the metal floor outside at a strolling pace, ambling towards their hiding place.

Nyota squishes her face into Gaila’s shoulder, holding her breath, and Gaila presses her own to Nyota’s sweat-soaked hair, squeezing her eyes shut. She sends up a desperate prayer for protection to the Many-Faced Lady. Her heartbeat thrashes in her ears, a frantic drumbeat.

‘It wasn’t very fair of you to lock that door on me!’ Not-Manheim calls and this time, it comes from right outside.

Gaila’s breath catches. She squeezes the shaking Nyota tighter.

Not-Manheim’s footsteps resound against metal, vibrating the walls of their locker. ‘Although,’ it chirps. ‘It does make it more challenging. And I do love a challenge!’

Thick cloying fear pollutes what little air there is. Gaila chokes on it, eyes screwed shut.

The footsteps stop. It’s right outside.

Gaila shoots up another desperate prayer to the Lady, as Nyota shrinks into her.

There’s no sound. No movement.

‘Gaila! Nyota!’

The voice is so loud and close that Gaila jumps. She bites her tongue hard against making any noise, salt seeping into her mouth.

‘Don’t be such killjoys, come on!’ Not-Manheim yells as the footsteps resume, walking past. ‘I’ll find you eventually! I promise you that!’ it adds. This time, the voice is further.

It’s leaving.

Gaila doesn’t move. Neither does Nyota. They stay frozen, squished against each other, holding their breath until Not-Manheim’s taunts fade into the distance.

‘Stay the hell away!’ Leonard snaps, keeping the disruptor steady. Everything is distant and hollow, his pounding heartbeat seeming like it belongs to someone else entirely.

‘Put that down, Doctor,’ Hexilius says derisively. ‘You don’t have the guts for it.’

‘You don’t know a damn thing about me, stay away!’ Leonard isn’t letting himself think about Crush’s dead body, scarcely a foot from him, about Solara’s, about Carai’s eyes staring up at him empty and deaddeaddead…

He cuts his thoughts off, shifting his broken arm enough to send a shard of pain shooting up into his chest.

‘Stay back!’ he yells—screams—as Bako, pink skin flushing crimson, steps closer. ‘I’m warning you!’

Hexilius heaves a sigh. ‘Doctor, I would rather not kill you yet, you could be useful, but I will if you don’t stop screwing around with that disruptor.’

‘Don’t come any closer!’ Leonard tightens his grip, excruciatingly aware of Dara whimpering behind him, of Roguv’s moans. ‘I’ll kill the next person who moves towards us.’

It’s a promise he doesn’t make lightly—he’s a healer, not a fighter, certainly not a killer—but it’s a promise he intends to keep. This disruptor has no stun setting and he will fire it if he must.

‘You won’t do it,’ Hexilius says. ‘We’re saving your stupid life too. Those things are going to get us all killed!’

Bako strays nearer, beady eyes fixed on him. Leonard points the disruptor at him. ‘I’m warning you!’

‘Go ahead,’ Hexilius says, inching closer. Leonard switches his aim to Hexilius as he continues. ‘You won’t.’

‘I will!’ Leonard glares, willing his hand not to shake.

Another of the mutineers—the ridged-nose-bridge lady—steps towards him on the left side. He’s penned in. Leonard turns the phaser on her.

On his other side, Bako moves nearer. He’s standing on Solara’s hand. ‘You won’t do it,’ he says.

Before Bako says another word, Leonard’s finger pulls the trigger. The blast slams right into Bako’s abdomen, the impact sending him flying back. He collapses to the ground, body smoking.

An oppressive silence reigns. Everyone is still. Ice floods Leonard’s chest. He can’t breathe, can’t think. He just killed…

Dara murmurs something and Leonard snaps back into reality, turning the disruptor on Hexilius once more. Every muscle in Hexilius’s throat is straining against skin, as he stares at Bako’s corpse. Slowly, he turns his gaze back to Leonard—and Leonard takes back every thought he’d had about Hexilius hating him before. That was practically affection compared to the sheer loathing in Hexilius’s eyes now.

Leonard keeps the disruptor up, aimed at Hexilius.

One heartbeat passes. Another.

Something slams into Leonard’s side. Agony explodes from his arm, shattering across his chest. He smacks into the floor, world fading around the edges as he fights not to pass out. The disruptor is gone. Leonard has no idea where. And someone is on top of him.

He lashes out, his broken arm slamming into his attacker. The new pain barely registers. A hand grabs his wrist and slams his arm into the floor. It’s excruciating yet Leonard doesn’t—can’t—give in.

Dara’s in danger. They’re going to kill Dara.

He hurls every bit of strength he has left into whoever’s on top of him. This produces a surprised sound, though it doesn’t push them off him. They yell something Leonard can’t parse out through the buzzing in his ears as he thrashes, throwing himself upwards.

More hands come, dragging him up until he’s on his knees, held tight. He struggles, trying to break free. It’s no use.

Hexilius strides forward, the silver-haired Orion at his side, as they each grab one of Leonard’s patients. Hexilius has Dara by her broken arm. The pain breaks through the sedation suppressing her, making her scream. Hexilius shows no signs of caring.

Leonard tries again to break free. ‘Please!’ he cries. ‘They’re sick, we can help them, please!’

Hexilius ignores him, continuing to drag Dara towards the door. The Orion follows with Roguv.

In her sedated state, Dara’s unable to defend herself. Even despite that, she’s starting to struggle, instinct taking over.

Leonard tries again. ‘Please!’ he begs. Salt on his tongue tells him he’s crying. ‘I’ll do anything, don’t do this! You can’t do this to them!’

He might as well not be speaking at all. Neither mutineer acknowledges his words, as they reach the door. The Orion turns his attention to the control panel. A second later, the door slides open and—in one swift motion—Hexilius picks up Dara and hurls her outside. Roguv is thrown out after her and the door slides shut.

Silence.

Nobody moves. The whispering falls silent.

Then Dara screams again—a long terrible scream. It’s agonising to hear, as Roguv’s voice joins hers. Something crunches. Slurping and gnawing comes from the other side of the door.

Dara is still screaming.

Chapter Text

When Dara finally falls silent—when it all falls silent, the gnawing and the slurping and the bone-crunching—Leonard isn’t sure if the silence isn’t worse than the screams.

Everything is numb. His desire to fight is gone—gone out of the door with Dara. Drained of energy—of hope—he collapses in on himself, his captors’ bruising grips all that’s keeping him from simply dropping to the floor and never getting up again.

Dara’s dead. He failed. He volunteered her and he got her killed. She’s dead, so is King. By this point, everyone else might be too. Nyota, Gaila, Manheim, Elsha, Spock, Jim.

Jim.

If Jim’s alive, he’ll be coming. A tingling stab of adrenaline floods Leonard’s body. He doesn’t want Jim to come. If Jim comes, he’ll end up dead like Dara, like King.

Something rams into his face, pain exploding from the point of impact. Leonard reels back, all his weight falling into the hands holding him up. He blinks through the fogginess and confusion. Hexilius glares down at him. The sight sends an unwilling chill racing through Leonard.

Hexilius raises his hand and—instinctively, already hating himself for it—Leonard flinches. The expected blow doesn’t come.

Instead, Hexilius reaches down and grabs Leonard by the throat and yanks him up until he meets Hexilius’s hateful gaze. Leonard chokes, fighting for air, as his feet leave the floor.

‘Only reason you’re not out there with them,’ Hexilius grinds out, squeezing tighter, ‘is that I reckon you might come in handy—as a doctor and as leverage against your worthless captain.’

Black spots dance in Leonard’s vision as he fights to stay conscious, his fingers going numb as he tries to pry Hexilius’ fingers off. Despite that, anger floods him at the insult to his best friend. He struggles, kicking out.

A grunt of pain tells him his blow’s landed. He’s dropped hard on the cold floor. It hurts to breathe. Leonard coughs, trying to draw in more oxygen.

Hexilius growls. Before Leonard can look up of his own accord, a hand grips his hair and yanks his head up.

The enormous Romulan looms over him, face flushing with rage. ‘You’re useful for now,’ he grinds out. ‘If you don’t want that to change, you’d better behave.’  

Leonard glares back. Every part of him wants to argue, to do something to avenge Dara. Nonetheless, he restrains himself.

If Jim’s coming, if Jim makes it through the hell that’s outside alive, Leonard has to be alive for him to find. Jim finding Leonard’s dead body isn’t an option. He remembers all too well what it felt like when they brought Jim’s dead body back to him. He won’t do that to Jim. He won’t.

Keeping the memory in his mind—a burning reminder—he doesn’t say a word, forcing himself to drop his gaze.

Hexilius gives a cold laugh. ‘That’s more like it,’ he says, releasing Leonard’s hair and letting him sink back down to the floor. Leonard closes his eyes, trying to breathe, trying to stay calm. ‘And, to make sure you don’t get any more ideas,’ Hexilius adds.

Leonard’s head shoots up. He stares as—with deliberately slow movements, like he’s deriving pleasure from Leonard’s fear—Hexilius takes a step over and snatches up the phaser Carai was using. Leonard shifts backwards, hitting someone’s legs. Said someone grabs hold of his shoulders, keeping him in place.

Hexilius steps back in front of Leonard and presses the muzzle of the phaser to Leonard’s thigh. Leonard’s frozen, breathless.

Surely, he’s not going to…

Without hesitation, Hexilius pulls the trigger.

Pain explodes from the point of contact, shooting up to his hip and down to his toes, a rippling burning sensation that’s all-encompassing.

A scream rips through the air. It takes a second for Leonard to realise it’s his.

Hexilius tosses the phaser—it hits Carai’s corpse when it lands, nudging her hair. ‘You’re a doctor, aren’t you? Heal yourself.’

Leonard doesn’t—can’t—say anything in response. He can only fight the urge to scream and sob, as his thigh burns and burns.

Spock’s head pounds as he runs at his fastest speed, Elsha keeping up with him decently well, all things considered. All around them, the same child-like laughter rings out from the walls, from everywhere at once. It’s loud enough that Spock’s sensitive Vulcan hearing is becoming more of a hindrance than an advantage.

The sole consolation is that, as Spock first theorised then partially proved with the door-incident, the creature does not appear to be able—or willing, perhaps—to stray into the better-lit corridors. For as long as they stay in these, they should be safe. Comparatively so.

Spock keeps a close eye on the map in his hand as they go. It would not be good for them to be led astray. Spock is breathless; Elsha is more so. They must make it to Engineering and, subsequently, the sickbay where the rest of their party waits, and they must reach it by the quickest route. Neither of them will make it much further at this pace.

It is hard, however, to keep track of where they are whilst moving at such speed—especially given how confusing the halls of this station are. Spock is trying hard, but even he—with his perfect recall—is struggling.

Elsha grabs his arm, stopping them both, and points down the corridor Spock just turned from. ‘That’s the way to the mess-hall,’ she says. ‘We came through there on the way down, sir.’

Spock grits his teeth. ‘I see,’ he says. ‘Thank you, Lieutenant.’

He could swear the laughter is growing louder, though it could be his imagination.

‘It wasn’t well-lit though,’ Elsha says nervously. ‘If we go in there…’

She trails off. Spock does not need her to finish.

‘Is there a way around that keeps us in the better-lit corridors?’ he asks.

Elsha frowns, examining her own map. ‘There is,’ she says. ‘It was deadlocked when we tried it on the way down though. That’s why we took this route instead.’

Spock contains his frustration with effort. ‘I see,’ he repeats. ‘It would appear we have no alternative. Stay close, Lieutenant.’

Pressing her injured hand tightly to her stomach, Elsha nods.

 Eda squeezes her arms tighter around Jim’s neck as he runs behind Neko, the other two members of her crew behind them. Jim shifts her back into a more comfortable position on his back, not slowing for a second.

A cold throbbing guilt has taken up residence in his chest, inflating with every second that passes. King’s dead—worse than dead—and Jim led him to that worse-than-death. One more to add to the mausoleum that Jim carries around with him—has carried around with him since the day he was born.

He grips Eda’s ankles tighter. He will not add any more names to that list. Not today.

They’ve left the tunnel behind, returning to the warren-like corridors found in the station’s outer shell. Neko continues to lead the way, racing at top speed down the slanting floors, winding lower and lower, until she stops in front of a wide circular doorway, metal doors blocking the way.

She mutters something under her breath as she pokes at the controls. The door doesn’t budge.

‘Gimme a sec, Eda,’ Jim says softly over his shoulder, before letting her down gently. He hurries over to Neko’s side. ‘Let me,’ he says. ‘I did study programming in the Academy.’

Neko scowls and moves aside.

Jim sets to opening the door. Thankfully, he recalls what Gaila did to open the ones from earlier, though for a dangerous moment, he’s not sure if he’s going to be able to do it himself. He’s good with computers but he’s nowhere near Gaila’s level, nor Spock’s for that matter.

Thus, it is with immense relief that he watches the doors grind open slowly. As soon as there’s a big enough space to squeeze through, Neko pushes Jim out of the way and shoves herself through.

Jim helps Eda through and clambers through himself. Once on the other side, he hunkers down and she clambers back into place as the other two surviving pirates squeeze through after them. The doors finish their slow opening process as Jim hurries after Neko, who’s already run forward into the new room—a Security area.

It’s not unlike the one on the Enterprise. The enormous room leads into bigger rooms on either side. Screens fitted into the walls above oval holographic computers, like the ones in the Captain’s quarters, show live video feeds from all over the station. Endless shelves of phaser-like weapons wrap around much of the remaining wall-space.

Most of the video-feeds display only static. Six are live, showing the factory-area, the blood-drenched bridge, the promenade, an unfamiliar brig, a section of a horticultural area overgrown with greenery, and—a cold dread creeps up Jim’s spine—the sickbay.

The empty sickbay.

So. Bones’s group haven’t made it there, not yet. In that case, where are they?

Neko’s messing with one of the computers, in the back of the adjoining room to the left—her back’s visible through the open doorway. Jim joins her, letting Eda down and activating one of the other computers by tapping the metal oval like Gaila did earlier.

The technology and language of the interface are both unfamiliar. ‘Are there sensors?’ he asks Neko without looking up from his attempts at decoding it. ‘We might be able to scan for life-signs to figure out where the others are.’

Neko hums. ‘There are, I had a couple of my computer engineers working in here when we first arrived to make sure we…well.’ She pauses and draws in a breath. ‘That we were alone. Guess that didn’t work out.’

Perfect. ‘Do you know what they did?’ Jim asks.

Neko frowns. ‘I sent them here. I didn’t come myself. Galana!’ She turns and addresses one of the other two, another Romulan who draws herself up at the mention of her name. ‘You were guarding them, weren’t you? Do you know what they did?’

Galana tilts her head to the side. ‘Somewhat,’ she says, coming to join them on Neko’s other side. She eyes the computers, before focusing on one further towards the end. ‘This’s the one they used,’ she says, heading over to it.

Jim hurries to join her, activating and examining the interface. He uses his fingers to move the hologram, flitting through each of the programs. ‘Do you remember which program?’ he asks, glancing at Galana.

Galana leans forward, reaching out to move through the programs herself. ‘I think…’ she says, trailing off as she continues to search. ‘Here!’ she says, stopping. ‘This was the one, I’m sure of it.’

Jim grins. ‘Great. One second.’

Now that he has the program, it’s easy to open it and set it to scan the station. It takes frustratingly long to do the full scan—longer than the Enterprise, surely—though that could also be Jim’s building impatience and worry about his missing crew, about Bones, who might already be dead or dying and Jim’s…

Jim grinds his teeth, twisting his fingers together hard enough to hurt. Focus, Jim.

Nobody’s speaking. Neko’s on his other side, her arms crossed over her chest, her jaw clenched as she glares at the holographic screen, as if by the power of her glare she’ll make it work faster. The other crew member—a short Orion, Jim really should learn his name—is guarding the door. Galana’s watching the screen with as much focus and frustration as Neko.

Eda slides closer to Jim, peeking up at him with her dark eyes. Jim forces the strongest smile he can muster and ruffles her hair. She doesn’t protest, leaning into the touch.

‘There!’ Neko says, relief in her voice as the computer beeps. ‘It’s done!’

Jim returns his focus to the scan, checking through the results. It has, as intended, returned a sensor scan of the entire station. The sensors aren’t as detailed, as sensitive, as the ones on the Enterprise—or maybe Jim just can’t read the additional details. In either case, there’s no way of telling species, but he can count them. There’re two life-signs in the lower half of the station, in the second deck up from the bottom, and one more not too far from the pair. That—hopefully—is Gaila and Uhura, with the third perhaps being Manheim. Jim spots his own group’s life-signs, significantly further up, in one of the segmented decks below Engineering. Moving his gaze over to where the sickbay’s located, he spots another group of life-signs, in one of the segmented decks beside the sickbay.

Bones’s group. There’s no one else it could be, save perhaps the infected dead. The lack of detail surrounding species is infuriating. Jim can’t tell if Bones or Dara are alive—but, at least, their group is still there. Hopefully.

‘Got ‘em!’ he says, noting the location on his map and giving the scan another glance. He draws in a breath. A group of life-signs are, slowly, making their way from Engineering to Bones’s group. It must be their attackers from earlier, including King. How they’re still registering as alive, he doesn’t want to know. We have to go, now,’ he says, indicating the moving group of lifesigns.

Neko’s expression hardens. ‘Right,’ she says, turning on her heel and gesturing for Galana to join her. As Jim helps Eda back onto his back and—reluctantly—hands his PADD containing his map to Neko, she continues. ‘That,’ she says, eyeing the marked location. ‘I believe, was the horticultural deck. It’s right in front of where we found the sickbay, so it makes sense they’d end up there. Hoshi!’

The short Orion—Hoshi, apparently—straightens up. ‘Captain?’

‘You and Galana guard our backs; I’ll guard the front. Captain Kirk.’ Neko pauses, turning to gaze at Jim. ‘You keep Eda safe.’

Jim nods. Of course he will. He’d never consider doing anything else.

‘This way,’ Neko says, taking the lead and heading further into the Security deck.

Chapter Text

Keeping up their speed, Spock and Elsha make it to a familiar set of stairs. They pause outside the door, exchanging glances. Setting his jaw, Spock opens it, letting them out into the dark stairwell beyond.

Elsha remains uncomfortably close to Spock, as they share their single remaining palm-beacon. Staying in the beam of light, they slowly ascend the stairs.

Below them, there’s a giggle.

Spock tenses. He dares a glance down, not slowing in his pace for a second. A thin shadow crawls out of the air-duct at the base of the staircase. It giggles to itself as first one hand then another touches the bottom stair.

Spock tightens his grip on his palm-beacon.

Elsha presses closer, holding her injured hand gingerly. ‘Commander…’

‘I see it,’ Spock says. ‘We must go.’

He checks the distance still to go. They’re not far from the top. Only a little further.

They continue, one step at a time, as the shadow creeps up the stairs after them, giggling all the while. Spock, quite frankly, hasn’t a clue what could possibly be so funny as to warrant that much laughter.

Upon making it to the door, Spock hits the button to open it and they race out into the dark mess-hall. Closing the door behind them, Spock considers deadlocking it. He takes one look at the mechanism and abandons the idea—he doesn’t know how to do that.

Instead, he and Elsha make a run for it, racing across the cluttered room. They aim for the door out into the next stairwell—one Spock remembers seeing earlier . Once they’re up those stairs, they should be back into better-lit corridors.

Behind them, the door slides open. The shadow creeps through. That giggle follows, grating against Spock’s ears. Now that it’s back in a wider space, it returns to its old tricks. It flits across the room, dancing in and out of the few lights, laughing as it does so.

Spock keeps Elsha close to him, as he eyes the creature. It’s fascinating—or it would be, in any other situation. It’s almost behaving like a small child.

He can’t recall any species akin to it. Part of him wants desperately to study it. That part is definitively crushed by the memory of ripped-apart corpses and an airless vacuum filled with the dead.

‘Stay close,’ he reiterates, keeping his palm-beacon steady.

They’re closing in on the door. The creature sweeps in front of them. Spock ignores it. While they’re in the light, they’re safe. It won’t touch them in the light.

In a single motion, Spock opens the door and propels both he and Elsha through it. The creature cackles behind them.

One hand on Elsha’s shoulder, Spock keeps them moving, heading up the stairs until finally, finally, they escape out into red-lit corridors once more. Privately relieved, Spock turns his attention to Elsha. ‘Which direction was Engineering from here?’

Elsha blinks, staring at him without responding. She’s rather off-colour. Her dark eyes are blank and confused. Translucent dark blue blood seeps from the wounds on her wrist.

‘Lieutenant?’ Spock prods.

Elsha draws in a breath, her face going grey as she stumbles over to the side and throws up violently. As she continues to retch, Spock dares a step toward her, wrinkling his nose. The scent is unpleasant in such an enclosed space. ‘Lieutenant. Tell me, what is wrong?’

Elsha sucks in air, pressing a hand to her mouth as she slumps against the wall. ‘I’m sorry, sir,’ she gets out. ‘I was…I was fine, then we were in that mess-hall and I…’ She closes her eyes, swallowing hard. ‘I couldn’t think.’

Spock narrows his eyes, moving near enough to take her injured arm and examine the wounds. The wounds themselves oughtn’t be dangerous—they’re small, if deep, punctures through the tissue and into muscle. Nasty, but easy to deal with, so long as infection is prevented. This last point, however, is unfortunately relevant. There, oozing from the wound—mixing with her blue blood and dripping down her wrist—is an unfamiliar, black substance.

‘I believe,’ he says with deliberate calm, ‘we ought to find Doctor McCoy. He will be able to deal with this. Are you able to walk unassisted?’

Elsha shoves herself off the wall. ‘I’m fine, sir.’ Despite remaining visibly shaky and ill, she stands strong.

Spock doesn’t show his doubts. Inclining his head, he steps back and reiterates his earlier question. ‘Do you recall the way to the Engineering deck from here?’

Elsha rubs her hand over her mouth as she glances around, getting her bearings. ‘I remember, sir,’ she says with conviction.

‘Good. Lead on, Lieutenant.’

Elsha takes off at a job—one that quickly becomes a run as, still laughing, the creature infiltrates the walls around them. Again and again, it laughs, the sound echoing off every corner of the confined tunnel. Each time it comes, Elsha shrinks in on herself all the more, yet she does not slow.

Nyota has never been claustrophobic. When she was little, she used to hide in cupboards and any other small spaces she could find, secreting herself away with a good book for hours on end. Her parents quickly grew accustomed to her popping out of anywhere with little warning. Her brother used to call her their little “golden mole”—and the memory makes an old grief well up in her throat.

Right now—crushed against Gaila, warming metal touching her skin, shredding pain racing up her leg—Nyota can’t imagine how she ever managed it. If she has to stay in here a second more, she might be sick.

She doesn’t say this. Gaila’s trying hard to unlock the door from the inside and doesn’t need further pressure or distraction.

Or guilt, for that matter.

Nyota closes her eyes, forces herself to breathe, and imagines being back in her childhood home. She’s hiding in the cupboard beneath the kitchen sink, a PADD in her hands. Her mother is on the other side of the door, singing to herself as she cooks. Nothing to fear, nothing to lose.

The lock beeps. Nyota opens her eyes as the door swings open. She practically falls out, sharp shards of pain stabbing through her leg as her foot impacts the metal floor. The confined space has done the temporary splint no favours—the hard material is cracking apart. It’s not intended to hold up to this level of pressure and activity.

Gaila follows her out, gasping for air as she slumps down next to Nyota.

For a moment, they stay there, breathing.

It’s Gaila who makes the first move. ‘We have to go,’ she says, pushing herself to her feet. ‘Manhei…that thing’ll be coming back this way once it realises we’re not there. It took long enough to open that door.’

Nyota bites her lip hard enough to bleed, fighting to lever herself up using the nearby lockers. Gaila immediately tries to help. Nyota ignores her—determined not to be any more of a burden than she already is.

Once she’s back on her feet, leaning heavily on the nearest locker, Nyota nods. ‘Right,’ she says. ‘Let’s go.’

Gaila wraps Nyota’s arm around her shoulder, opening the map up in her other hand. ‘Just hold on to me,’ she says, giving Nyota a cheery grin. ‘Not too much further.’

She’s lying. Nyota tries to believe the lie anyway. It makes the pain easier to bear if she pretends that they’ll make it soon.

Hobbling together, they head forward.

The maze-like layout of the locker room is tightly confining and seemingly endless. Nyota is already lost yet Gaila doesn’t slow, keeping them moving at the same pace, without pausing to so much as consider.

Behind them, Not-Manheim’s voice is growing more audible, though Nyota can’t parse out the words. He—it, it, Nyota!—has already turned around, somehow realising they must be back here. The sole sign that Gaila’s heard is her squeezing Nyota tighter. Her pace doesn’t slow nor increase. She continues as she was.

When, ahead of them, Nyota spots the narrow locker-lined corridor opening up, she almost sobs with relief. The first hobbled step out into the wider room, lined with mirrors and sinks, is bliss despite the pain still pulsating through Nyota’s leg. A door sits right at the back. Nyota leans on the wall beside it while Gaila hunkers down to work on the lock.

Sinking her head against the metal, Nyota dares a glance down at her throbbing ankle. With the splint falling apart around it and all the pushing and shoving in their escape, her foot’s now pointing at the wrong angle. A flood of nausea flares in her throat at the sight and she forces her gaze up to Gaila, trying to banish the grisly visual. Leonard’ll fix it, once she reaches the shuttle and calls help to rescue him and the others. He’ll tease her and complain about her walking on it so much and grumble about how nobody appreciates him and his hard work on this damn ship.

For a moment, she wants him so badly that it aches.

Somewhere within the many rows of lockers, Not-Manheim’s footsteps draw closer as it continues to taunt them. ‘You’re cleverer than I thought!’ it tells them merrily. ‘I never imagined you’d think of hiding from me!’

Nyota draws in a breath, glancing up at Gaila. Her friend stays focused on the lock, forehead creased as she works. ‘I’m nearly done,’ she says, a terse undercurrent of desperation to her voice. ‘I just need a minute longer.’

‘This has all been fun,’ Not-Manheim continues, ‘but I’m bored now!’

‘Oh, go hang yourself, shithead,’ Gaila mutters, as the lock clicks and the door slides over.

She grins, immediately helping Nyota to her feet and pulling her through. The moment they’re both safely on the other side, Gaila locks the door. It beeps loudly, then thumps as the deadlock bolts slam into place.

From afar, Not-Manheim screeches angrily.

Neither Nyota nor Gaila give it time to do or say anything else. Together, they hobble away as fast as possible.

Neko clearly knows where she’s going. She’s unhesitating as she leads the way through the rest of the Security deck and back into the cylindrical centrepiece of the station. They come out in the factory area, machines still working. Neko doesn’t lead them to the same door out of here as on the way up. Rather, she heads straight for the furthest side, through a door that takes them into another corridor.

This time, they come out into a large, segmented deck—a stellar cartography zone. Enormous transparent-glass star-maps resplendent in a kaleidoscope of colours stand in between desks containing unfamiliar tools and computers. One star-map Jim recognises as a map of the space directly around the station.

Eda gasps. ‘They’re so pretty!’

‘They are,’ Jim agrees. He’s seen star-maps, of course, plenty of times—stellar cartography is one of the duties of the Enterprise on her five-year-mission—but those are normally holographic. The Federation doesn’t turn their maps into display-pieces like these. For the people of this station, it appears stellar cartography was more of an artistic expression than a science.

‘There should be a turbo-lift around here,’ Neko says, drawing their attention. ‘It should take us directly up to the horticultural deck above.’ She pauses for a second, eyes narrowed as she looks around. ‘Spread out,’ she orders. ‘We need to find it.’

Jim pokes Eda in the leg. ‘Bet we’ll find it first.’

This makes her giggle. ‘Course. Can I get down to search?’

‘Naturally.’ Jim lets her down and holds out a hand, grinning at her. ‘We’ll find that pesky turbo-lift so fast, the others’ll be jealous.’

Eda grins as she takes his hand. ‘I’m super good at looking for stuff!’

‘In that case, I bow to your expertise. Where to first?’

Eda stops, biting her top lip. Finally, she points to the left. ‘Over there.’

‘Good choice. Let’s go.’

Keeping a firm hold of Eda’s hand, Jim lets her pull him over to the side of the wide room she chose. This section has rows upon rows of shelves, on which are many rolled-up sheets of shiny silver material, plastic-like yet pliable to the touch, all stacked on top of each other. Jim pulls one off and unfolds it to reveal a stellar map etched out in black ink. Rolling it back up, heslides it back in and turns his attention back to Eda—who’s on her knees, checking under the shelves.

‘Nothing there,’ she informs him seriously, as she stands up straight.

‘Nope,’ Jim confirms. ‘Let’s squeeze through here to the wall anyway, we’ll see any hidden doors better that way.’

They thread their way through the shelves until they reach the wall behind. Once there, they explore it closely, walking up and down, searching inside wall-indents for the doors. No luck.

Eda’s face is falling when she spots something and her disappointed expression lights up. ‘Over there, Captain Jim!’ she cries, eagerly running forward, dragging him with her.

Sure enough, Eda’s spotted the turbo-lift, tucked behind one of the star-maps at the front of the room. It’s awfully rickety, even worse than the others Jim’s seen here thus far. Still, it’s not the time to be picky.

‘Captain!’ Eda calls, bouncing up and down in place and waving her hand. ‘It’s over here! We found it!’

This gains her the attention of all three of her crewmates, who each hurry over from their own search-areas. Galana ruffles Eda’s hair fondly. ‘Good job, kid,’ she says.

Hoshi nods at her proudly, while Neko comes the closest Jim’s seen her come to actually smiling. ‘…Yeah. Good job, Eda,’ is all she says.

This makes Eda’s smile grow even brighter.

Jim turns his attention to the turbo-lift. He has to fiddle with the mechanism to get it to work but, eventually, the turbo-lift arrives with a whoosh.

The doors creak open and they all squeeze inside. It’s a smaller size than the others on the station, probably not one of the main ones used. It barely fits all five of them. There’s one light, a small oval at the top of the lift, casting its red glow down.

Slowly, slowly, the turbo-lift grinds its way upwards. Eda shrinks into Jim’s side, hands covering her ears. Galana and Hoshi both stand ready, weapons in their hands. Neko keeps her arms crossed, looking like she’s planning to write a strongly worded letter of complaint to the turbo-lift manufacturer.

The horticultural deck is a good way above. It’s directly above the stellar cartography deck but the way the station is designed means there’s a bunch of space in between each deck vertically and no way to take a flight of stairs directly from one to the other. Yet another way that the station is designed to be as confusing and hard to navigate as possible.

The turbo-lift continues to make its slow-but-steady way upwards, grinding, grinding, grinding. The floor shudders as it goes. Several minutes of groaning and shuddering and creaking have passed when the turbo-lift scrapes to a stop. Jim pushes off the wall, ready to move.

Except the doors don’t open.

Cold creeps across Jim’s fingers as he meets Neko’s narrowed eyes. Something heavy takes up residence in his chest as they wait.

One second passes. Two. Three. Four.

The doors stay closed.

Neko’s hand brushes her weapon-holster. Galana steps over to poke at the controls. Hoshi moves in front of Eda. Everything is silent, save for the rumble of engines somewhere to their left. Until something scratches the top.

Maybe it’s the turbo-lift settling into place?

It comes again. A long, deliberate scratch—a horrible, shrieking sound.

And, all around them, something laughs.

Chapter Text

Spock slams his hand onto the door-button, closing it behind them as they race out into yet another red-tinted corridor. The creature fell silent more than fifteen minutes ago, but Spock has no intention of jumping to any overly optimistic conclusions. That would be entirely illogical.

At best, the creature has gone elsewhere. At worst, the creature has quietened to lull them into a false sense of security. Spock has no wish to discover the latter by assuming the former.

Elsha leans heavily on the wall, beads of sweat seeping down her head, her antennae drooping as she fights to stay upright. ‘Engineering should be on this floor, sir,’ she says, rubbing her forehead with the back of her hand as she pushes off.

Spock raises his chin in acknowledgement as he takes in their surroundings. He does recall these halls from their earlier excursions, both up and down.

He allows the shaky Elsha to take the lead, more for the sake of going at her pace than because he doesn’t remember the way. She breaks out into a jog—clearly too fatigued and shaky for a sprint—and Spock follows her closely behind, listening out for a resurgence of that laughter.

They’ve not gone more than two corridors before it returns, echoing from down the next corridor. Spock tenses, hand going out to stop Elsha—pointlessly, as it turns out, as Elsha has already frozen in place.

Spock takes a step forward, listening. Why is it coming from down there when they’re over here? The creature has shown itself to be uncannily good at locating them, why isn’t it even approaching?

He frowns. Tilting his head to the side, he takes another step towards it.

‘Commander,’ Elsha says nervously.

Spock raises a hand to stop her. He remains fully focused on that sound as it grows louder, though it isn’t moving—not towards them, and not away either. A voice—a real voice—mixes with it. While Spock cannot make out the words, the voice itself is intrinsically familiar.

Jim.

Spock’s back straightens. Without hesitation, he races towards the sound.

‘Sir, what are you—’ Elsha cries after him.

 ‘Captain!’ Spock calls, cutting her off midway through. ‘Where are you?’

At first, there’s no reply. The laughter continues to echo as Elsha catches up with him, expression fiercely determined. ‘Captain! We’re here!’

‘Jim! Tell us where you are!’

‘Spock!’ Jim’s response is a relief. The panic in Jim’s voice is less so. ‘We’re trapped in the turbo-lift!’

Spock scans around for said turbo-lift as he continues to run. At first, there’s no sign of it. As he turns a corner, however, the closed doors come into view. He races over, shoving his fingers between the two segments and throwing all his strength into pulling them apart. With a groan, they give way, sliding back to reveal the dark shaft and a small gap between the floor and the top of the turbo-lift. Jim and his companions have already managed to wrench open the lift-doors themselves, but they’re trapped between floors, unable to easily climb up onto the floor above.

Without hesitation, Spock throws himself down on his knees, reaching into the gap. ‘Jim! Grab my hand!’

The laughter echoes all around them. Within the turbo-lift itself are Jim, Captain Neko, two other crewmen and a child, all clustered below. Elsha drops to the floor beside Spock, leaning forward.

‘Her first!’ Jim calls, grabbing the child and lifting her up towards the gap.

Spock doesn’t argue. He reaches inside, taking the child and pulling her through. Once she’s safely out, Spock turns back to the gap.

Something writhes in the black above the turbo-lift.

‘Commander, watch out!’ Elsha cries, snatching his abandoned palm-beacon and activating it, shining it into the shaft.

Something howls.

Spock ignores it, trusting Elsha. ‘Captain, we must hurry!’ He reaches back inside. ‘Grab my hand, Jim!’

Jim jumps. His warm, familiar hand grasps Spock’s and Spock throws all his weight behind dragging his captain through the gap. As Jim’s feet escape the lift, a shadow hand with entirely too many fingers makes a grab for him. Elsha aims her palm-beacon at it.  Shrieking, it retracts.

‘Neko and the others,’ Jim gasps. ‘You have to help them.’

Spock turns back to the gap. A small Orion comes through, followed by a bigger Romulan. Finally, it’s Neko’s turn. As Spock grasps her hand and yanks her upwards, the shadow makes another attempt at grabbing. This time, it successfully catches hold of her coat, slamming her into the roof of the lift.

She cries out in pain.

Elsha shines the beam right at the hand. It releases, billowing in the darkness above the turbo-lift. Howling, it rushes forward. Elsha goes to intercept it with the light. She’s scarce centimetres away when it grabs the small Orion and drags him toward the dark. He screams, scrabbling for a hold on anything to stop himself.

Unable to do anything for the Orion, Spock maintains his grasp on Neko, yanking her harder. Elsha and Jim both grab the Orion’s hands, trying to pull him back.

Neko tumbles out to safety and wrenches herself up. ‘Hoshi!’ she cries.

The Orion—Hoshi—struggles. Shadow creeps across his skin, overtaking him. Spock snatches up the palm-beacon once more, shining it directly at the creature. It shrieks, its hold on Hoshi loosening. Jim and Elsha pull as one, all three of them falling back into the corridor together.

Springing up, Spock grabs Jim’s shoulder. ‘Move!’

Jim leaps to his feet, yanking Hoshi and Elsha up with him. Neko, the other Romulan, and the child follow. ‘Which way?’ Jim asks.

‘This way.’ Elsha takes the lead, racing back the way she and Spock came—a new flood of energy seemingly overtaking her, as adrenaline kicks in. The rest of them race after her.

As Sulu sets their shuttle down in the (weirdly red) shuttle bay, Scotty keeps a careful eye out for any sign of their crew—or danger. Further into the shuttle bay, he spots the shuttle the away team used, parking lights on.

No sign of life. Clearly, Gaila and Uhura haven’t made it here yet.

Sulu goes through landing procedures mechanically, a tense frown on his face. Scotty rises, turning to check over his team. It’s a big one—twelve Security officers, including both Chief Giotto and Lieutenant Hendorff, as well as Dr. M’Benga, Jaylah, Sulu, and himself. Frankly, it’s more than the shuttle’s supposed to carry so some don’t have seats, but it copes with the weight well enough. Based on what little Spock could tell them, they’ll need the numbers.

Hopefully, it’ll be enough.

Jaylah has already undone her restraints, jumping up and re-examining her staff-weapon. When she notices Scotty looking, she gives him a sharp, toothy grin.

Scotty smiles back and returns his attention to Sulu. ‘Can you get through to Lieutenant Uhura and Lieutenant Gaila?’

Sulu makes the attempt and scowls when he receives only static. ‘No luck, sir.’

‘What about Commander Spock?’

Sulu sends out a hail and sighs. ‘Nothing.’ He shakes his head, releasing his restraints and rising to his feet. ‘How are we even going to locate the others? This place is gigantic and with no way to contact them…’

‘We’ve got the most recent life-sign readings from before we left,’ Scotty says. ‘That should at least give us the general area.’

Sulu kindly doesn’t point out that there’s no way their crewmates haven’t moved—and moved a lot—since then. It’s all they have so they’ll make do. ‘We could head for their Security deck,’ he suggests. ‘The station should have sensors that can locate everyone.’

‘That would require going further into the station, possibly unnecessarily,’ Giotto points out, crossing his arms over his chest. ‘From what Commander Spock has told us, that would be best avoided as much as possible.’

Sulu tilts his head in agreement at that.

Scotty remains silent. Finally, he speaks. ‘I don’t want to waste any time. We’ll search around here and, if we don’t find Uhura and Gaila, we’ll hunt around for their Security area.’ 

Sulu nods, accepting that, as he checks his retractable sword is in its place at his waist. ‘Alright. Where to first?’

‘First,’ Scotty says, checking the readings on his PADD. ‘We go up. Uhura and Gaila should be on this side, in the outer shell of the station.’

Gaila traces their route on the map. They can’t afford any wrong turns. Not-Manheim’s been blocked for now, but it’ll find a way around. If Gaila has anything to say about it, they’ll already be safe in the shuttle and Nyota’s foot will be tended by the time it does.

They’re back in the cylinder now. All they need to do is make it to the promenade and Gaila knows the way from there. That, thankfully, isn’t far from here—they should make it within an hour if they keep up the same pace. Slowly, they continue to hobble along the long winding corridors. Nyota sinks her head on Gaila’s shoulder, breathing hard.

Gaila stops. ‘We’ll rest here for a bit,’ she says. ‘I need a break, you’re so freaking heavy, Nyota!’

From the amused and fond smile Nyota shoots her, Nyota’s seen right through Gaila’s attempt at putting the need for rest on herself. It’s a testament to how exhausted and in pain Nyota is that she doesn’t argue, letting herself sink down to the floor and extending her injured leg.

It looks awful. What was a simple ankle fracture is now far more disjointed. The splint has lost much of its form and chunks of it have broken off, revealing purpling swollen skin beneath. Peeking through the remnants around her lower calf is a raised area of skin where the bone’s poking through from inside—thankfully, it hasn’t yet actually broken the skin, but it’s clearly a matter of time.

Gaila takes in a breath. ‘I’ll try and reset your ankle,’ she says, grabbing for her compact medkit. The splint-kit in Nyota’s is useless, having been used once—the miniature splint-kits aren’t like the one Leonard carries, they only make one splint each to save on replicator fuel. Gaila still has hers, so she grabs it out.

Nyota flinches. She sets her shoulders, straightening up. ‘Okay,’ she says, clearly making an effort to breathe slowly. ‘Just. Be quick.’

Gaila sets to work. She pulls off the remnants of the old splint—which makes Nyota yelp in pain each time—and once it’s cleared, she takes out the second of their splint-kits. She eyes the misshapen limb. It needs straightening for sure.

Right. ‘Bite down on your jacket, Nyota,’ Gaila says.

Dark skin gaining an unhealthy tinge, Nyota obeys. Once she’s ready, Gaila places her hands on either side of the break. Without warning, she yanks it down. A snap resounds from it.  Nyota’s agonised scream is muffled by the jacket between her teeth. Tears run down her cheeks.

Fighting back nausea—she hates this, she hates this, she hates this—Gaila forces herself to carry on. She snaps it sideways, back into place. A resounding crack shatters the air. Nyota’s breathing faster, gripping her PADD with blood-drained knuckles. Gaila keeps on going, determined to get this done as fast as physically possible. Setting the machine to rebuild the splint around Nyota’s leg, Gaila watches it fixedly.

Only when it finishes and deactivates itself does she breathe again. ‘We’re done, Ny,’ she says, sitting back onto her ankles, running a hand over her face. ‘It’s set.’

Nyota breathes heavily, in and out, in and out. ‘Thanks,’ she gasps out.

‘I’m sorry.’

Nyota shakes her head, reaching out with one hand to squeeze Gaila’s. ‘No need to apologise. It needed to be done,’ she says. Pulling away, she fiddles with her PADD. ‘The translator’s almost done with the audio files!’ she says suddenly. ‘All the more recent ones are done!’

Oh, hell yeah. ‘We can finally figure out what the hell’s going on here,’ Gaila says—eager both for the chance to learn more and for the distraction from what she just had to do. ‘Play it!’

Nyota pauses. ‘Are you sure? If that thing’s anywhere near…’

This is a good point. Gaila stares at the PADD. Nyota’s not wrong about the sound potentially drawing Not-Manheim near, but they also really need this information. What if it can tell them how to fight that monster?  

An idea sparks and she sits up straight. ‘Earphones? They’re inside the PADD, right?’

Nyota’s eyes light up. ‘Right!’ she says, fingers moving to open the little hatch in the PADD’s back. She pulls out the pair of wireless earphones and holds one out to Gaila who takes it and pops it into her ear. ‘Let’s move on, while I do this,’ Nyota continues. ‘My ankle’s set and we don’t want to waste too much time.’

Seeing her point, Gaila rises to her feet and helps Nyota up, once again resuming her role as Nyota’s living crutch. Before they begin, Nyota taps the screen and—from the PADD’s speakers—a deep male voice plays. They hobble forward together, as it continues.

The first few logs that play are fascinating, if seemingly irrelevant to their current situation. The speaker—who introduces himself as Captain Llemexe—talks of the everyday problems of a science colony out here in space, of supply issues and personnel issues, and—most interestingly—of their experiments. It takes a while for Gaila to figure out what the experiments consist of.

Dimensional exploration. They were studying other dimensions and developing technology to open doorways through to said other dimensions.

At first, the doorways they built all failed; they went up in flames, or didn’t work at all, or the doorway itself was unstable and wouldn’t stay open for longer than a millisecond. Slowly, they figured out how to stabilise them. How to keep them open for long enough to send teams in to explore and gather data. They kept opening the doorways, finding new dimensions.

Until, one day, they opened their latest doorway and suffered a total blackout across the entire technology-development deck. This is mentioned, at first, as merely another issue with the doorways. Another technological fault to correct. Llemexe wasn’t all that concerned about it.

Except then, one by one, his crew started disappearing. Blackouts became more frequent. Laughter was heard in empty corridors. And—one by one—the missing crew reappeared, but they weren’t themselves anymore. This didn’t initially turn violent—but once Llemexe realised that anyone who went off alone with a formerly-missing crewmember disappeared as well, he knew that something was wrong. Something was very wrong.

‘We’ve made a mistake,’ he says. ‘It’s something to do with the doorways, it must be. We opened them—believing we could learn what was on the other side, send out explorers, make new discoveries. In so doing, we forgot that a door works both ways.’ He stops and, for a few seconds, the recording captures rough breathing. ‘I think…I think when we opened that last doorway, we let something in.’

Something drops hard in Gaila’s stomach. Nyota’s knuckles pale where she grips her PADD.

‘No one is acknowledging my messages,’ Llemexe continues, ‘or answering our distress calls. They’re not hearing us. Nobody is hearing us. I’ve sent what evidence I can to Home World. I don’t…I don’t know what to do.’

Gaila and Nyota exchange quiet glances. The next log plays.

‘This is Captain Llemexe speaking. This is a message for Home-World. If you receive this, do not come to Station 45, repeat, do not come to Station 45. This colony has entered Red Mode. It is to be marked as dangerous and abandoned by all from Home-World. The surviving members of the crew of Station 45 will do what we can to prevent this danger from spreading further. This is my last log and my last message. Farewell.’

The log ends. A terrible silence elapses.

Acutely, Gaila is aware that Llemexe is dead. Has been dead for sixty years. Taken over by that monster.

Her stomach clenches.

Letting the hand holding her PADD hang down by her side, Nyota draws in a breath and tightens her hold on Gaila. She doesn’t say anything and neither does Gaila. What is there to say?

In lieu of speech, they continue hobbling forward.

Chapter Text

Having Spock back by his side brings Jim an indescribable emotion—relief, confidence, safety, or maybe all three. Even with the laughing monster worming its way through the walls around them, even as they run and run, racing into the underbelly of the Engineering department, Jim is surer of their survival and successful rescue of Bones and the others than he’s been in hours.

Even with Lieutenant Elsha’s clear illness.

Spock reports their story swiftly as they continue to move and Jim frowns to himself. They need Bones now more than ever.

‘So light’s that thing’s weakness?’ Jim asks, focusing on that section of Spock’s report.

‘It would appear so,’ Spock confirms. ‘It is totally repelled by it.’

‘Well, that’s good news, if nothing else.’ Jim grins at him.

Spock tilts his head. ‘Indeed. I’m afraid the rest of my information isn’t as pleasant. One of Doctor McCoy’s party has been separated from the others.’

A regretful sigh escapes Jim as he thinks back to King—to the wrongness of his smile. ‘I know,’ he says. ‘I saw Ensign King. He attacked us.’

Elsha chokes.

Spock’s eyebrows draw together. ‘He attacked you? That is not in-character for Ensign King.’

No, King’s a good officer—and a good man, if an immature one sometimes. Attacking his captain—attacking anyone unprovoked—is totally out of character. ‘He wasn’t himself. Whatever that thing is.’ Jim glances up around them at the enormous interior of Engineering. ‘It took him—twisted him.’

Elsha has gone paler. She runs her hands through her hair rhythmically, like she’s trying to self-soothe. ‘He’s dead,’ she says weakly.

Jim can only nod.

Elsha draws in a breath, not saying another word. She continues to run her hands through her hair.

Behind them, nails tap-tap against metal. The monster is close and it’s not giving up.

‘Up this way!’ Neko has retaken the lead. She guides them through the extensive machinery and pipes, until they reach a small door. ‘This door should take us right through into the horticultural area,’ she says, hitting the button beside it. ‘It’s an access hatch.’

The door slides open, revealing a long circular tunnel behind it, barely enough for Jim to walk without bending. Poor Spock, Neko, and Galana will have to hunch.

Neko doesn’t waste time. She bends her head and steps inside. Jim is quick to follow, putting Eda down first and holding her hand, keeping her close as he strides inside. Spock comes right behind him, with Elsha behind Spock. Neko’s final two crewmates take up the rear. Jim shoots a brief glance back at them with a frown—Hoshi doesn’t seem all that well either. Yet another thing to ask Bones about when they find him.

The tunnel is dark, lit only by what few lights they still have. The creature cackles behind them and speeds up.

Neko breaks into a full run, going as fast as possible without knocking herself out. Jim follows her lead, keeping Eda close by his side. He has to trust that Spock and Elsha are keeping up behind him, there’s no time to check.

There is, however, a light at the end of the tunnel. Literally. This is what they push towards, as the door they entered through closes behind them. The laughing resounds around the tunnel walls, filling the air.

Neko leaps out and Jim follows her, relieved to find himself in a—somewhat better lit—garden. Solar lights from above and below illuminate the gigantic greenery-filled room. He grabs out his PADD, checking the map for where the life-signs were. ‘It’s right at the end of this room,’ he says, as the others pile out beside him.

As Hoshi and Galana approach the end of the tunnel, he slams his hand on the door to close it. The two make it through before it closes, slowing the creature inside down.

‘This way,’ Jim says, taking the lead himself this time, after helping Eda into another piggyback.

Bones and Dara are here. Jim’s so close now. He can save them; he will save them.

Spock takes up his place beside Jim. There’s no need for Jim to check. He knows Spock shares both his determination and his growing excitement. All of this, it went wrong when Jim let them separate—his idiotic decision to split up their team twice over. Once they’re together, they’ll get the hell out of here, find Gaila and Uhura as well as their reinforcement team, and it’ll be over.  

It’ll all be over.

‘We need more lights,’ Spock says as they stride towards Bones and Dara’s last known location. ‘Elsha and I only have one between us. If we wish to use the creature’s weakness against it, we will require more of it.’

Jim takes that in. ‘Were there any smaller solar lights when you were in here earlier, Hoshi?’

Hoshi—who’s rather turquoise in colour now—blinks and stares at him. ‘Oh, erm, yeah. There were…erm…some lights. There were vegetable terrariums. Along…along the walls on either side.’

‘Show us to them,’ Jim says.

Hoshi obeys, immediately leading the way to the right where—sure enough—there are rows and rows of terrariums, lit by cylindrical solar lights.

Jim glances at Spock who gives a small smile in acknowledgement and sets to work. Soon, he’s managed to remove several of the lights, using their in-built batteries to continue powering them. In minutes, they each have two extremely bright lights.

‘Perfect,’ Jim says. ‘Let’s go find our crew.’

Leonard sinks his head back against the wall, his leg throbbing in time with his heartbeat.

At least Hexilius has had the decency—or, maybe, common sense, since he might need Leonard at some point—to let Leonard take care of the phaser burn on his leg. He couldn’t do much more than bandage it. Thankfully, it naturally cauterised itself so he’s not in danger of bleeding out or anything. The biggest danger is infection and—frankly—Leonard’s getting less and less convinced that he’s going to live long enough for infection to be a concern.

‘Hexilius!’ Vairra calls from outside. ‘Aren’t you getting bored in there? Come on, let us in!’

She hasn’t left. Leonard damn well knew she wouldn’t, no matter what she claimed. Dara and Roguv aren’t only dead, they’re dead for nothing.

He aims a venomous glare at the nearest pirate—the other Romulan in the room, besides Hexilius. Said pirate doesn’t notice.

Probably a good thing. Leonard doesn’t need any more bruises.

Someone taps on the door. ‘Doctor McCoy?’

Leonard’s back straightens, as all four of the surviving pirates turn to glare at him at the mention of his name. ‘King?’ he gasps out, only not rising because, well, hole in the leg. ‘You’re alive?’

‘You should open the door, sir,’ King says politely. ‘We’re all waiting for you out here.’

Leonard closes his eyes, gritting his teeth. The kid’s been taken over by whatever possessed Vairra. Maybe Leonard can save him, can save both of them—if only he could be sure of that.

He hasn’t a clue how this thing works or at what point a person is beyond the point of no return. He’s confident that Dara and Roguv weren’t there yet, but they hadn’t made it to the stage of being puppeteered. While they were entranced by it, they weren’t holding calm conversation while totally under the creature’s control.

‘Doctor McCoy?’ King says. ‘Are you there? I need your help, Doctor!’

Leonard flinches. It goes against every bone in his body to stay quiet, to not go to King’s aid. He has no choice, however. Even if he weren’t injured, he couldn’t help. Not here, not now.

‘Hexilius, this isn’t working!’ snaps the silver-haired Orion. ‘They were supposed to leave!’

He and Hexilius are glaring at each other. Mutineers turning on mutineers.

In the background, the whispering continues, as there’s another knock.

‘It was worth a try,’ Hexilius responds, crossing his arms. ‘At least we won’t be stabbed in the back and we have no more dead weight.’ He pauses, cold eyes landing on Leonard, who forces himself not to react. ‘Well, not as much dead weight.’

Leonard could point out that it’s Hexilius who shot him in the leg and thus made him “dead weight” but he’s not stupid enough to antagonise the guy. Not after last time.

‘Doctor McCoy?’ King calls again.

Leonard grits his teeth, his one uninjured hand making the attempt at covering both his ears—like Dara tried to do…before. It doesn’t work.

‘We can break out of here,’ Hexilius continues, voice lowering as he turns to face everyone at once. ‘We’ll make it. Just need to take that thing by surprise.’

‘We’ll get ourselves killed,’ complains the ridged-nose-bridge woman.

‘Oh, what, would you rather stay barricaded in here the rest of your life, Mana?’ Hexilius snaps back.

Mana draws herself up, bristling. ‘I’m just saying…’

‘There’s no one else who’s going to help us out of here,’ Hexilius says. ‘Captain Neko has to be dead by now.’

‘She might be alive,’ says the other Romulan with a frown. ‘You do remember who she is, what she achieved for the Empire before?’

‘And so what if she is?’ Hexilius raises an eyebrow at her. ‘You really think she’ll let that—’ he points at Solara’s corpse, lying discarded on the floor ‘—go?’

‘Under the circumstances,’ the Romulan starts. ‘I’m sure she’d…’

‘She’ll kill us where we stand and you damn well know it, Detral,’ snaps the silver-haired Orion. ‘We can’t rely on her. If we want to survive, we need to take care of ourselves.’

Silence. All the mutineers are staring at each other. Vairra and King have stopped calling.

‘Why does she have to find out?’ Mana is the one to nervously break the silence. ‘The only people who know what happened in here are us. We’ll say that thing killed them. She never has to discover the truth. Who’s going to tell her? You?’

The others stare at her for one long second, contemplating that.

Leonard draws in a breath. Yeah, his chances of making it out of here alive just got smaller.

‘You have a point,’ Hexilius admits slowly, ‘but that’ll only work as long as she doesn’t see the bodies.’ He shrugs. ‘Therefore, we have to escape this room ourselves.’

More silence. The whispers grow in intensity, like more and more voices are joining in.

‘…This way!’ A yell from outside breaks through the whispering, loud and vibrant. It’s distant yet familiar despite that.

Jim.

Adrenaline shoots through Leonard’s veins, dulling the ever-present pain as he sits up straighter, air catching in his throat. Jim’s here. Jim’s outside.

Jim’s here. The world turns sharp and cold. Part of him is overjoyed. The rest is terrified.

Jim’s here and that thing’s outside. What if it gets him? The image of Jim going mad like Dara—banging his head, begging to be allowed to go to his death—fills Leonard’s mind. Jim’s out there with it and there’s nothing Leonard can do to warn him.

‘Bones! Where are you?’ Jim calls out for him. ‘Dara?’

Leonard closes his eyes, breathing harder. Jim has no idea what he’s walking into.

‘Solara!’ Captain Neko’s voice joins Jim’s. ‘Report your location!’

Eyes opening on impulse, Leonard’s gaze catches on Solara’s corpse scarcely a metre from him. Her brown eyes stare into his.

‘Captain’s here, we need to go!’ The second Romulan—Detral—cries. ‘Hexilius!’

‘I’m aware of that, Detral,’ Hexilius snaps back. He turns, casting his gaze at each of his crewmates individually. ‘Grab your weapons. We’re getting out of here, one way or the other.’ As he finishes speaking, his gaze lands on Leonard.

With swift steps, he stalks over to Leonard, who instinctively tries to move away. One hand wraps tightly around his—thankfully uninjured—upper arm and yanks him up to his feet. Pain explodes from the wound on his leg and Leonard fails to stifle a cry of pain.

Hexilius ignores it, pulling him closer while turning to the others. ‘Get ready. We go at once. I’ll go first. If nothing else, this one—’ he shakes Leonard who bites his cheek hard, blood dripping onto his tongue, to keep from giving Hexilius the satisfaction of making him cry out ‘—will make a good shield.’

Leonard tenses at the words, as Jim says something else. While the words are indistinguishable this time, he doesn’t sound happy.

Outside, cutting off Jim, there’s an awful noise—like a moan and a scream and a gurgle all at once. It tears through the air, painful to hear. The pirates all instinctively go to cover their ears. Even Hexilius, though not releasing Leonard, drops his weapon in surprise.

Leonard takes the opportunity, hurling his weight against the grip. It’s worse than useless. Hexilius snatches up his phaser and yanks Leonard closer, until he’s held tight to a broad chest, a brutally strong arm around his neck. The cold muzzle of the phaser presses against his side. A shiver races through Leonard.

‘Open the door, Titerc,’ Hexilius orders, as he drags Leonard towards said door.

Leonard struggles, trying everything he can to break free, but Hexilius is a Romulan and thus far stronger than him. His best attempt doesn’t so much as slow Hexilius down.

Chest tightening and heart pounding, Leonard watches as the door grows closer and closer. Outside, a phaser fires and voices yell. Again, that awful screech comes.

Titerc—the silver-haired Orion—has his hand over the button to unlock the door. As soon as Hexilius reaches it, Titerc slams his hand down.

The door grinds open.

In that second, as the scene outside is revealed, even Hexilius freezes. Bile burns at the back of Leonard’s throat as he stares, unable to process what he’s seeing.

When he was nineteen and in his first year of med-school, Leonard witnessed his first human body dissection. Even now over a decade later, he remembers the sight of the preserved skin and flesh, the overpowering pickled scent of formaldehyde filling the air as his professor used her scalpel to open the chest up. Violent nausea overwhelmed him that day, sending him running from the lecture hall, for a time almost convincing him that he wasn’t made for medicine at all.

Staring at what lies outside the door, Leonard smells pickles.

It’s colossal, incomprehensible; a patchwork spider-like amalgamation of flesh and sinew and bone, dripping with blood—deep blue, dark green, red—as it screeches the same horrible sound. Its long leg—except they’re not legs, not really, they’re fused hands and arms and faces into the vague approximation of a spider-leg—plunges forward, impaling the nearest attacker—a tall familiar Romulan woman, though not Neko—to the left of her heart.

As Leonard stares, unable to move or breathe or do anything, she’s dragged inwards, as a massive mouth—a horrific gaping hole—splits open on the creature’s body. The Romulan screams, green blood spewing out of her mouth, as someone else—Neko—tries to grab her hand to pull her back. It’s too late.

Sharp broken teeth made from bone—broken femurs, protruding spines, bent ulnas and tibias—stab into her as the mouth snaps shut, blood spewing out of what passes for its lips. That awful sound from earlier as Dara and Roguv died comes from its mouth, chomping and gnawing.

‘Use the lights!’ Jim yells and Leonard’s eyes find him instinctively. There he stands—bloody, exhausted, bruised to all hell and back, but alive, with Spock close by his side.

The creature laughs. Leonard’s attention snaps back to it as its tumour-like body shakes. ‘Very clever,’ it says—in Vairra’s voice and, Leonard realises coldly, through Vairra’s mouth. Her face pokes out from the side of its body, eyes wide open and staring. ‘You think you’ve figured me out?’ It continues—this time in a far more familiar voice.

Dara’s voice.

Everything goes foggy and distant as Leonard catches a glimpse of the mouth it’s talking through. There, on the side of its nearest leg, is Dara’s face, mouth open as the creature puppets her tongue.

He chokes. The arm around his chest tightens and he’s forced forward.

‘Attack!’ The order rumbles through the chest behind Leonard. ‘Now!’

Chapter Text

The plan is not working.

The lights—while they cause clear discomfort in the creature—are not having the same effect that they did earlier. For that matter, the creature itself is nothing like the glimpses Spock caught of it previously either. It looks more like a spider—albeit a spider with too many legs and entirely composed of cannibalised body-parts.

Behind the creature—the spider, someone is yelling. Spock leaps out of the way of its attack as he seeks out the source.

A phaser blast slams into one of the legs and he glimpses one of the pirates from earlier holding a phaser—one of the Romulans.  Spock has little interest in attempting to recall his name at the sight of McCoy—Leonard—held tight to the Romulan’s chest. Leonard looks dreadful: all black and blue, one hand pulling at his captor’s arm around his throat and the other hanging useless at his side, a rough bandage around his leg.

Somewhere deep inside of Spock, something cold and razor-sharp awakens. They have hurt him. They hurt Leonard McCoy, who only remained behind to help them.

‘Bones!’ Jim calls—he’s several metres to the left.

In Jim’s eyes, Spock sees mirrored the same ice that’s taken over his own chest. These pirates will not get away with what they have done.

At his nickname, Leonard casts his gaze around, finding Spock then Jim with ease. His expression tenses. ‘Jim! Watch out!’ he screams, his voice hoarse.

The spider’s leg bears down on Jim. Spock is already in motion, sweeping forward and hurling himself at his captain. The impact sends both tumbling to the ground and out of the way. He pulls Jim up to his feet, as Jim shoots him a quick thankful smile.

‘We have to move it,’ Jim says, as they back away from the spider. ‘As it is, Bones has no way through.’

Spock nods.

Leonard and his captors are directly on the opposite side of the room, barred from moving forward by the enormous monster presently displaying a remarkable capacity for multitasking by attacking both sides at once. While this is a skill Spock greatly wishes more of his colleagues would employ, it is much less desirable when put to such uses.

As Spock and Jim duck back from yet another attempted impaling, Leonard’s captor yanks him forward, forcing him into the path of one of the spider’s many legs. It comes sweeping down towards him and Spock’s vision blurs.

He leaps forward. Ducking underneath the spider’s bulbous body so fast that it doesn’t have a chance to react, Spock brings his solar lights to bear, stopping the leg in the air. The impact of the leg against his lights sends a jarring force quivering through his shoulders and back. He grunts under the weight. They grapple, both spider and Spock exerting force against the other. Leg and hands shake under the strain. Neither gives in.

Behind him, someone chokes. ‘Spock!’ Leonard cries. ‘What the hell are you…’

‘I…’ Spock gasps out, ‘should think that…quite obvious…Doctor.’

‘You’ll get yourself killed!’

The spider-leg pulls back, ending their stalemate. The leg rises high and plunges down towards Spock. Spock rolls out of the way. It impales the floor instead, flesh tearing deep into the metal.

Another blast flies into it and the nearest face—King’s face, Spock recognises with a wave of nausea—opens its mouth to scream in pain. Spock ducks, glancing to check on Leonard—who’s struggling with renewed strength, clawing and scratching at the arm holding him prisoner.

‘Release him!’ Spock orders.

The Romulan holding Leonard completely ignores Spock. Instead, he fires several blasts at the spider. The spider howls—a hundred mouths crying in unison—but it doesn’t slow. The Romulan takes several steps back, dragging Leonard with him. No matter how hard Leonard fights, he’s held tight. The cold builds in Spock, growing, growing, growing.

Through the spider-legs, Spock sees Jim duck out of the way of another attack. Their eyes meet—Jim’s expression darkening as he catches another glimpse of Leonard’s state.

‘Elsha, support Spock!’ Jim orders sharply as he narrowly avoids an incoming leg.

At first, Spock cannot find Elsha. She’s disappeared into the melee. Then, he spots her.

She’s standing to the left of the spider, standing still, staring at it with wide eyes. Her hands clasp the lights tightly, but she doesn’t move to attack or to defend. She gives no sign of hearing Jim’s orders. As one leg comes down and impales one of the four pirates from Leonard’s group—a silver-haired Orion—dragging him into the spider’s mouth, Elsha takes a step forward. She’s fixated entirely on the spider. One hand—the injured hand—reaches out towards it.

‘Jim!’ Leonard hurls himself into his captor’s arm, earning him a sharp blow to the head. Blood dripping down his forehead, he cries. ‘Jim! Spock! She’s infected! Get her out of here!’

Something in Spock grows ever colder as Elsha takes another step towards the spider. Infected. ‘Lieutenant Elsha!’ he yells.

Elsha stops, blinking. She doesn’t seem to understand what’s going on.

‘Go to her, Spock!’ Leonard cries, yanking on the arm. ‘I’m fine, help her! She’ll become part of it if you don’t!’

Spock hesitates, looking from Leonard, to Elsha, then back to Leonard again. In the end, it’s the desperation in Leonard’s voice that sways him. He does not like the idea of abandoning Leonard to the whims of that violent Romulan, but Leonard is no fool. Leonard knows what will happen to Elsha and he is terrified of it.

Swallowing hard, Spock turns and races for Elsha.

As another of Leonard’s captors is impaled and eaten, Captain Neko races in like an avenging angel, brandishing a solar light in each hand. She slams first one then the other into the spider’s leg, before abandoning both and grabbing hold of the mutated flesh with her bare hands.

Spock nears Elsha. She’s dangerously close to the spider. Lacking the time to be gentle, Spock hurls himself into her, knocking her over.

As his skin touches hers, he nearly recoils as his telepathic shields are hit by a barrage of desperation and agony and desire so overwhelming it is all-consuming. It’s a tsunami of emotion, threatening to crush him, circling him. Elsha’s well-ordered mind screams behind it, battling both him and it.

Whatever it is.

Spock fights to keep hold of Elsha as she struggles. ‘No,’ she says. ‘I have to…I have to go…it needs me!’

‘Lieutenant, your captain needs you!’ Spock hisses, struggling to keep a hold of her. She is far stronger than she should be.

A hissing shriek tears through the air. Neko brandishes one leg above her head—she’s torn it off. The spider is not happy, its flesh writhing as its multitude of stolen mouths howl in unison.

‘Please, I have to go, I have to…’ Elsha pleads, shaking violently as she fights Spock’s protective grip. Her skin is blisteringly hot—leaking through both their uniforms.

‘What’s wrong with her?’ Jim calls from his own position not far from Eda and Hoshi, who’s protecting her. ‘Spock?’

‘It is influencing her in some way,’ Spock calls back.

Pain explodes in his hand; he barely maintains his grip. He dares a look down, as the creature howls at another blast. Green blood oozes out of small deep bite-marks on either side of his hand, right under his little finger. She bit him. Elsha bit him.

Spock grinds his jaw, holding tighter. ‘Captain! I won’t be able to keep her here much longer, she’s too strong!’

Jim scowls, sending a desperate look under the legs at Leonard. ‘Neko, we have to fall back!’ he calls, taking several steps back.

Neko—still gripping the leg she ripped off and repeatedly bashing another leg with it—scowls deeply. ‘I don’t…’

Stopping her words short, the leg twists—morphs. One moment, it’s in the shape of a spider’s leg, the next, it’s shifting into a five-fingered hand. Neko jumps, hurling it away from her as it tries to grab her.

Elsha screams, struggles intensifying. The anguish in her mind is overpowering, flooding him with terror and pain. For a second, he’s back watching Vulcan die, watching his mother fall, unable to do anything to stop it. Pike is dying—Spock feels him dying, feels the agony as if it’s his own.

‘Spock!’ Leonard screams.

Spock snaps back to reality, his arms empty. She’s broken free.

Jim slams into Elsha, catching her right before she comes in contact with the creature. He drags her backwards, glancing over his shoulder at Spock, worry glinting in his eyes.

Spock doesn’t allow himself to dwell on what just happened—he cannot. Instead, he races forward to help Jim gain control of Elsha. It is simple. No more members of their crew will be lost to this monster. Spock will not allow it.

‘Go around!’ Neko yells. ‘Get to the exit!’

Four of her crew are left: the Romulan holding Leonard captive, a ridged-nose-bridge woman, Eda, and Hoshi. All four go to obey. The ridged-nose-bridge woman doesn’t make it far before she too is impaled and devoured—her face appearing atop the spider’s body as it swells.

Neko snatches up Eda as soon as she reaches her, holding the girl tightly. Relief is obvious in Jim’s expression as he squeezes Elsha’s arms harder.

They grapple with her, dragging her towards the long rows of greenery and giant trees behind them—and the way out hidden on the other side. The monster turns, its bloated flesh rippling. Elsha tries ever harder to hurl herself at it. Jim and Spock drag her into the forest, working together. She howls and cries, unable to break free. Spock grips her ever tighter—no matter how much the thing inside her batters at Spock’s shields, he won’t let go a second time.

As Neko’s small collection of survivors also reach the first few trees, one person falls behind. Hoshi. He turns, staring, in much the same way as Elsha.

One step. Another, then another.

‘Neko!’ Jim calls out in alarm.

Neko turns, eyes widening. ‘Hexilius, grab him!’

Hexilius looks between the bloody-and-bruised Leonard he’s holding tight and his crewmate, who’s growing steadily closer and closer to the monster.

Jim’s hands tighten on Elsha. Spock takes a step towards the two.

And Hexilius makes his decision. In one swift movement, he shoves Leonard towards the monster, using all his Romulan strength to send Leonard flying—instead grabbing Hoshi. Leonard crashes into the ground, metres from him, as the now-reattached hand grabs his leg.

Jim screams, releasing Elsha as he runs for Leonard. Spock holds on tight to her as he watches, hopes, prays for Jim to make it.

Jim does not make it.

As he passes Neko, she grabs hold of him, yanking him back. ‘We have to go!’

‘I am not leaving him!’ Jim snarls back.

Neko’s expression hardens. Before either Jim or Spock can do anything to stop her, she snatches out a Starfleet phaser—one of their confiscated ones—and fires it at him, the bolt hitting him right in the chest. He collapses to the ground and she hurls him over her shoulder.

Ice sweeps through Spock as the three surviving pirates continue towards him and Elsha. He cannot leave Leonard—neither can he abandon Elsha to such an awful demise. Can he?

Behind the pirates, Leonard kicks at the hand, head coming up and eyes meeting Spock’s. His expression hardens and Spock knows with certainty what he’s saying.

Don’t you damn well dare.

Nothing but static and his heart thumping is audible to Spock. Elsha’s anguish batters at his mind’s shields as he tries to think. There must be a way out of this. There must be a solution. There is always a solution. Leonard will never forgive him if he lets Elsha go to save Leonard. Spock will never forgive himself if he doesn’t.

A blizzard grows in his chest as Spock meets Leonard’s eyes and nods. Leonard, struggling against the creature’s grasp, smiles weakly in relief.

This alone is what gives Spock the strength to hurl Elsha over his shoulder and run.

Chapter Text

Elsha’s safe. That’s the one thing Leonard holds on tight to. All that breaks through the awful sensation of wet raw flesh on his skin, past the thick corrosive terror that’s crushing him as he’s dragged back across the metal floor to that gaping, waiting mouth. Elsha is safe, Spock’s got her away from this thing. Elsha is safe. Jim and Spock are safe.

Joanna—Joey, I’m sorry. At least Jim will break the news to her gently.

Leonard closes his eyes, curling in on himself as he waits to die. He knew he was going to die, from the second that thing ate Mana. No way Hexilius was letting the sole surviving witness to what he did to Solara, Crush, and Carai live. Leonard knew he’d die, one way or the other, and here it is.

The hand releases him. This doesn’t sink in at first. He can’t process it. Can’t do anything, can’t move, can’t breathe. Any second now, it’ll happen.

Instead, he’s poked hard in his injured leg. It sends off an explosive chain of pain, racing up his hip and into his chest. Leonard screams, trying his best to shield his injury from further harm.

The poke comes again, this time to the side. What the hell is this thing playing at? What’s it doing? What does it want from him? Can’t it eat him already and get it over with?

The poking stops for one beat. Two.

Cold moist fingers covered in stretched patchwork skin wrap around his abdomen. Scrabbling for something—anything—to hold on to, fingers slipping and slipping on the floor, he’s yanked backwards.

This is it, surely. Leonard prepares for it.

A sickening squelchy crack comes from where the hand’s wrist should be. Leonard can’t help looking despite himself. The fingers, protruding bones and viscera that make up that section of the hand are twisting, bending, breaking.

Leonard’s cast into shadow as the massive hulking figure looms over him. He gapes as it morphs—its body snapping and cracking and oozing—into a humanoid shape. The hand drags him towards it as the figure reaches down with its stump. The two meet and connect with another squelch.

He barely gets time to yelp as he’s hoisted up into the air. Closing his eyes, he readies himself to be eaten.

It still doesn’t eat him. The hand stops itself short. Leonard’s eyes open against his will, as his breathing comes faster and faster, his chest aching. He freezes.

Eyes. So many eyes. Stolen eyes.

They pepper its face—or its best approximation of a face, it has nothing but squished-together skin to form it with—all over, like macabre freckles. All of them stare right at him, twisting in their sockets.

Silence. Neither Leonard nor the creature move or speak.

It stares at him. Leonard’s heart thrashes in his ears. A cool fury floods his veins as he spots one of Dara’s hazel eyes gazing back at him.

‘Well?’ he snarls. ‘Get it over with already.’

The eyes don’t blink. Leonard’s not sure if it even remembered to integrate the eyelids into its little facial collage or if it didn’t realise those bits are important.

His heart pounds ever faster. ‘Come on! We both know you’re going to kill me, do it!’

The eyes do not move. On the side of its head, the flesh shifts, intestines and arteries shifting to allow a pair of lips to appear. ‘You are the one who refused to give up the infected,’ it says in Vairra’s voice.

Leonard blinks. ‘What?’

‘You fought to protect them. Why?’

It’s…asking why he was protecting Dara and Roguv? Really? ‘They were sick and needed help.’

‘Handing them over was safer,’ says the creature.

‘So? It was wrong.’

‘They would have killed you to come to us. They always do.’

‘I don’t care,’ Leonard snaps. ‘It would still be wrong. Surviving isn’t the most important thing.’

‘Surviving is all there is.’

Leonard inclines his chin, glaring at the creature. ‘Surviving isn’t worth a damn thing if you have to commit murder to do it. Other lives matter just as much if not more than mine.’

Silence.

The eyes continue to stare at him, unmoving. ‘You place your ideas above your life?’

‘Of course,’ Leonard says immediately.

One minute passes. Two. Three. Four. The creature does not look away. Its eyes stay fixed upon him. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Until, finally, it moves. ‘We will share this with ourselves,’ it says. ‘It is…concerning. And intriguing.’

Leonard hasn’t a clue what that’s supposed to mean. It can’t be good for him.

The creature drops him to the floor. Its hand morphs until the fingers become more like tentacles. One of them wraps around his throat and yanks him to his feet. He stumbles as his leg protests the weight. Without care, it yanks him back upright.

‘We shall share this,’ it repeats. ‘We will go.’

With that, it strides towards the exit. Held tight by the tentacle around his neck, Leonard is unable to stop himself being dragged along, forced to limp as fast as possible to avoid being dragged.

Every part of Jim’s body hurts as he fumbles through the black fog clinging to every corner of his mind. He can’t think, can’t move. Where is he? Nausea swirls in his throat as he tries to remember, tries to do anything. He’s moving. Something hard digs into his stomach. Everything’s dark. His eyes are closed. What the hell is going on? What…

As if he’s been struck by lightning, his every atom goes on alert. Bones. He was trying to help Bones. Bones was…

His eyes snap open, stomach tightening. Bones? Where’s Bones?

He’s hanging over someone’s shoulder, the floor moving beneath him. Behind, someone is sobbing, pleading. Two someones, in fact. Jim struggles, trying to break free.

‘You’re awake,’ says a coarse voice. Neko.

She drops him to the floor. He’s back on his feet before he processes anything more, dizziness washing over him, black spots appearing in his vision. ‘What the hell happened?’ he snaps, glaring at Neko through his spotty vision.

Neko grabs his arm and yanks him with her. ‘We have to go,’ she says. ‘That thing won’t be far behind us, we need to keep moving.’

Bones. ‘Where’s Bones?’

‘Your doctor? He’s dead.’

Everything slows around him, the world shrinking, morphing—turning distant and hollow. His legs keep up with Neko’s long strides, but he’s not the one moving them. He can’t feel, can’t do anything. Can’t breathe.

Bones is dead. Bones can’t be dead. Bones wasn’t dead, he was alive, how…?

That bully Romulan, Hexilius, the one who hated Bones from the beginning, who was holding Bones hostage, who either beat Bones or was party to it—he threw Bones to the monster. Jim went to save him. And then…

Everything crystallises. ‘You stunned me!’

‘You hadn’t a hope and I need you alive,’ Neko snaps.

‘Let go!’ Jim tries to yank his arm out of her grasp. ‘We need to go back for him!’

‘He’s dead, you idiot. No one could survive that thing!’

Bones can’t be dead. Bones can’t…

‘I have to try!’ Jim protests. He’s got to, he needs to save Bones—and if Bones really is beyond saving, then there’s no damn point in anything at all.

‘You’d get yourself killed.’ Neko doesn’t acknowledge him, continuing to stride ahead.

‘I don’t care.’

If Bones is dead; death is welcome to Jim. If he adds Bones to the mausoleum in his head, he can’t go on carrying it. He can’t.

‘Captain.’ Spock’s quiet voice comes from behind.

Jim looks back. Spock is holding the struggling Elsha. Black veins have crept up past her collar, mixing with the blue of her skin. She’s begging to go back, begging for Spock to let her go. Spock remains unmoved.

‘Is she okay?’ Jim asks, craning round to see them better. His feet stumble and he’s forced to face forward long enough to right himself—though Neko neither slows her pace nor releases him. ‘Spock?’

‘She is…infected,’ Spock says. ‘That is the term Doctor McCoy used.’

Right. Bones yelled something about that during the battle—Jim wasn’t close enough to hear it clearly. ‘She’s trying to…’

‘Go back to it, yes.’ Spock’s eyebrows draw together. Elsha fights his grip, her hands grabbing at his, trying to uncurl his fingers. A ripple of pain passes over Spock’s face—it’s hurting him to touch her. Elsha gets her fingers under his and yanks on them, twisting them back hard. Spock’s face greys as he stumbles back—releasing Elsha as he does so.

Jim rips his arm free of Neko and hurls himself at Elsha. He wrestles her to the ground, grunting as she throws herself into him. She’s stronger than him on a normal day, never mind in this state—even Spock was having trouble.

‘Try nerve-pinching her,’ Jim grunts out as all the air is knocked out of his lungs by yet another headbutt to the chest.

Spock’s eyes widen in realisation—and something else too, something dark and angry. Jim has no time to figure out what it is; Elsha hurls her entire body into him, consuming all his concentration. Spock drops to his knees, reaching out to press his uninjured fingers to her neck.

Seconds later, she collapses, unconscious. Even semi-comatose, she moves, moans, whimpers, but she’s not actively fighting anymore. Jim relinquishes his tight hold on her, sinking his head onto her shoulder as he forces himself to breathe. In, out, in, out, in, out.

A cool hand rests on his arm and he jumps. Spock is watching him with dark conflicted eyes. Jim sits up. ‘We…we need to…’ He cuts himself off.

He doesn’t know what to do. The momentary adrenaline rush is gone and, in its place, is mist. Jim’s aware, vaguely, that they’re in danger, that Spock’s kneeling right there, that Elsha’s unconscious in his arms, that the surviving pirates are glaring at them. None of it touches him. It’s like he’s encased in a bubble.

Bones is gone. Bones could be dead and Jim let it happen and how is he supposed to carry on now?

Neko says something that doesn’t pierce through the fog. Someone else speaks. Spock shifts closer to him, eyes flicking to something over his head.

‘Jim,’ he says quietly, hand moving to touch Jim’s—skin-to-skin. ‘We must keep moving.’

A rush of comfort—of calm—passes through him from Spock.

‘He’s…’

‘I know,’ Spock says—and Jim doesn’t understand how anyone believes Spock emotionless, not with that undertone to his words and that look in his eyes. ‘But we must. If it catches up with us, Elsha will die.’

Elsha will die. Jim tightens his grip on her. No. That cannot be allowed to happen. Not today.

‘Let’s go,’ he says.

The pain in Nyota’s leg is worsening. A burning sensation races up her calf, skin tightening around her ankle, pins-and-needles burrowing deep. The new splint is helping, but every step puts that little bit more pressure on it, pushes it a little further.

Gaila keeps them moving, eyes flicking around, examining every shadow.

Every corridor looks the same to Nyota. She has long since lost any confidence in navigating around this nightmare of a station. Earlier, they finally found the promenade, but now they’re back in endless corridors. She forces herself to hobble on, trusting Gaila to know the way.

‘It shouldn’t be too much further now,’ Gaila whispers with a glance at her map.

Nyota hasn’t the energy to figure out if she’s still lying or not. Instead, she focuses on moving. One step at a time. Uninjured foot forward, let Gaila help her forward with the other one. Uninjured foot forward, let Gaila help her forward with the other one. Over and over and over again.

A sharp spike of pain races up her leg. She gasps as a wave of dizziness washes over her. Instinctively, she tries to catch herself on the wall, tries to stand up straighter. Her foot hits the floor. It’s like she’s had a long shard of broken glass plunged through the sole of her foot, up into her calf.

She screams, collapsing to the floor. Vaguely, she’s aware of Gaila trying to reassure her, trying to calm her, but all Nyota knows is pain.

‘…ota, Nyota,’ Gaila’s voice finally gets past the pain. Warm hands clasp either side of Nyota’s face. ‘Look at me, I’ve got you, I’ve got you. I’ve got you.’

Nyota closes her eyes, leaning into the touch. ‘I’m okay,’ she chokes out. ‘I’m okay, G.’

Wordless, Gaila presses her forehead to Nyota’s. ‘I’m getting you out of here, Nyota,’ she promises quietly. ‘I don’t care what it takes.’

They sit there, silent, for a few seconds. The pain doesn’t ease.

‘Come on,’ Gaila says, pulling back and rising. ‘Hop on my back. I’ll carry you.’

‘You can’t carry me that far.’

Gaila’s taller than Nyota, sure, but not by much—and Orions aren’t especially inclined to be stronger than humans.

‘Sure, I can.’ Gaila turns. ‘Climb on.’

Nyota hesitates, using the wall to propel herself to her one foot. ‘I don’t know…’

From somewhere to the left of them, Not-Manheim’s laugh echoes through the vents in the wall. She and Gaila exchange horrified glances and Nyota abandons all argument.

Painfully, she climbs onto Gaila’s back and Gaila straightens. ‘Off we go,’ she says with forced lightness.

The strain in her voice tells Nyota how much effort it’s taking for Gaila to stay upright. As Not-Manheim calls out for them, Nyota tightens her grip on Gaila’s neck and Gaila takes a step forward, slowly, laboriously.

They make it two corridors before Gaila almost drops her for the first time.

Nyota clings on tighter. ‘Gaila?’

Gaila sways, hand on the wall for support. ‘I’m fine,’ she says, voice shaking. ‘Not much further to go now.’

She’s lying again.

Nyota grinds her teeth, her jaw aching. She still doesn’t argue. Not this time, nor the second.

The third time, however, when they both end up on the floor—that voice drawing ever close, circling them, like it’s wandering the corridors around them, deliberately screwing with them—Nyota draws the line. ‘Gaila, you can’t carry me,’ she says. ‘We’ll never make it like this.’

Shaking her head, Gaila shoves herself back up, face sweaty. ‘I can do it,’ she says. ‘I can…’

‘You have to go, Gaila,’ Nyota insists, grabbing her friend’s hands. ‘You need to. The Enterprise must be called. One of us has to make it. It’s got to be you.’

‘No!’ Gaila snaps. ‘I’m not leaving you!’

‘We don’t have a choice, Gaila!’

‘Yes, we do and I’m making it.’ Gaila scowls down at her—a far-too-dark expression for Gaila’s usually merry face. ‘I’m not leaving you, Nyota.’

That laugh tears through the air. It wraps around them, coming from everywhere and nowhere.

‘Climb on, Nyota,’ Gaila insists. ‘I can do it.’

Reluctantly, Nyota does so. They make it to the end of the corridor this time, to another door with a deadlock seal. That’s when Gaila gives out again, them both collapsing to the floor, cold metal grazing Nyota’s bare hands.

‘Gaila.’ Nyota looks Gaila dead in the eye. ‘We’re not going to make it like this.’

Gaila stares at her, as that laugh echoes and echoes.

Finally, a light dies in her eyes. ‘Fine,’ she says. ‘But I’m not leaving you here like this. Let me at least deadlock the door so you’re safer on the other side. You have the map, yeah? You can at least try and carry on.’

Relieved that Gaila’s finally seen reason, Nyota nods. They hobble together through the door and Gaila turns back to fiddle with the lock.

Except she doesn’t. Fiddle with the lock that is. At least, not on Nyota’s side. Instead, she steps through it and slams her hand on the button to close it, fiddling with something on her side.

Everything in Nyota goes cold as she somehow ends up back on her one foot—how, she has no idea. ‘Gaila!’

She tries to open the door. It doesn’t move.

Gaila’s grin is sharp through the window, showing off all her teeth. She makes several signs in Aksa. Lock on this side.

Nyota shakes her head. ‘No, no, no, Gaila, no.’ She’s crying as she slams her hand into the button repeatedly. It doesn’t open, no matter how many times she hits it.

On the other side, Gaila smiles at her with soft eyes and signs. Go to safe. Finally, she passes one hand over her stomach.

Love. And goodbye.

Nyota slams her hand into the button again. ‘Please, please, Gaila, please, you can’t do this, please,’ she sobs. Salt fills her mouth, her eyes and nostrils are pouring, her throat aching.

Gaila’s smile is awfully, unbearably sad. She doesn’t unlock the door. She steps back and turns around. Pulling out her phaser, she slams it into the metal walls—drawing Not-Manheim’s attention.

Nyota chokes.

There’s nothing she can do as Gaila runs back the way they’ve come. Nothing at all, except pull out her own PADD with trembling hands and open the map. It’s all up to her now.

She has to make it. Somehow. Gaila’s sacrifice can’t be in vain. It won’t be in vain.

Chapter Text

While Spock’s nerve pinch has done its job in subduing Elsha, he has no desire to offer the same for the second of their infected. It’s doubtful either uninfected pirate would accept it and—irrationally—Spock is not displeased each time Hexilius cries out in pain from the Orion’s attempts at biting his way free. Whenever he considers the idea of intervening, the image of Leonard bruised and bloody halts him.

Should the Orion—Hoshi—break loose, Spock will step in. Not until then.

Unless Jim orders Spock to, of course. Jim has not made any such order. In fact, Jim is making few orders indeed.

He refused to release Elsha, insisting on carrying her himself, hanging over his shoulder. It is an inefficient use of resources, given Spock is significantly stronger and would be less strained by the weight, but he does not argue. There was altogether too much turmoil in Jim’s mind during their brief skin-to-skin contact. Carrying Elsha appears to be soothing that, at least, giving him something to focus on other than Leonard’s fate.

It takes every bit of Spock’s Vulcan upbringing to prevent a flinch. He cannot dwell on the matter. What is done is done and, no matter how much Spock has failed, there is no changing it.

He cannot go back and recall the nerve-pinch’s existence when it was most necessary.

He must focus on what he can change. On protecting Jim and Elsha. This, however, is a more challenging edict than it ought to be. As Neko leads them at a rapid pace down back through the many corridors and rooms that lie between them and any form of escape, the memory of Leonard’s already-clear injuries and the terror on his face repeatedly claws its way back to the surface of his mind.

The memory is inescapable, a rotting thing in his core, ice building with every resurgence. He fights to keep his mind on the present—to allow the memory, the thought of Leonard eaten alive by the creature, to simply pass him by, separate from him. Each time he tries to bring his mind back, it slips out of his grasp, flitting back to increasingly graphic imaginings.

He grinds his teeth, jaw hurting under the pressure. Yes, he has failed. His failing is what condemned Leonard—and once his Captain discovers what happened, Jim will never forgive him for it, as he should not.

Yet Spock will fail anew if he continues to allow these memories free reign. It’s a distraction, one he cannot afford.

Hexilius swears, green blood seeping from a mark on his arm. Ahead, Neko pauses, before she speeds up. Spock frowns, finally recognising their surroundings. This is where he and Elsha found the laboratories. They’ve taken a different route, one that does not lead through the rec-rooms and the access-ladder down between levels, but he recognises the area now they’ve arrived.

Neko opens a door at the far end of the corridor. ‘In here,’ she orders, gesturing for them to head inside.

Spock glances at Jim who meets his gaze levelly, inclining his head in affirmation. Taking the lead, Jim carries Elsha inside, while Spock takes up the rear, watching for any sign of danger. The corridor remains empty—of everything except scattered remains, that is—and Spock closes the door behind them.

The lights flicker on.

‘You,’ Hexilius snaps—and it clicks late that Hexilius is talking to Spock. ‘Use that nerve-pinch of yours to knock Hoshi out, will you?’

Spock raises his chin, eyeing Hexilius with disdain. Slowly—deliberately—he looks at Jim gently laying Elsha down by the left wall. Jim meets his eyes, and—muscle ticking in his jaw—nods.

With that order received, Spock acts.

Hexilius glares at him as he gives a quick sharp nerve-pinch to Hoshi’s neck, annoyed with Spock’s delay. Spock cannot claim to care. Once Hoshi slumps, unconscious, Spock turns his back on Hexilius and marches over to his Captain’s side.

Behind him, Hexilius growls. ‘Captain,’ he says. ‘What do we still need them for?’

While Spock does not much like the implications behind Hexilius’s question, he too wishes to know the answer. Regardless of anything else, Neko actively prevented Jim from saving Leonard. Had she not stunned him, Spock would not have made the choice he did and all four of them may have escaped.

She has a plan in mind—a motivation for stopping Jim and bringing him with her. Spock wants to hear it. From the way Jim straightens up, he does too.

Neko stands in front of the door, arms crossed. She does not answer.

Hexilius rises to his feet, aiming a vicious glare at the three Enterprise officers. ‘I vote that we get rid of them now. We’ve a better chance of escaping with just the four of us.’

Spock stiffens, shifting between his crewmates and Hexilius.

‘Come too close and I’ll show you why I’m considered Starfleet’s maverick Captain,’ Jim says icily. ‘In fact, just you carry on talking.’

‘We’re not killing them, Hexilius,’ Neko says, her voice low yet still commanding full attention. ‘We need them. The Enterprise is our only hope of escaping this station. If we don’t want to die here, we’ll need a way of forcing them to help us.’

Spock draws in a breath. This is the only logical motivation for Neko’s choices.

Usually, the surviving pirates would not need to use hostages to force their way off the station. The Enterprise would not abandon even criminals to what lurks here. This situation, however, is not usual. Those coming have no reason to trust Neko and, from the darkening look in Jim’s eyes, Jim has little desire to mediate. Not after Neko’s decisions have caused such harm.

‘We at least don’t need the Andorian!’ Hexilius protests. ‘She’s infected, Captain. We’d be best served by…’

‘Try it.’ Jim’s voice is feral and sharp, his eyes alight with fury, as he shifts forward. ‘I dare you.’

Hexilius draws himself up, lip curling. ‘And what’ll you do, Human? Attack me? Kill me? You’re not armed!’

‘After what you did to Doctor McCoy,’ Jim grinds out, as Spock shifts further in front of him, ‘I’d gladly kill you with my bare hands.’

Hexilius scoffs. ‘What, that weakling? He was worse than useless. You should be glad to be rid of him, we’re all better off.’

Spock does not think. Does not breathe. Does not feel.

He’s moving. His fist slams into Hexilius’s nose—cartilage giving way, green blood coating his knuckles—sending the abhorrent Romulan reeling backwards. Before Hexilius can recover, Spock deals him another punch, then another. Wet splatters his face. He doesn’t stop. Hexilius brings his head smashing into Spock’s face, gaining enough leeway to hurl himself upwards and get himself on top. He rains down several hard blows on Spock’s face. Spock punches his chest hard, bones cracking audibly.

Hexilius falls back and Spock is on him, more blows raining down.

‘..ock, Spock! Spock!’ The voice is distorted, quiet. Spock pays it no heed. He’s far too immersed in beating this disgusting excuse for a sentient life-form into pulp. ‘Spock, stop!’

The voice is sharp, firm, familiar and the order it carries manages to break through the haze that’s descended upon Spock’s mind. He blinks. Wet viscous blood drips from his hands; a thick copper scent fills his nostrils.

Below him, bloody and terrified, is Hexilius.

‘Spock!’

A hand grabs Spock’s shoulder. He whirls around, at the ready, and freezes in place. Jim’s eyes are wide, his hands up. Beside him is Neko, expression stormy. The little girl, Eda, is crying. Her sobs are audible—she’s trying not to, her breath catching. Elsha and Hoshi are murmuring and whimpering.

Blood continues to fall from Spock’s hands—drip, drip, drip against the corrugated floor. ‘Captain.’ He barely recognises the raspy voice as his own.

Jim’s eyes soften as he lowers his hands. ‘Spock.’

‘Captain!’ Hexilius slurs out from behind Spock. ‘Captain, he tried to kill me!’

A muscle ticks in Neko’s jaw as she looks between Spock and Hexilius. Jim takes a step towards Spock, eyeing her, shifting so his shoulders block Spock.

Spock does not say a word. While his attack on Hexilius is justified in his own mind, Neko does not have to agree.

‘What happened in that room, Hexilius?’ she grinds out.

The words make everyone stop short. Spock tenses, tilting his head to the side, as Jim frowns. Hexilius lets out a wet cough. ‘Captain, I don’t…’

‘Where is Solara?’

Spock doesn’t remember who Solara is. His thoughts are foggy and sluggish. He casts his mind back, running through each member of the crew he met. Solara. One of the female Romulans—Neko’s second-in-command. She was with Leonard’s group.

‘I left her in charge but I saw the doctor,’ Neko continues, eyes trapping Hexilius in place, like an insect under a microscope. ‘Solara would not allow him to be injured in such a way under her command; that is not how we do things on this crew. What happened to her, Hexilius?’

‘She…she was killed. The creature, it got her.’

Neko’s expression doesn’t shift. ‘I didn’t see her anywhere in that…thing.’

‘Well, she was killed. Before, you know. Not absorbed.’

‘And it did this without leaving a body, did it?’ Neko doesn’t move. Her voice is razor-sharp.

‘It…’ Hexilius backs away a step. His raw, swelling face shows a flicker of genuine fear. ‘I don’t know, I didn’t see. None of us saw, we…’

‘You know what I think?’ Neko’s voice hasn’t grown any louder.  It still has an enormous effect on Hexilius, who inches further backwards, gaze flicking around, seeking an escape. ‘I think Solara was alive when you entered that room,’ Neko continues, ‘I think you killed her.’

‘What?’ Hexilius shakes his head. ‘No, Captain, it wasn’t me. It wasn’t us. It was…it was their doctor! He’s the one who killed her! We couldn’t stop him! Solara gave the order to get rid of the two infected, so we could escape and he went nuts!’

A disgusted snort escapes Jim. He’s glaring viciously at Hexilius. Spock cannot disagree.

Neko’s eyes glint in the low light. ‘Oh? Solara ordered that, did she? So. Why did you lie to me when I asked?’

Hexilius stares at her. ‘I…well…We…Captain, you have to believe me, we didn’t do anything wrong! It was all him! He’s…he…’

‘Why did you lie and say she died on the way?’ Neko pushes. As Hexilius tries to move back, Neko grabs him by his collar, yanking him upwards and holding him aloft. ‘Tell me. What did you do to her?’

‘We…’ Hexilius stammers, ‘we…we didn’t do anything! She was the one who turned on us! She was defending those things! She was going to get us all killed!’

Silence. All that fills the air is Hexilius’ harsh breathing.

‘Well.’ Neko’s voice is chilly. ‘Thank you for finally being honest with me.’

She lowers Hexilius back down to his feet.

He stares at her, eyes wide and hopeful.

Neko smiles a sharp cold smile, as she places one hand at the back of his neck. The other hand goes to the hilt of the knife in her belt. She pulls it, bringing it up and slashing it across Hexilius’s throat in a single movement. Green blood sprays out of the gaping wound, splattering on Spock’s skin and all over Neko.

For a few seconds, blood continues to gush out. A dreadful gurgle comes from Hexilius’ throat. He stays upright a second longer before collapsing to the floor, blood spurting out all over the floor into a rapidly growing puddle.

Spock’s mouth is dry.

Beside him, Jim draws in a breath, pale and grim. ‘Neko—’

‘Shut up,’ Neko cuts him off. She’s staring down at the body, gripping the hilt of her knife tightly. Her voice is tight, cold. ‘I don’t want to hear it.’

‘I—’

‘I said shut up!’ Neko snarls, bringing her foot back and kicking the corpse at her feet hard enough to push it about ten centimetres. She turns, the knife in her hand dripping green blood, face and clothes splattered in gore. She makes a threatening sight as she glares at Jim.

Spock swallows, one hand going to grab Jim’s arm. ‘Perhaps we ought to check on Lieutenant Elsha, Captain,’ he murmurs.

Jim looks at him, then at Neko, and nods. He backs away, turning and heading back towards Elsha’s unconscious body. Spock goes to follow. He hesitates.

Without turning, he speaks quietly. ‘I grieve with thee.’

Neko’s breath catches.

Spock doesn’t look at the effect of his words. Instead, he strides forward, over to his Captain’s side, settling down beside Jim.

He looks back over at Neko once he’s down, as she stands there for a moment, like she’s unsure of what to do now. Her face contorts as she tightens her grip on her knife-hilt. Spinning, she screams and hurls the knife into the depths of the laboratory. It rings, hitting metal and landing somewhere. Neko doesn’t go to find it.

Instead, she breathes. Taking a few steps forward, she collapses beside the moaning Hoshi, pulls her knees up to her chest and buries her face in her folded arms.

Spock tightens his jaw and turns away, leaving her to her grief.

Chapter Text

One step at a time. Take it one step at a time.

Leaning hard on the wall, Nyota heaves herself forward. The motion triggers a spike of agony racing up her leg, bile rising in her throat. She fights it back. She can’t stop. She can’t slow down.

She has to make it to the shuttle bay. No matter what.

One step. Another step. Another.

Gaila needs help. Spock needs help. Jim, Leonard, King, Dara—all of them need help. Nyota cannot fail them. She needs to keep going. One more step. One more. Just one more.

She trips and collapses to the floor, growling in frustration and fighting tears of pain and desperation. Rather than stand back up, she crawls, dragging her injured leg behind her, fingers curling into the small holes in the corrugated floor—using them as handholds to propel herself forward.

Keep going. Keep going. Don’t slow down, don’t stop, keep going.

A sob chokes her as she reaches a long flight of stairs downwards. Dragging herself up into a seated position, she slides herself down from step to step. One step. Another step. Another step. Keep going. Keep on going.

It’s hard to breathe. Everything is foggy. Sharp pain pulses up her leg, into her hip, dizzying in its intensity.

One more step. Just one more step.

Another.

Her hands clasp her PADD tight. She can’t lose it. It’s all up to her. Another sob tears out of her throat as she tries to slide down the next step. Overbalancing, she slides down several steps in quick succession, each one hitting her leg and adding to the burning, pulsating agony—breaking the splint further and further each time.

Bones grate against each other and she sucks in a breath, dropping to the side and throwing up off the side of the staircase, down the middle of the stairwell. Bile burns at the back of her throat. She retches several times, black spots pulsating in her vision.

She can’t do this. She won’t make it.

She has to make it. Needs to make it. It’s all up to her, she can’t fail.

The stupid leg’s her own damn fault anyway. She was clumsy, she let herself be tripped up, it’s her fault. She’s the reason Gaila felt she had to sacrifice herself to save Nyota. It’s her fault because she was stupid, because she wasn’t careful.

If Gaila dies because Nyota fell over, of all things…

Nyota grinds her teeth and forces herself onwards. She has to make it. She can’t give in, not now, not here. If she does, they’ll all die. Four of the people she loves most in the world will die and she’ll be alone again. They have to live, she has to save them, there’s no other option—Nyota can’t lose them, she can’t.

She manages to get herself to her feet at the bottom of the stairs and keeps on going, somehow getting out of the stairwell and into another long corridor, able to do nothing more than hope she’s going the right way.

One more step. One more. Keep going. Just keep going. One more step. Take another.

The shuttle bay is so far. How is she ever going to make it?

She will. Nyota bites her tongue hard enough to bleed. She will make it, and everyone will be fine. She’ll find them help. She’ll find Gaila help. She will.

The world’s distorted and grey. Nyota leans hard on the wall to keep herself upright. Each step is insurmountable. She forces herself to keep going anyway. She’s only tangentially aware of where she’s going. The map on her PADD is blurry and confusing. She thinks—hopes—she’s still on track.

One step. Another step. Keep going. Keep going.

She tries to breathe. The air is stuck in her throat.

Her leg is burning, screaming out for rest. She bites her cheek hard and ignores it. Keep going. Just keep going. Don’t think about Gaila, don’t think about Spock or Jim or Leonard. Just keep moving.

Take another step. And another. And another. And…

Something warm and soft touches both of her arms. She yelps, falling backwards. Pain explodes up her leg and she screams, curling in on herself. Someone—something—touched her. Something’s here.

Not-Manheim’s here. He’s here. She’s going to die, she can’t die, not here, she has to escape, she has to, she has to do this for Gaila and, oh hell, is Gaila dead? Why else would Not-Manheim be here? Gaila can’t be dead, she can’t be, she can’t…

The thing—hand?—touches her again. Some noise comes from far off, impossible to make out. Unwilling to give in, Nyota struggles, fighting to drag herself along.

Something grabs her shoulder. She strikes out at it hard.

Someone curses. The voice is familiar. Not-Manheim’s? No, that’s not right.

‘…me, Nyota! Nyota!’

The voice breaks through the fog that’s settled over Nyota’s ears and mind. The Scottish accent makes it immediately recognisable.

Scotty. It’s Scotty.

Her vision clears enough to reveal Scotty’s worried face. He’s hunkered down in front of her. Behind him, she spots Sulu, hand on his sword, and Jaylah, staff-weapon out and at the ready.

‘Nyota, it’s me,’ Scotty goes on, voice tight and worried. ‘It’s me, lass, you’re fine, you’re safe. It’s Scotty, Nyota.’

A sob rips out of Nyota’s throat as she throws her arms around Scotty, burying her face in his shoulder. They’re here. She’s not alone anymore. They can save the others; they can get out alive.

She’s crying, her chest aching as she gasps for air. Scotty hugs her back tightly, murmuring reassurances in her ear as she sobs.

Nyota has no idea how much time they’ve spent like that when everything comes crashing in on her. The others are here, there’s hope—but she can’t delay. Gaila could be dying right now.

‘We’ve got to go!’ She pulls back, rubbing at her face. ‘Gaila’s in danger, she was leading it away, I couldn’t…’ She stops as a thought occurs to her. ‘How are you here?’

‘Spock managed to call us,’ Scotty explains, sitting back himself. ‘Said things’d gone a bit pear-shaped down here.’

‘Spock?’ Nyota gasps at the mention of his name. ‘He’s okay?’

‘He was when we talked to him,’ Sulu says. ‘About four hours ago.’

Nyota draws in a breath. Four hours is a long time. Anything could’ve happened to him in that time. On the other hand, it’s been at least three times that long since she last saw any of the rest of the away team at all. Knowing that Spock was okay four hours ago is far more than she knew five minutes ago.

‘What did he tell you?’ she asks.

Scotty relays it to her. It’s a long, complicated story. Parts of it, Nyota already knows, but there’s a lot she doesn’t, as cut off from everything as she and Gaila have been. When Scotty mentions the bodies found in the science labs, Nyota stiffens.

‘That’s what he was talking about,’ she breathes.

‘Who?’

‘I managed to translate the Captain’s audio logs,’ Nyota says. She briefly summarises what the logs revealed, finishing with his final log and his promise to do something to prevent the spread of the creature. ‘He must’ve been referring to their murder-suicide,’ she says, her voice quiet.

‘What about you and Gaila?’ Sulu asks. ‘You said she was leading something away? The creature?’

‘It took over Manheim,’ Nyota says, her voice shaking. ‘It’s been chasing us. I couldn’t…’ Her gaze drops to her leg—bone poking out of the broken splint—and both Sulu and Scotty do the same.

Scotty swears and Sulu turns a waxy colour.

‘Geoff!’ Scotty calls. ‘Nyota’s hurt, looks like a broken leg.’

M’Benga materialises out of nowhere, dropping down next to her and checking over her leg with quick careful movements. ‘Definitely broken,’ he confirms. ‘Nasty break too. Hasn’t helped that you’ve been walking on it—you’ve got the beginnings of compartment syndrome as well.’ He glances at Scotty. ‘I’ll take her back to the shuttle so I can check her over properly.’

‘No!’ Nyota says.

‘Uhura, you’re…’ M’Benga starts.

‘I’m not leaving Gaila! She needs us, she needs you. What if she’s hurt?’

‘You can’t walk on that leg! It needs surgery!’

‘And the others could be hurt worse. Just stabilise it enough that I can move.’

‘You’re not walking on it,’ M’Benga repeats, scowling at her.

Before Nyota responds, Scotty interrupts. ‘We need her to lead us to where Gaila was last,’ he says with a frown. ‘Can she be carried?’

M’Benga grimaces. ‘It’s not ideal.’

‘Nothing about this situation is ideal,’ Sulu points out dryly. ‘Hendorff can carry her, he’s the strongest one here.’

‘Sure,’ Hendorff confirms from behind Scotty. The sight of him reminds Nyota acutely of Jim teasingly calling him Cupcake all the time and she chokes, fighting back tears.

Jim’s got to be okay. He has to be.

‘Splint it,’ Scotty says, eyeing her leg worriedly. ‘Once we’ve found Gaila, you take Nyota back to the shuttle.’

Nyota goes to protest. She’s silenced by a sharp look from Scotty. At least she’s not being sent away immediately. She has time to convince him otherwise.

Visibly displeased, M’Benga nods and sets to work.

It’s right behind Gaila, calling out her name and laughing. She doesn’t stop, doesn’t slow, doesn’t look back. Sickness claws up her throat. It can’t catch her, not yet. She hasn’t led it far enough away from Nyota yet.

She fumbles to open the next door, stumbling inside over to the stairwell ahead. Behind her, footsteps follow. It’s coming.

Her hip slams into the railing; she must’ve misjudged where the stairs are.. Pain shoots out from the point of impact, reverberating down her leg. She ignores it, racing up the stairs. The door below groans open.

‘Gaila!’ Not-Manheim calls. ‘You’re not going to escape! You might as well accept it!’

Its voice is muffled, like she’s wrapped a scarf around her head. She doesn’t slow, reaching the top of the stairs and opening the door, throwing herself out into the next corridor. Her throat and chest are tight, making it hard to breathe.

Keep running. Just keep running.

Gaila runs.

She’s always been a good runner. She got even better after that night, so long ago, when she plunged a shard of broken glass into her owner’s throat while he was on top of her and watched him bleed out. After that, she ran for so long. She felt like she was never going to stop.

Through the next door she runs, and the next. Up another flight of stairs. Through more doors. Everything is red around her, blending together in her mind. She has no idea where she’s going, no idea where she’s going to end up.

All there is to do is run.

That’s when she realises that she can’t hear it behind her anymore. She doesn’t slow. It’s trying to lull her into a false sense of security. No way she’s falling for that.

She races up more stairs, out into another red-tinted corridor, turning left. Down the corridor she runs, running, running, running until she slams into something. She falls backwards, hitting cold metal with a cry of pain as the impact jars her.

A pair of feet clad in Starfleet-issue boots are in front of her.

Gaila’s blood thuds in her ears as she looks up—Starfleet-issue trousers, red Starfleet uniform shirt and survival jacket, and that awful too-big smile. Not-Manheim.

‘Hello,’ it says.

Gaila scrambles backwards, trying to climb to her feet. It’s on her before she gets close. Harsh hands grasp her shoulders, holding her down—she’s back in that horrible luxurious room with her owner over her. She strikes out, scrambling for her phaser.

It grabs her hand, preventing her from reaching it. She kicks out, hitting a sensitive part of the Human male anatomy. No effect.

Instead, Not-Manheim pulls her up and slams her into the floor, hitting her head hard on the metal grating. She’s dazed, black spots migrating across her vision.

She can’t breathe. Everything hurts.

It straddles her. ‘Where’s your friend?’ it asks merrily. ‘Did you finally ditch the dead weight? Good on you. Afraid it’s still not going to save you.’

Several sharp claws plunge into her shoulder, tearing muscle and skin as they’re dragged down across her chest. Gaila screams, the pain excruciating.

The terrible smile on Not-Manheim’s face widens; the black veins crawling under its skin gather around it. It leans forward, until its face is right in front of hers. If it were still breathing like the Human it’s masquerading as, she would feel the heat. ‘Don’t worry,’ it says. ‘This won’t hurt for long. You’ll be part of me soon.’

Gaila struggles. She can’t get away. There’s no escape.

Not-Manheim leans closer, as black gathers in its eyes and mouth. ‘Let’s find out how you taste, shall we?’

Gaila shakes her head futilely, heart pounding.

A horrific scream tears through the air from above, from all around. It’s ear-splitting, incomprehensible—no species Gaila knows of could make such a sound. Not-Manheim freezes, before throwing its shoulders and head backwards. A terrible scream erupts from its vocal cords, as black floods out of its mouth, twisting its flesh. Gaila blocks her ears on instinct.

Then it climbs off her. The grin returns to its face as it looks back down at her. It doesn’t speak. Instead, it bends down and grabs her, throwing her over its shoulder.

She struggles, kicking it hard. No effect. It strides off, carrying her, its grip like iron.

A summons. That scream was a summons.

Chapter Text

Despite Hendorff’s attempts to be gentle—and even through the dulling painkillers M’Benga’s given her—every step Hendroff takes sends a stabbing pain up through Nyota’s calf, her thigh, her hip, her back. She clings tighter to Hendorff’s neck, grinding her teeth, digging nails into palms, fighting not to flinch. 

M’Benga’s watching her closely—too closely. If she shows too much pain, he’ll insist on going back to the shuttle and that can’t happen. Gaila needs her. She needs to find Gaila.

To her left, Sulu sends her intermittent worried glances, right hand gripping his sword hilt tight. Ahead, Giotto’s taken the lead, Scotty and Jaylah behind him along with three other Security officers. The rest trail behind Hendorff, guarding their backs.

The halls are eerily silent. It should be a relief after those hours of running in terror, of Not-Manheim’s laughter and taunting.

It isn’t.

As Giotto reaches the next crossroads, he glances behind at her. ‘Which way, Lieutenant?’

Nyota takes in the area, casting her mind back to her blind stumbling through these very corridors. She doesn’t clearly remember the route she took, though the PADD clasped in her hand still showing the map helps prod her memory. ‘…Left,’ she says.

I have to be right, please, please. She draws in a shaky breath. If she’s wrong…

No, she’s not wrong. This is the way. This must be the way.

They go on like this. At each door or crossroads, Giotto checks with Nyota. Trying to appear more confident than she is, she draws on the blurred memories of her desperate wandering and guides them. Doubt batters at her mind but she pulls up her mental drawbridges and doesn’t spare it any quarter. She can’t afford to doubt herself or her memory. Gaila can’t afford it.

She leads them on.

It’s an immense relief when they enter a stairwell that she recalls as the one she found not too long after separating from Gaila. The puddle of drying vomit at the foot of the stairs, while embarrassing, is also a solid sign they’re on the right track. That’s Nyota’s vomit, alright.

Up the stairs they go, out into another corridor. Nyota stares down at the corrugated floor. The metal grates her fingertips anew—though she isn’t touching it. She sets her jaw. They’re close now to where Nyota left Gaila.

Not that Gaila is still there, but surely she won’t be too far. She can’t be.

She recognises the corridor when they step out into it. Despite the near-identical nature of each hallway, this one is burned into her memory. There, a few hundred yards further along, is the deadlocked door. At the sight, a painful knot takes up residence in Nyota’s throat, difficult to swallow past.

‘This is where I last saw her,’ she says, pointing. ‘Through there.’

Scotty leaps into action. Pulling out a laser pistol, he sets to burning through the locking mechanism. It’s delicate work; if he makes a wrong move, the door will seal itself tighter rather than releasing. Should that happen, Scotty’ll need to burn through the door itself, taking far too long even with the powerful laser-pistol—it’s a very thick door.

Nyota shifts in place, preparing herself for Hendorff to move. It won’t take Scotty that long. She has absolute confidence in him.

Sure enough, five minutes after, the door slides open.

Giotto returns to his place in front and they continue. Everyone is more visibly on edge. All of them are acutely aware that Not-Manheim could be anywhere around here. While none of them have seen the creature themselves, Nyota’s story and whatever Spock told them earlier have stuck with them.

Sulu’s knuckles are white where he grips his sword hilt. Scotty holds the laser pistol just as tightly, glancing at Jaylah every so often. She strides alongside him, her staff-weapon at the ready. Her dark eyes trace the ceiling, walls, floor—constantly on the move. They’ve passed through about ten different corridors with twists and turns when a terrible ear-splitting screech tears through the air from far above, deafening in its intensity. Nyota’s PADD drops from her fingers, metal ringing against metal when it hits the floor. Thankfully, Hendorff isn’t so quick to drop her.

Sulu yelps, covering his ears, while Jaylah hisses at the ceiling, baring her teeth. Scotty holds a hand up to stop her as he stares upward.

‘What the hell...’ starts M’Benga—he’s sweating and shaky, eyes wide.

Two more screams interrupt him. One from above and the other from somewhere ahead of them, on the same floor. Hendorff struggles to keep hold of her, face twisting in pain. Nyota’s own ears ache under the strain, yet she doesn’t try to cover her ears. She doesn’t want to block it out. She can’t block it out because she recognises it. 

It’s the same language from the distress call, the one that began all this. She pulls on Hendorff’s arm to draw his attention, gesturing downwards.

He doesn’t argue. Carefully, he lowers her down to the ground as the screams continue to echo around them. She fumbles to snatch up her PADD, finding the universal translator. The screams end, finally. Nyota doesn’t stop. She’s had the translator working on that message since she first heard it. It’s been working in the background all this time, and it’ll have been listening for any additional input.

Most of the screams remain untranslatable, but there is one word that the translator has picked out. Come.

Nyota sucks in a breath. ‘They’re being called somewhere.’

‘One of them was on this floor. Ahead somewhere there,’ Jaylah says, pointing diagonally left. ‘It was not far.’

Giotto nods. He turns to Nyota. ‘Do you think Lieutenant Gaila will be safely away from that sound or...’

‘No.’ Nyota’s heartbeat pounds in her ears. ‘She wanted its attention. If she hasn’t been caught by it, she’ll be ahead of it, trying to keep its attention on her.’

Giotto takes that in with a set jaw. ‘Right,’ he says. ‘Then there’s only one thing for us to do. Get ready. We need to find whatever that is. Let’s go.’

Hendorff picks Nyota up as Giotto breaks into a run. The rest of them follow, racing down the red-tinted corridors, slowing only long enough to open doors. The pace jolts Nyota’s leg terribly, each step agony. She grits her teeth and bears it. They will not be slowing down for her sake.

Ahead, Scotty swears. The whole group slows, as Giotto hunkers down in front to check something. Jaylah mutters something under her breath, gripping her staff-weapon tighter, eyes darting all around.

Whatever they’ve found, it’s not good.

‘What is it?’ Nyota asks, straining to see. When she receives no answer, she looks up at Hendorff. He’s staring, face pale. ‘Hendorff, what is it?’ she demands.

Hendorff flinches, glancing at her. ‘It’s blood,’ he says. ‘Green blood.’

Nyota’s heart stops. Gaila.

‘How much? Is she...?’ Her voice trails off, the words clogging her throat.

Rather than answer, Hendorff starts forward, pushing through the other Security officers until the smudged blood puddle comes into view. Staring down at it, Nyota swallows hard. It’s not as bad as it could be, she tells herself. If this is all the blood Gaila’s lost, she’ll survive losing that much. She’s not dead.

Not yet.

‘We’ll save her,’ Scotty says. His voice is iron, a quiet protective furious undercurrent to his words. When Nyota meets his gaze, she’s taken aback by the depth of conviction in his eyes. ‘I promise, Nyota. We will save her.’

It’s an irrational—Spock would say illogical—promise. Yet, somehow Nyota believes him.

The scream echoes out from somewhere above them. Jim jerks upright, taking a defensive stance in front of his two officers. Neko’s done the same, hand gripping her disruptor tight as she glares up at the ceiling.

Two more screams come from both above and below—how many of these things are out there? One is dangerously close. Jim instinctively reaches for his missing phaser. They can't afford to stay stuck here in one place for much longer.

Neko jumps to her feet. ‘Eda,’ she snaps out. ‘Over here.’

Eda wriggles out from under the laboratory counter, running over to her Captain’s side. Once she’s safely beside Neko, Neko turns her gaze on Jim and Spock. ‘How did you contact your crew earlier?’

Spock raises an eyebrow. ‘I used the relay found on this floor, but I don’t know what relevance that has. Our crew will already be sending reinforcements.’

‘And they’ll be coming for us,’ Jim adds, meeting Neko’s eyes. ‘You won’t be able to hold off our crew, Neko.’

Neko's lip curls. ‘I can do whatever I want,’ she snaps, glaring at him.

Ordinarily, Jim would already be trying to negotiate a peaceful exit that saves all of them, attempting to convince Neko that the Enterprise will aid her.

Except he’s finding it a whole lot harder to convince himself to say that. She’s already condemned Bones to...

Jim cuts himself off. He can’t think about that. Not about Bones, not about how that monster impaled and ate Galana without hesitation—and it has Bones. Bones could be alive but, somehow, that might be the worst-case scenario. The idea of what it might be doing to him is unbearable—and if he’s alive and, what’s worse, conscious…

He doesn’t want to help Neko. He wants to overpower her and get the hell out of here with Spock and Elsha, go find their reinforcements, save Uhura and Gaila and get out. It’s an old cold part of him, born from plagued crops and blood and terror, a brutal ruthless thing that he fought hard to put to rest.

Until now.

His gaze lands on Eda, kneeling next to the whimpering Hoshi, her dark eyes fixed on Jim. It’s not only Neko. And not even that vindictive awful part of Jim he despises most is willing to leave little Eda here to die.

He breathes in and breathes out.

‘We can’t carry on like this,’ he says, meeting Neko’s gaze again. ‘If we want to survive this, we’ve gotta work together. As equals.’

She rolls her eyes. ‘What, for you to turn on us?’

‘We won’t,’ Jim promises, keeping his gaze on her.

Neko scoffs.

‘I don’t break promises, Neko,’ Jim says, steady as stone. ‘I swear we’ll get you out of here and we’ll treat Hoshi.’

Silence.

Neko’s expression tightens; she risks a look at Hoshi. Finally, she nods.

The feeling that envelops Jim’s chest isn’t quite relief. ‘Alright. We need a plan of action. What do we know?’

‘There were three screams from three different locations,’ Spock says, eyebrows scrunching. ‘Three individual creatures perhaps?’

‘Given we know there was a creature attacking us—’ Jim gestures to himself and Neko’s group ‘—at the same time another was attacking Spock and Elsha, that would make sense. The third sounds like it’s down near Uhura and Gaila—probably the reason Manheim disappeared.’

‘The lights don’t do much,’ Neko adds, arms crossed. ‘You said the one you met was weak to light.’

‘The creature we encountered in the garden appeared very different to the one Elsha and I saw,’ Spock says. ‘That one was entirely shadow, as you saw briefly above the lift. The one that infected your crewman, that is the one we saw.’

‘Are they different kinds of monsters then?’ Eda asks.

‘...I do not believe so,’ Spock says, tilting his head to the side in that way of his that says he’s thinking deeply.

‘If they looked and behaved differently—’ Neko says.

Spock shakes his head, cutting her off. ‘They appeared different, yes, but consider what the physical body consisted of. It was entirely cannibalised from other living beings. I would theorise that, perhaps, the second creature is the more advanced form of that original being. The shadow takes on physical form by absorbing and amalgamating others into itself, rendering it less vulnerable to light.’

‘Using the bodies as a shield,’ Jim says slowly. ‘Like a suit of flesh armour.’

‘Precisely.’ Spock’s eyes are shining. ‘While its flesh-suit—if you will—is effective against its natural weakness, it is still flesh. While it does not appear to feel pain, it is possible to damage it, perhaps even disintegrate it. Should we destroy the flesh-suit, the creature within would return to being vulnerable to light.’

A mirthless smile spreads across Jim’s face. ‘Reckon a phaser on the highest setting possible’d do it?’

‘We would need a great number to take down a creature of that size, but yes.’ Spock’s lips quirk up in a grimly satisfied smile. ‘I suspect that would be quite effective.’

‘Well,’ Jim says, as Neko smiles too. ‘It’s a good thing we’ve got reinforcements coming, isn’t it? They’ll have the strongest weapons the Enterprise has on hand with them.’

‘Indeed.’

‘In that case,’ Neko says, straightening up. ‘We should probably go find these crewmates of yours.’

Wet blood crawls down Gaila’s legs. Burning pain races up into her hip from where Not-Manheim grips her thighs, claws digging deep into her flesh. They’re freezing.

Gaila kicks out again and again, her feet slamming into Not-Manheim’s chest. It doesn’t flinch. Desperation fuels her strength to keep kicking, keep scratching, keep hitting.

None of it has any effect whatsoever. It keeps striding.

Air is in short supply. Her throat hurts, tightening on her, as she fights for breath. The burning pain spreads up her lower back. She tries several times to hurl herself off its shoulder, failing. The grip is unrelenting. All she succeeds in is digging the nails in deeper. Sobs tear from her throat, as she yanks hard on Not-Manheim’s hair. It comes off in her hand, a strip of fleshy scalp clinging to the chunk of hair. Vomit bursts out of her, spraying all over Not-Manheim’s back, legs and the floor passing underneath.

Not even that slows Not-Manheim. She might as well be a sack for all it’s noticing her attempts to escape.

She doesn’t give in. The burning spreads up towards her shoulder-blades. Gaila of no clan has not survived slavery, the destruction of the Farragut, and every other damn thing that’s tried to kill her over her thirty-two years of life to die like this. She refuses to die like this. She screams an ancient North Jushi Orion war cry. Digging her nails in deep in Not-Manheim’s skin and hair, she yanks. It peels off, exposing writhing black goo mixed with bone and muscle and flesh. Each piece of mangled flesh she hurls away, going back for more. The thick coagulating blood covering it and her hands makes it hard to keep hold of the skin.

Gaila doesn’t stop. If nothing else, she’ll make sure no one else will mistake this thing for poor Manheim.

A laugh vibrates underneath her. The mass of scalp and exposed skull moves until Not-Manheim’s black eyes focus on her. ‘Do you think that will work?’ it asks.

Gaila glares. Twisting around, she plunges her fingers into his eyes.

The awful laugh echoes around the corridor. Her fingers sink into jelly, the black goo creeping up towards her wrist. Its pace does not slow. She yanks her hand back, ripping it free of the goo. The eyes settle back into their solid black state, as her fingers drip with thick red blood. Manheim’s actual eyes are somewhere in there and she just injured them.

Ahead, something grinds. A door opening. Not-Manheim’s boots tap metal rhythmically.

A white bolt slams into Not-Manheim’s back, burning fabric and skin. Not-Manheim stumbles forward, the impact enough to throw it off balance.

Gaila twists around. Behind stands the most beautiful sight she’s ever seen in her life. Her crew is here.

Chief Giotto aims his phaser, his second phaser bolt hitting Not-Manheim in the left leg. Jaylah and Sulu leap forward, Sulu’s sword drawn, ducking under phaser-fire, as the Security officers continue to fire at Not-Manheim, who hisses angrily. While not all of their shots land, enough do to fill the air with the scent of burning human flesh.

Jaylah swings her staff-weapon, slamming it hard into Not-Manheim’s head. To the left, Sulu raises his sword high in the arc and leaps, slashing the blade downwards until it hits Not-Manheim’s wrist and slices clean through it.

Blood sprays out all over Gaila as she’s finally released, hitting the floor. Everything’s gone foggy and confusing around her. An amputated hand lies less than a metre from her. Above her, Not-Manheim screeches. She doesn’t look up at it, can’t remember why she should.

The hand twitches and lifts itself up on its fingertips, black-and-red blood dripping from the stump.

‘Gaila!’ The familiar voice breaks through the thick miasma. Nyota’s behind Giotto and Scotty, held by Hendorff. ‘Over here!’

Moving is intolerably difficult but it’s Nyota. If Nyota asks it, Gaila will do anything. She clambers up onto her hands and knees and—as blood drenches her from somewhere—she forces herself forward, crawling towards that voice.

Behind, there’s another howl. Gaila doesn’t dare glance back. She keeps on going, keeps on crawling. Don’t stop, don’t stop, whatever you do, don’t stop.

When warm—warm!—hands pull her up to her feet, she almost cries with relief. Arms wrap protectively around her, squeezing her to a warm chest that smells of floral cologne and Sickbay’s favoured disinfectant. A voice talks in a low reassuring tone. The words are distant and foggy. Bit by bit, details leak through. M’Benga. It’s M’Benga. She chokes on a sob, practically collapsing into him.

To the right, Scotty yells orders down the corridor. Sulu calls something back, as Not-Manheim screams at them. Gaila sucks in a breath, turning.

Sulu and Jaylah are either side of Not-Manheim. Despite the blood covering the floor, it looks hale. The one hand that Sulu managed to cut off has reattached itself. Sulu brings his sword to bear, slashing sideways at Not-Manheim’s core. The blade lands, slicing into Not-Manheim’s side.

It howls again, swiping at Sulu with its claws. Jaylah knocks Sulu out of the way, both tumbling to the floor.

The Security officers all race forward, aiming their phasers. Not-Manheim screeches. Gaila stares at it, the noise almost inviting. She leans toward it. M’Benga grips her tighter and—for a second—anger flares up inside of her. He would dare stop her…

She blinks and the strange urge is gone.

Jaylah and Sulu are trying to untangle themselves. Not-Manheim leans over them, howling again and twisting its head to gaze at Gaila. A sharp, too-big smile creeps across his face before its hit by several more of the Security team’s phaser bolts. Growling, it turns and races down the corridor, away from them.

The Security officers rush to check on Sulu and Jaylah, as all energy flees Gaila. She sinks in M’Benga’s hold. Safe. She’s safe.

Chapter Text

The sensation of wet meat around Leonard’s neck is enough to make him want to throw up but at least it’s giving him something to focus on that isn’t the thing the tentacle belongs to.

Said thing continues to take big lurching steps, its thick fleshy attempt at hips only just producing the movement, its shoulders and head bent to allow it room to shuffle down the corridor. Fatigue weighs Leonard down, filling his limbs with sand. Despite the creature’s slow movements, its great bent legs eat up the distance, going far faster than Leonard could easily keep up with even without the massive burn on his thigh. As it is, it’s all he can do to avoid tripping.

When he fails—as is inevitable, all things considered—it does not stop, does not even slow. Instead, he’s dragged along, choking as the metal floor grazes his side. Black spots invade his field of vision. He fights for air, his throat burning. On instinct, he grabs at the tentacle, not even caring about the moist squidgy texture as he tries to ease the pressure on his trachea.

He manages to lever himself to his feet, coughing and sucking in air as he does so. The creature continues to stagger forward, uncaring.

‘What...what do you want with me?’ he chokes out.

The creature ignores him.

His fingers are still curled around the tentacle. He swallows hard. Dead bodies. It’s made of dead bodies. Fighting the urge to be sick, he lets go.

‘Where are you taking me?’ he demands. This thing has killed his crewmates, killed Neko’s crew, wiped out this entire space station once upon a time—why the hell isn’t it killing him? Could it be trying to use him against his surviving crewmates? Possibly—it certainly knew how to sway people into turning on each other.

No answer.

Leonard abandons his efforts. Better to conserve his energy. There’s got to be a way out. After all the shuttle flights and fool away missions he’s survived, he’s not going to die like this. For one thing, Jim’d never forgive him.

They enter a stairwell—the latest of many on this hike from hell—and Leonard grabs the railing as the creature descends. Focusing putting one foot in front of the other, he follows, trying his best to ignore the fiery pain radiating from his thigh. If he falls here, on the stairs, he’ll die. No way he survives being dragged down stairs by his neck.

One foot in front of the other. You can do that. He won’t die here. He won’t do that to Jim, to Joanna, to his mother, to his siblings. Hell, he won’t do that to Spock, who’s surely feeling like shit after leaving Leonard behind.

One foot in front of the other. And again.

The door swings open and Leonard’s yanked out into yet another corridor. The corridor itself is unfamiliar, but he recognises the wide room he’s dragged into after that. The entryroom. They’re back at the promenade.

The creature stops. It doesn’t release him, but since he’s no longer being actively yanked along, the pressure isn’t nearly as bad. Leonard takes advantage of the break, brief as it may be, to breathe.

In front of him, the creature unbends, throwing its upper body back. Faces appear all over its back, its thighs, its calves, its shoulders, its head. As one, they open their mouths and scream. Leonard yelps, twisting to cover his ears with his singular uninjured arm and bending into his shoulder—despite the instant flare of pain it causes—to help block the other, as the scream goes on and on. It cuts off abruptly, giving Leonard’s poor eardrums a rest—only for two answering screams to echo from elsewhere, equally awful and soul-shredding as the first.

The creature shakes its shoulders and—somehow—Leonard gets the sense that it’s pleased with itself. The emotion is so bizarrely normal for such an incomprehensible monster that Leonard nearly laughs out loud at the ridiculousness.

Hunkering over, it lopes towards the promenade. Leonard can only follow.

After Not-Manheim disappears down the corridor, all is still.

Jaylah and Sulu stay frozen where they’ve fallen. The Security officers remain in battle ready stances. Giotto and Scotty keep their phasers up. M’Benga holds Gaila tight.

Still held by Hendorff, Nyota draws in a breath. Not-Manheim looked so much worse than when she last saw him—all exposed skull and muscle and blood—and Gaila doesn’t look much better.

Nyota tugs hard on Hendorff’s sleeve. ‘Let me down.’

Hendorff frowns dubiously. ‘Uhura...’ He cuts himself off at her sharp glare. With a resigned sigh, he sets her down.

Limping over to M’Benga and Gaila, she reaches out with one hand to touch Gaila’s shoulder. ‘Gaila?’

Gaila flinches away from the touch.

Nyota swallows hard. ‘G?’ she says, keeping her hands clear.

Slowly, Gaila turns her head to look at Nyota through bloodshot eyes. Breath catching, Gaila pulls back from M’Benga and hurls herself at Nyota, throwing her arms around Nyota’s neck and burying her face in Nyota’s shoulder.

Fighting tears, Nyota hugs Gaila back, letting herself take in that she isn’t too late. Gaila’s here—alive and breathing and here.

‘Was that...really Manheim?’ Sulu’s voice shakes.

He and Jaylah are both back on their feet, Sulu rubbing his side as he stares in the direction Not-Manheim disappeared.

‘I mean, he was so...that was so...’ Sulu trails off. He draws in a breath. ‘What happened to him?’

‘He’s dead.’ Gaila’s voice is low, hollow. She shifts, pulling out of the hug and switching to holding Nyota upright, her grip painfully tight. ‘That thing, whatever it is, it killed him and took over his body. I...’ Gaila’s eyes flit down to her hands—her bloody hands, thick red-and-black congealed on her palms and her fingers and under her nails. Her face pales to an mint shade of green. ‘I could pull off his skin...’

Nyota hugs her closer.

Sulu swallows queasily. ‘If that’s what it did to Manheim...’ He doesn’t finish the thought. Instead, he sets his jaw and sheaths his sword. ‘We need to find the others, Scotty.’

Scotty nods, setting his shoulders.

‘I’ll take Uhura and Gaila back to the shuttle,’ M’Benga says.

‘We don’t have time for that!’ Nyota protests.

‘Uhura,’ M’Benga starts.

She interrupts him. ‘What if the others are seriously hurt? Who’s to say McCoy’ll be in a fit state to help?’

M’Benga groans. ‘For crying out loud, Uhura, do you want to lose your leg?’

‘No, but—’

‘Because that’s what’ll happen if you don’t let me treat it!’

Nyota waves her hand. ‘Oh, you’re being dramatic.’

‘I am not “being dramatic”,’ M’Benga snaps. ‘Your leg is badly hurt; you can’t be walking around on it! Besides, you’ll slow us down if we do have to run!’

That hits Nyota hard. She doesn’t want to put anyone else in danger. She doesn’t give in though, glaring at him. ‘And if they are hurt? If they do need your help? What if you being with me gets one of them killed?’

‘McCoy is...’

‘The last we heard, McCoy was separated from the rest of the crew. We’ve no idea what state he’s in.’

Scotty interrupts before M’Benga can respond. ‘Shut up, both of you!’ he snaps, running one hand over his head. ‘Uhura, you know you’re in no fit state to come with us. But she’s right, we might need you, M’Benga. How about this, I’ll send one of the first-aid certified Security officers back with her and Gaila to the shuttle while M’Benga comes with us?’

This is something, at least. Nyota doesn’t want to go back to the shuttle—she wants to help save the others—but she’s acutely aware that she really is slowing them down. She just can’t be the reason one of their crewmates die because the one definitively healthy doctor was hanging around babysitting her when he could’ve been doing something useful. ‘I’ll accept that,’ she says grudgingly.

M’Benga scowls. Finally, he acquiesces, though his expression does not soften.

Gaila shifts in Nyota’s grasp. Nyota startles, reminded of her presence by the movement. Her gaze is fixed on the middle distance down the corridor.

‘You need to check over Gaila first,’ Nyota says.

M’Benga nods. ‘Of course. Here, let me.’

He reaches out. Nyota shifts closer to him, nudging Gaila. ‘G?’ she says. ‘Doctor M’Benga’s...’

Before she can finish, Gaila’s back goes bolt straight. She’s boiling, Nyota realises, the heat radiating through both the survival jackets. ‘G?’ Nyota says, pressing closer. ‘Gaila?’

Jaylah draws in a sharp breath, stepping around Sulu. ‘Montgomery Scotty,’ she says. ‘What is wrong with her legs?’

Nyota stares at her, then at Scotty. As one, both of them look down at the deep cuts that claw across both of Gaila’s thighs. Veins of black—visible through the torn material of her trousers—trace their way up her leg to her hip. The wounds themselves are entirely black, like they’re decaying.

M’Benga leaps into action. Nyota ends up on the floor, holding Gaila’s upper body on her lap, while M’Benga and Scotty work to lay her out face-down so M’Benga can check the wounds. Holding her friend tightly, Nyota prays, brushing her fingers through Gaila’s knotted hair. They snag, catching on a big knot and pulling a chunk of hair away from her neck, revealing black veins tracing up her throat.

Heart in her mouth, Nyota grabs Gaila’s shoulders and turns her over—ignoring M’Benga and Scotty’s confused queries. There. Right across Gaila’s chest, several long deep claw-marks go from her shoulder down past her breasts to her hip. They’re worse than the leg-wounds.

M’Benga curses.

Gaila’s eyes open. Crawling around her brown irises are black veins. She stares unseeingly at Nyota for a second, before—faster than should be possible—she’s up, shoving the surprised Scotty and M’Benga out of the way and making a run for it. The action is so sudden that nobody—not Nyota, not Scotty, not M’Benga, not Sulu nor Jaylah nor Giotto, nor any of the Security officers—moves fast enough to catch her. She vanishes down the corridor before they can do a damn thing to stop it.

There’s no hesitation, no more talk of taking Nyota back to the shuttle. Hendorff has her up in a bridal-carry in seconds and they’re all running, running, running after Gaila.

Spock takes the lead, as their group makes it out into the corridors of the cylindrical centre. He carries Elsha, slung over his shoulder. Neko has Hoshi and Jim carries Eda on his back.

Hexilius’s corpse remains where it fell. Neko left it without looking.

The hope is that the Enterprise reinforcements will come through the same promenade through which the original landing party came. It is the simplest route into the centre, and presuming that they’ve found Nyota and Gaila (they must have, Spock will accept no other outcome) it’s also the route Gaila will remember best. Thus, that is the location Spock aims for.

They reach the robotics lab and he stops, abruptly recalling the locked doors. This way is blocked. He goes to retreat but freezes, spotting the wide open door at the back of the room.

That door wasn’t open earlier. Spock tried it himself. It was deadlocked.

He stares at it as Jim steps up beside him.

‘That door was locked earlier, wasn’t it?’ Jim says.

‘It was.’

They exchange glances. No words need to be said.

Spock resumes his stride, faster this time. If the creatures—any of the three—have come this way, the rest of their crewmates are in grave danger. He hurries down the stairs, out into a new corridor beyond. On they go, through cold halls and empty rooms, around debris and holes in the floor and ceiling. When Spock recognises the Captain’s quarters, he finds himself relieved. This is farther than they’ve got in hours.

When his light falls on bloodstains, his relief vanishes. Jim toes at them, face hard. ‘We need to keep moving,’ is all he says.

They’ve passed several more familiar rooms, gone down more familiar corridors, when something scratches in the walls. Elsha whimpers, throwing her head back. Spock presses one hand to hers, pushing as much calm and quiet as he can into her. It is not pleasant—a wave of crushing desperation and terror and longing hits him the instant he makes contact—yet he persists. She settles as the scratching grows louder and there’s a sob behind Spock.

He looks back. Hoshi is crying in Neko’s arms. She squeezes him tighter, eyes darting around, free hand on her disruptor.

Setting his jaw, Spock speeds up, running for the door. Something giggles in the walls as they reach another stairwell. This is not an ideal situation for the creature to have returned. The stairwells are extremely poorly lit.

They descend, keeping up the pace. As they reach the bottom, the door above grinds open. Spock stiffens as Elsha whimpers anew.

Jim slams his hand onto the button and shoves Spock and Elsha through the second the door’s open enough. Neko and Hoshi follow, with Jim and Eda taking up the rear. They’ve come out into a wide dark room of indeterminate purpose. A great many tables and empty shelves are faintly illuminated by small red lights in the ceiling. Rather than head for the next door, as claws clink on metal behind them, Jim races for one of the tables, dropping and sliding underneath.

Without hesitation, Spock follows, skidding under without stopping and pulling Elsha down from his shoulder, holding her to his chest tightly. He hides the one solar light they still have under his survival jacket, sitting on it. Neko hisses questions after them. The scratching reaches the bottom of the stairs. Eyes widening in realisation, she copies them, slipping beneath the nearest table and holding Hoshi tight.

All is quiet. Only rapid breathing and the faint rumbling of the engines up above fill the air.

The door slides open. Giggling, a dark shadow slips inside. Rocking from side to side, it bounces across the floor, occasionally caught by the dim lights from above. In and out of the beams it dances.

Elsha moans.

It stops where it is, the strange continually shifting form swaying as its laugh grows louder. Beside Spock, Jim hugs the visibly shaking Eda to his chest.

A long second passes. It inches towards the table Spock and Jim are under.

Jim stops breathing. Spock grips Elsha tighter. He grabs her hand, pushing through the emotions that hit him upon contact and sending as much calm and peace as he can muster into her. Don’t make a noise, he tries to impress upon her unconscious mind. Just sleep, stay asleep, don’t make a noise.

The eerie giggle echoes off the walls. It draws nearer, its shadow brushing across the floor, avoiding what little light there is. One of Jim’s hands grabs an old wrench-like tool from behind them, gripping it with white knuckles.

Closer, closer, it comes, until it stops right in front of them. Spock’s fingers dig into Elsha’s hand as Jim raises the wrench.

There it stands, black morphing shadow writhing in place, its giggle growing louder. One second. Two seconds. Three. Four. Five. Spock doesn’t breathe, doesn’t move. Every muscle is frozen.

Dark tendrils lick at the table-legs. Jim closes his eyes. Spock doesn’t dare do the same.

With one loud long giggle, it turns and sweeps towards the door in the back of the room. With one lash of its shadows, it opens it and creeps out of the room, the door closing behind it.

No one dares to move.

Finally, Jim lets out a rush of breath. ‘What the hell just happened?’

Spock breathes, taking his hand off Elsha’s. ‘I do not know,’ he admits, frowning.

‘It knew we were here, right?’ Jim says, as Eda pulls away from him and he lets her. ‘So...why leave?’

That is indeed the question. Why would a creature that has, up until this point, been wholly determined to kill them—or else amalgamate them into itself, in the case of the one from upstairs—simply leave when it had them trapped?

‘Because,’ Spock says slowly, a thought crystallising in his mind, ‘it deemed something else more important.’

‘The others?’

‘Most likely.’

Jim takes that in and crawls out from under the table. ‘In that case,’ he says, ‘we need to go. We gotta find them before that thing does.’

Removing the long light from underneath him, Spock crawls out himself. He slings Elsha over his shoulder once more and sets off, leading the way.

The creature is not far ahead of them. Spock keeps their pace slow. His PADD in one hand, he follows the same route they took upwards. Soon, they reach the turbolift they took up from the entryroom. They’re getting close.

Spock glances at Jim, raising an eyebrow questioningly. He doesn’t have to ask the question aloud, Jim lets out a sigh, eyeing the turbolift. ‘I don’t think we have a choice,’ he says. ‘I don’t remember there being another way down from here and we need to outpace that.’

At this, Spock nods. He summons the turbolift—it’s been used since last they were here—and the noise of it grinding its way back up to them is grating, setting Spock’s teeth on edge. He keeps one ear out for the creature, any of the three—they’re certainly making enough noise to draw its attention. No monster appears.

Finally, the turbolift arrives and they all climb inside. Jim, Neko, and Eda all stand stiffly, as the turbolift moves downwards. Neko grips her disruptor hard with her free hand. Jim’s eyes constantly flit around, seeking out any sign of danger.

Thankfully, the creature does not attack. There is no sign of it, presumably it has taken a different route down.

The doors grind open to reveal the entryroom—unchanged from earlier. They all step out, letting the turbolift close.

Something shrieks loud and horrible outside in the promenade and, at the same time, a door grinds open from the left of the entryroom and out creeps the shadow. It shrieks and speeds forward towards the promenade.

Jim, Spock, and Neko all exchange looks. Jim takes the lead, setting Eda down and pushing her behind him.

Spock draws even with him and, side by side, they proceed, closer and closer to the open door that leads out into the promenade. The shadow has made it outside by the time they reach it, and they pause at the door to assess the situation.

Immediately, every muscle in Spock’s body goes taut. A rush of emotion—hope, joy, fury—floods his veins, as he stares.

Leonard. He’s alive.

Chapter Text

Bones is alive.

A complex volcano of emotion—fear, relief, other feelings he can’t begin to name—erupts in Jim’s chest. His best friend is there and breathing and alive. Jim doesn’t know how or why the creature has allowed Bones to live, but it has. Is he unharmed? Jim can’t be sure.

While he’s clearly being held prisoner—and everything in Jim wants nothing more than to tear that disgusting tentacle thing off his best friend’s throat—Bones at least doesn’t appear infected. Though it’s hard to tell from this distance, there don’t seem to be any telltale black veins, no black-infested wounds. He is, however, beaten to all hell and back, black and blue, open grazes visible through his torn uniform, a phaser burn peeking through a ripped bandage on his thigh.

All things they can treat. None are fatal, if they can get Bones away from that creature.

Away from both creatures, he amends.

The shadow flits about Bones and his captor—which Jim presumes to be the spider-like monster from the gardens, it must have changed shape since. Now it’s morphed into a twisted facsimile of a humanoid shape, two legs, two arms, a head—out of which poke an uncountable number of differently-coloured eyes—bent over like an old man with a cane, flesh writhing.

It holds Bones by the neck, keeping him close. As Jim watches, it pushes Bones to a kneel. Bones sinks down, unresisting, hands on the floor in front of him, head forced upright.

Cold pulsating fury sweeps through Jim. He takes a step forward. A hand grabs his arm, tight. On instinct, Jim turns to break the hold only to find Spock, eyes burning with an equal rage. Over his shoulder is Elsha, beside him is little Eda and Neko with Hoshi in her arms.

He can’t afford to run headlong into this. Too many lives are counting on him.

Gritting his teeth, he turns back to the horrifying sight. He needs to think this through, needs to find the safest way to save Bones from those things without losing anyone.

The door on the other side of the promenade grinds open and Jim sucks in a breath as a zombified corpse dressed in Security red lopes in. It takes several long seconds for Jim to recognise what’s left of the face as Manheim’s. Jaw, cheeks, lips, a nose exposing cartilage, tufts of red hair—these are all that remains. Above that is nothing but bits of skin and flesh clinging onto a bloody human skull, Manheim’s natural green eyes replaced by oozing black pits.

Swallowing hard past the burn of bile at the back of his throat, Jim instinctively takes a step backwards.

He’s not sure why it’s worse seeing this one compared to the greater amalgamation—maybe it’s that he knows this man. He knows, no, knew Axel Manheim. Manheim’s been on his crew since the beginning, graduated the Academy the same year as Jim, survived Nero, survived Altamid, survived everything. Manheim is his friend. He’s played board games with him in the Academy common rooms, has been on any number of away missions with him, has bought him a drink in a bar on shore leave to say thanks for doing a great job.

Seeing him like this, a broken imitation of himself, is abhorrent.

Jim picked him for this—Jim chose to bring Axel Manheim and Lucy Dara and Fabian King on this mission and all of them are dead. He’s gotten all of them killed—unimaginably horrifically.

Guilt is a familiar weight to Jim. It’s been built into him since he was old enough to comprehend that his very existence caused his mother pain. Yet, in this moment, staring at what has become of one of his classmates—his friends—it’s insurmountably heavy.

Jim sucks in a breath, forcing himself to separate from the emotions that are burning inside of him. Later. He can feel all this later.

He’s failed three of his crew. He will not fail the others.

As the thing that was once Manheim reaches the other two, Jim sets his jaw. And then there were three.

Three monsters. The only three on board, if Spock’s earlier hypothesis is correct. All of them blocking the way out. All of them holding Jim’s best friend prisoner.

Corpse-Manheim stops in front of the biggest one, tilting its head to the side just a bit further than is humanly possible. Angling what remains of its face towards the amalgamation, it unleashes another horrific scream that reverberates through the empty promenade.

Jim instinctively plugs his ears, grimacing in pain—the sound is so much worse when you’re right next to it. Beside him, Spock hisses in pain, releasing his hold on Jim’s arm. Bones tries to protect his ears, curling in on himself, but only one of his arms is available. The other is even more misshapen than it was upstairs.

The scream cuts off seconds later. Any relief is short-lived, as an assembly of lips open on the amalgamation—some on the arms, a couple on the head, a few on the legs and back—and all in unison shriek.

Jim very nearly cries out. It’s worse than Corpse-Manheim’s—a writhing seething screeching chorus of distorted voices that splits the air, far louder than the other. It lasts longer too and—even from this distance—Jim spots the blood dripping from Bones’s unprotected ear. Damn it.

Eardrums can be fixed. We can fix it.

This knowledge doesn’t temper Jim’s worry.

The shadow shrieks, flitting closer to pull Bones’s hair before dancing away again.

Corpse-Manheim screams.

Jim keeps his fingers in his ears. Stop, stop, just stop, please…

The amalgamation gives its own response.

And that’s what this is. A response, a conversation. They’re conversing. The realisation is startling. Sure, Uhura said that those screams were communication in an entirely alien language, but before now Jim’d never really processed what that meant.

As the amalgamation’s screech dies off, Corpse-Manheim moves closer to Bones, turning its ghoulish face down to gaze at him. As Bones shies back—his attempt at escape foiled by the tentacle holding him captive—Jim tenses, eyes narrowing, hands falling from his ears. Don’t you touch him, don’t you dare…

It reaches out with mottled-purple fingers, defaced by long black claws that’ve erupted out of the fingertips, and grabs Bones’s face by the jaw, forcing him to look at it. ‘You are like the others,’ it says.

Jim blinks. What’s that supposed to mean? Like the rest of the crew? Has it done something to their crewmates?

Bones seems no less lost. ‘What? I don’t…’

‘Why?’ Corpse-Manheim leans closer—uncomfortably close to Bones. ‘Why did you do it?’

Bones doesn’t answer—probably because he, like Jim, is trying to figure out what the hell this thing’s going on about—which visibly enrages Corpse-Manheim. It growls, its claws digging in deeper. Little streams of blood ooze from where the claws meet Bones’s face, down his jaw, dripping onto his throat. Hot anger floods Jim’s veins at the sight.

‘Tell us!’ Corpse-Manheim demands. ‘Explain!’

A little hand takes Jim’s. Eda’s staring in terror at the scene. He squeezes her hand tight, forcing himself to breathe.

‘What’re you going on about?’ Bones manages.

‘Why,’ says Corpse-Manheim slowly, like he thinks Bones is an idiot for not understanding his vague and cryptic wording, ‘did you protect them? They were already ours!’

Hexilius’s words come back to Jim. Bones and Solara were both against throwing out the infected members of their group. Is that what it’s talking about?

‘Of course I protected them!’ Bones snaps, his unhampered hand curling into a fist. ‘They were innocent!’

A pair of lips appear on the wrong side of the amalgamation’s head. ‘They were ours,’ the lips say.

‘No, they damn well weren’t!’ Bones snarls. ‘They were people; people can’t belong to anyone!’

A whirlwind of fear and pride rushes through Jim. Pride because hell yeah, that’s Bones right there, and fear because Jim doesn’t want to see what they’ll do to Bones for his defiance—not when Corpse-Manheim’s already angry.

Surprisingly enough, Corpse-Manheim calms. It tilts its head to the side. ‘They would have killed you. If they had to massacre everyone in that room to reach us, they would have.’

‘I don’t care.’

Corpse-Manheim’s ghoulish smile reappears. ‘Your companions didn’t agree.’

Behind Jim, Neko sucks in a breath.

‘If you’ve somehow found out what happened up there,’ Bones grinds out, ‘you know damn well that some of them did and don’t you forget it.’

‘And they died for it, did they not?’ says Corpse-Manheim.

Eda flits a glance back at Neko, as Neko shifts in place. Jim doesn’t move. He can feel the anger and grief radiating from her. It bites the air, demanding notice.

‘They did what was right,’ Bones insists.

Corpse-Manheim’s smile shrinks. ‘Why did they do it? Why did you do it?’

‘Because it was right!’ Bones raises his chin, glaring at Corpse-Manheim. ‘Their lives matter, they matter!’

‘Keeping them in the room would have meant your death,’ Corpse-Manheim says. ‘If the infected didn’t kill you, your companions would have.’

‘I told you,’ Bones says without hesitation, ‘I don’t care. If my life’s the price I have to pay to save someone, so be it.’

A ripple of cold fury twists across Corpse-Manheim’s face. ‘Why?’

‘I told you why!’ Bones snaps.

Corpse-Manheim growls, yanking hard on Bones’s face. All that saves Bones from choking to death on the tentacle around his throat or having his head ripped off his shoulders is the amalgamation helping to pull him up to his feet. ‘Why did they do it?’ it spits, its face so close to Bones that in a completely different situation they might be about to kiss.

‘You mean my…’

‘No, them!’ Corpse-Manheim cries. ‘The stupid ones! The ones who let us through. Why did they do it?’

Bones stares at him blankly. ‘Let you in?’

‘No!’ Corpse-Manheim exclaims, unfairly exasperated. ‘They let their captain kill them! Then it killed itself too!’

Jim sucks in a breath. Automatically, he looks at Spock, who’s eyes are wide in the same realisation. The murder-suicide upstairs. That’s what they’re asking about.

Bones, however, lacks this information. He opens and closes his mouth in confusion. ‘I don’t…’

‘Why did they do it?’ Corpse-Manheim snarls, cutting him off. ‘Tell us!’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ Bones snaps, trying in vain to pry the tight grip off his face.

‘You are like them,’ the amalgamation says.

Bones stops short. ‘…What?’

Jim is pretty mystified himself, but this whole fiasco can be figured out later when Bones’s safety isn’t on the line. He meets Spock’s eyes, flicking his own gaze to the left and back to Spock. Spock—of course—understands immediately. With careful movements, he moves to the left. Aiming for the broken-down tables and chairs, he slips behind them and continues to creep forward under their cover.

In the meantime, Jim glances back at Neko. ‘Get Hoshi and Eda safely to the other side. Go right. Once they’re out of the way, we’ll come at them from two sides.’

Neko nods. Before she moves, she hesitates. Her hand slides down and pulls out her disruptor. She holds it out to Jim. ‘You might need this,’ she says, keeping her voice low.

‘What about...’

Neko smirks. ‘You don’t think that’s my only weapon, do you?’

Jim takes the disruptor.

That done, Neko sneaks to the right, copying Spock’s moves on the other side of the promenade. Eda creeps along beside her.

Jim grips the disruptor tight. Finally, he has a weapon. He turns it up to the highest setting possible. That, at least, might give him a chance. He’s getting Bones back, no matter what it takes.

‘Tell us!’ Corpse-Manheim demands. If it weren’t inhabiting a dead body, it might have veins sticking out. ‘Explain!’

‘I can’t explain something I don’t know anything about!’ Bones protests.

Corpse-Manheim growls, face tiling towards at the amalgamation for a second before it looks back at Bones. Around them, the shadow flits merrily, sliding in to poke at Bones before flitting away again, cackling as it does so.

Jim eyes it. It’s like a child. The others clearly have a capacity for logic, for reasoning. This one’s priority seems to just be having fun.

As if to confirm his thoughts, Corpse-Manheim howls in the shadow’s direction. It slows, creeping closer to give an answering shriek. The amalgamation hisses. Both the shadow and Corpse-Manheim jump back, Corpse-Manheim finally releasing Bones’s face, leaving behind open still-seeping wounds.

Jim fights to ignore the blood, forcing himself to focus. It’s a peculiar dynamic between the three. One they might be able to exploit.

The door out into the outer shell grinds open. Jim’s heart stops. Gaila wobbles in the doorway, black creeping up from under her uniform collar up her neck to her cheeks. Her eyes are infected with black veins and shot with green.

Corpse-Manheim turns, its smile returning.

Spotting her too, Bones lets out a scream of fury and fear, hurling himself forward at Corpse-Manheim, stopped short by the tentacle around his neck. As is very in-character for him, Bones doesn’t give in, gripping the tentacle with both hands as he kicks out at Corpse-Manheim, face paling from oxygen-deprivation.

As Gaila takes several steps forward, Jim acts.

He might not have much over these things, but he’s a whole hell of a lot faster than Corpse-Manheim, who is significantly slowed by the whole possessing-a-corpse thing. Gaila picks up her pace. Jim’s faster. He runs, racing past the three monsters and hurling himself into her, sending them both smacking hard into the floor.

‘Jim!’ Bones chokes out, relief and terror mixing in his voice.

‘Fascinating,’ says the amalgamation.

Jim ignores it, fighting to retain control over Gaila as she fights back, much stronger than she should be. Just like Elsha.

Not Gaila. These things are not getting Gaila.

‘Jim, watch out!’ Bones cries.

Jim looks up. Corpse-Manheim—comparatively slow as it might be—has almost reached them, stretching out one clawed hand towards Jim and Gaila.

Gaila screams, a sound so full of anguish and desperation that it tears something deep inside Jim. He holds her tighter, forcing them both to roll away from the outstretched hand. ‘Spock!’ he calls.

‘Captain!’ Spock has made it to the door, gently planting his burden down and turning back towards them.

Jim looks back to Corpse-Manheim, the cold metal of the disruptor against his palm reminding him that he’s no longer defenceless. He raises it and fires, the blast slamming into Corpse-Manheim’s hip, carving out a chunk of burnt flesh. Corpse-Manheim is thrown back by the force of the blast and Jim takes advantage of the brief reprieve.

He struggles up to his feet, hugging Gaila to his chest, and stumbles towards the door. Spock is beside him in seconds, pressing his fingers to Gaila’s neck. She slumps.

Corpse-Manheim howls in anger.

And Bones screams.

It’s a good thing Gaila’s unconscious, because Jim would’ve had a hard time keeping hold of her at that sound. He spins around to spot Bones, his arm twisted up behind him by one of the amalgamation’s fake hands. The amalgamation holding him captive sprouts another tentacle. Its chest opens horizontally, torn open in a terrible attempt at a smile. ‘I will give you this,’ it says. ‘You have all been the most entertaining prey we’ve ever had.’ It tilts its massive head. ‘But you’re also weak. You care about this one, don’t you?’

Jim stares at it, a steady drumming in his ears.

It twists Bones’s arm further up his back. Jim’s heart rate speeds up at the pain on his friend’s face. ‘Let him go!’ he snaps, almost taking a step forward, only halted by Spock’s hand on his arm.

The amalgamation’s smile grows. ‘If you hand over that one, then of course! It already belongs to us.’

Jim grips Gaila tighter as Bones’s face pales. ‘Like hell!’ Bones snaps. Anything else he wants to say is cut off by another yelp of pain as the tension on his arm clearly increases.

‘I...I won’t do that,’ Jim says.

The amalgamation’s grin widens. ‘Then this one will make the tastiest meal of all,’ it says, bending over and pressing its face closer to Bones who flinches, closing his eyes.

‘Leave him alone!’ Jim cries. ‘You let him live this long, didn’t you? You must’ve had a reason!’

‘We did,’ says the amalgamation. ‘It was...intriguing to us. We were curious.’ A long patchwork tongue comes out of its mouth, licking around its fake lips. ‘But it seems that it isn’t the only way to discover the truth and our curiosity will make it taste all the sweeter.’

Disgust roils in Jim’s throat. ‘What the hell do you want? Why are you doing this? What do you have to gain?’

‘We must survive,’ says Corpse-Manheim.

‘And this helps you survive?’

Corpse-Manheim tilts its head to the side. ‘We need the bodies. You will give us your bodies.’

‘Now,’ says the amalgamation, its tongue flicking out and licking Bones who recoils. ‘Hand that one over to us or this one will take its place.’

‘It won’t let me go anyway, Jim!’ Bones snaps, pain making his voice tight. ‘Don’t you dare!’

Sharp panic blurs Jim’s thoughts. The tentacle squeezes tighter around Bones’s throat, cutting off any attempt at speech. He can’t let Bones die; he can’t let Gaila die either. Two of his best friends. How is he supposed to...

‘Captain,’ Spock’s quiet voice—as always—brings him clarity.

Jim draws in a breath. He won’t hand Gaila over—but he damn well won’t let Bones die either. He sets his jaw, tightening his grip on Gaila and meeting Spock’s eyes. Spock is watching him with unwavering trust. Jim’s not—can never be—sure he deserves it but Spock has never let what Jim’s opinion stop him.

He returns his attention to Bones. Despite his situation, despite the pain he’s obviously in, Bones looks at him with total faith.

There’s a way out of this. He’s just got to think of it. Think, think, think, Jim!

The shadow cackles, drifting closer to them, as Corpse-Manheim’s grin widens. The zombie takes several steps forward, reaching out with that same hand. The amalgamation tightens its grip on Bones’s throat. Bones chokes, his face going paler and paler—he won’t last much longer, not like that.

And, behind the entire horrifying panorama, Neko rises from a crouch, a Starfleet-issue phaser in one hand and one of the solar lights in the other. Hoshi’s gone, so’s Eda. She must’ve deposited them somewhere. She meets Jim’s gaze and raises her chin.

Jim does the same, moving his head a miniscule amount, enough for Neko’s eyes to narrow in acknowledgement. She levels her phaser at the back of the amalgamation, creeping to the right. Jim has no way of actively signalling a plan to her, not with the creatures’ eyes on him, and she’s no Spock or Bones, able to read his thoughts with a look—so he just has to hope. He’ll work with whatever she does.

As she takes aim at the tentacle holding Bones, Jim’s throat tightens. Please, please, please.

A blue-tinted beam slams into it—and into its mouth, the hand holding Bones’s arm, and a leg for good measure.

It takes a second for Jim to process it. Neko hasn’t fired. What...how?

Realisation dawns—Jim can only blame the hell this day has been for how slow his thinking is—and he grins. Leaving Gaila to Spock, as further beams shove Corpse-Manheim back and Jim himself takes a shot at the shadow to keep it at bay, Jim races for Bones.

Another shot takes the tentacle fully off, and Bones sucks in air, yanking his arm free. A resounding snap shatters the air. As his face—which had been regaining colour—whitens, Bones doesn’t stop, continuing to struggle. Another shot makes the hand fully release him as Jim reaches his side. Catching hold of his other arm, Jim yanks him free from the amalgamation.

Together, they race for the exit where—as Jim knew they would be—their reinforcements stand.

‘Captain!’ Scotty yells, as he fires off another shot, hitting Corpse-Manheim. ‘Who else is there?’

‘No one! Just us!’

Scotty’s face pales. He doesn’t let any other sign of his horror show, giving Jim a sharp nod.

‘Turn phasers to full!’ Held close by Jim’s side, Bones falters—he’s limping badly and whatever rush of adrenaline gave him the ability to fight back is fading. Jim slows long enough to wrap his arm around Bones’s middle to hold him up. ‘Destroy the bodies!’ he orders.

A chorus of ‘Aye’s are the response and, as exhilarating hope fills him with fresh energy, further shots slam into the creatures.

The amalgamation screeches as both Sulu and Jaylah step out from the group of Security officers, brandishing their individual weapons. While Jaylah watches his back, aiming at the shadow and blasting it repeatedly to keep it at bay, Sulu races for Jim and Bones.

‘Down!’ he calls.

Jim ducks, yanking Bones down with him. Sulu’s sword sweeps over their heads and Corpse-Manheim screams. Not allowing himself to think about how close Corpse-Manheim must be to them, Jim takes Sulu’s offered hand and is pulled back to his feet, Bones following since Jim has not let go of him.

Sulu pushes them both behind him. Raising his sword, he catches Corpse-Manheim’s arm with the blade, stopping the blow.

Behind, Jaylah cries out in surprise. The shadow’s swept away from its original position, flicking around her.

‘Stay in the light!’ Spock orders—he’s by the door, pressing Gaila into the arms of a Security officer who’s lowered his blaster long enough to take her. ‘It can’t come into the light!’

One of the Security officers—Tanaka, her name is—leaps to Jaylah’s side, missing encountering the shadow by a whisker as she fires at it with one hand and yanks out her palm-beacon with the other, using it to light up their feet. The promenade isn’t as badly lit as other sections of the station but it’s not great—not with all the broken floor-lights.

‘Get McCoy to Scotty, Jim,’ Sulu snaps, bringing his sword around in a sweeping arch and slashing at Corpse-Manheim’s abdomen. Clumping thick blood laced with black oozes out of the slice. Corpse-Manheim doesn’t flinch.

Jim doesn’t need telling twice. While ordinarily he’d never be one to run and let a crewman take the danger for him, Bones can’t take much more. Propelling Bones alongside him, Jim makes for the door where the remaining Security officers—led by his ever-reliable Security Chief, Giotto—and Scotty lay down cover fire.

As they run, the amalgamation shrieks. Sulu yells in alarm, as a terrible cracking squelching erupts from behind them. Jim doesn’t dare turn—Sulu can handle himself, he’s got to—instead speeding up until he’s practically dragging Bones with him. The sloshy snapping continues, growing louder and awfuller by the millisecond.

Bones has gone ghostly pale beside him. ‘It’s changing shape again.’

Recalling the spider-like form it took before, Jim clenches his teeth and pushes Bones faster, ignoring the pained noises his best friend’s making. They’re so close.

More phaser fire sails past them, trigging another scream from the amalgamation. The sound of its body breaking and shifting grows ever more deafening. A hand on Jim’s shoulder snatches his attention. Only then does he realise Spock’s in front of them. Spock moves to take Bones’s weight.

‘Get him to safety, Spock,’ Jim orders, relinquishing his hold.

Bones’s eyes widen. ‘Jim—'

‘He will not be in harm’s way again,’ Spock interrupts, the words an oath.

They meet eyes and Jim nods, trusting Spock. ‘I’ll be right there,’ he says, giving Bones a reassuring smile—one that doesn’t fool Bones based off the terror on his face.

Jim doesn’t allow him time to speak. Grabbing his disruptor tighter, Jim races back to Sulu’s side.

Sulu’s fallen back by several metres, slashing his sword to keep Corpse-Manheim at bay. Behind Corpse-Manheim, the amalgamation has taken on a bizarre new form—like a cross between a spider, a crab, and a centaur. The humanoid upper body is still present, protruding from an enormous belly, out of which far too many legs proceed to break the skin and sprout out, lifting it up off the ground. Six large pincer-shapes break out after the legs. It screeches as its shifting finishes.

Jim swallows a curse, skidding to a stop by Sulu’s side and firing at Corpse-Manheim. His shot hits Corpse-Manheim right in the head, burning a hole through the face. With his free hand, he grabs Sulu’s arm and pulls him backwards.

Together, they retreat while Corpse-Manheim is distracted with his now-rather-holey face.

‘What’s the plan, sir?’ Sulu asks, raising his sword into a ready stance.

‘Retreat,’ Jim says. ‘We’re not beating these things like this. First...’

He’s cut off as the amalgamation howls and races for them. Jim throws himself into Sulu, knocking them both out of the way. Sulu rolls to come back up, lifting his sword, as Jim shifts into a kneel, aiming and firing a series of shots in quick succession.

The creature’s enormous mass bubbles and burns under the heat as it turns its attention on them. Jim and Sulu both backtrack, weapons at the ready.

‘Neko!’ Jim yells, unsure where she’s gone off to. ‘Get your people and let’s go!’

He can’t afford to mess around waiting for her. While he doesn’t want to leave her and her surviving crewmates—especially Eda—to die, he can’t justify risking his own crew’s lives much more.

The amalgamation barrels toward them. Again, Jim and Sulu hurl themselves out of the way. The creature’s enormous mass is a double-edged sword, granting a strength and invulnerability the other two don’t possess, while also making it difficult for the creature to change directions easily.

The shadow. Jim yanks Sulu back with him as the memory of the shadow playing around its fellows comes back to him. It’s like a child—their child?

‘Spock!’ Jim yells. ‘Solar lights, on the shadow! Jaylah, Tanaka, get away from it!’

He can’t see if his orders are being followed—if they can be followed. All he can do is hope.

More phaser-fire echoes around the promenade—the other Security officers. As the amalgamation roars and sends out long spindly tendrils towards Jim and Sulu, Jim has no time to discover what’s happening by the door.

Sulu swings his sword in deft slashes, slicing at the tendrils. Jim fires at them, the beams burning clean through the flesh yet doing little to stop the creature from sending more. They retreat, neon-lighting overhead telling Jim that they’re near the casino.

‘Neko!’ Jim yells. ‘We need to retreat!’

Where is she?

Sulu yelps. His sword falls to the floor, metal ringing, as Sulu himself is pulled off his feet. A tendril has wrapped around his ankle. It yanks—hard—bringing him sliding towards the amalgamation. Jim hurls himself forward, snatching up Sulu’s sword and catching hold of Sulu’s hand with the other. The tendril continues to pull, dragging both along. The amalgamation’s strength is too strong for Jim alone to stop.

Sulu struggles, kicking at the tendril, as he reaches up towards Jim with his other hand. Jim shoves the sword into his hand. As their eyes meet, Jim knows what he has to do.

Smiling sharply, Sulu nods once.

Forcing himself to trust in Sulu as much as when Sulu piloted them off Altamid in a ship that was never meant to take off from the ground, Jim releases Sulu’s hand. The dragging picks up speed, Sulu drawing closer and closer to the creature. As he nears the legs, Sulu hurls himself upright and slices, cutting the tendril off from its source.

He’s perilously close. One of the amalgamation’s legs comes down at him and Sulu rolls out of the way. It barely misses him, impaling the metal floor where Sulu’d just been, sending cracks out in a scattered circle. Sulu chokes in surprise, staring. Another leg comes at him. He regains his equilibrium and leaps to the left.

But the creature’s growing wise to this.

More tendrils, these ones sharp, shoot out of the amalgamation’s massive belly, as it raises two of its legs at once. They come at Sulu in all directions, leaving him nowhere to go. Jim breaks into a run, racing to his friend’s side, knowing with a sick dread he won’t make it in time.

He doesn’t have to.

Neko leaps in front of Sulu, catching hold of both the legs—one in each hand—and tearing them off from the body. With the instinct of a well-trained Starfleet officer, Sulu leaps to his feet and deflects the tendrils with his sword, watching Neko’s back.

Jim reaches them, firing with his own phaser. ‘We gotta go! Where’re...’

’With your people!’ Neko’s expression is tense as she shoves both Jim and Sulu backwards. ‘Those legs won’t stay off for long, we need to...’

She’s not wrong. As they watch, the two torn-off legs crawl back towards the belly, which lowers itself to receive them. They stitch themselves back together—a nauseating gurgle reverberating from the connection point.

The amalgamation bears down on them, uncountable faces appearing out of the belly to howl at them.

And a deafening shriek echoes from behind it. Unlike every other shriek these things have made thus far in this nightmarish mission, this one doesn’t sound angry or pleased, nor like the conversational screams of earlier. Instead, it sounds...pained. Scared even.

The amalgamation freezes in place. Its belly squelches as its faces disappear and it races backwards.

Jim stares as the shadow comes into view, writhing. Spock, holding two solar-lights, shines them both directly at it. He’s managed to shepherd it between two floor lights, so it can’t move in two different directions. With Spock’s two lights, it’s trapped, burning in the light.

Corpse-Manheim growls as it races at Spock. The amalgamation is also fast approaching. Spock waits until they reach what he deems a reasonable proximity to him, before he drops the two solar lights, one on either side—keeping the shadow trapped inside—and runs for the door.

Jim, Sulu, and Neko waste no time doing the same. They all reach it at the same time, the red sea of Security uniforms enveloping them as they do.

‘Go! Go! Go!’ Jim yells.

Nobody questions his orders. They run.

Chapter Text

Spock and Jim take the lead; Scotty's happy to leave them to it. He's never been more eager to turn over Command in his life—which says a great deal, because Scotty isn’t one for Command, give him a good engine any day. Now, he’s free to focus on keeping his crew, his family, safe from behind.

Thankfully, the not-insignificant door-damage Scotty did on coming in serves as Ariadne’s thread in their own personal labyrinth. Lost? Just look for a burnt lock, that's your way out.

Down the long tunnels and endless staircases they run, taking a turbolift down several floors at one point. Shrieking and squelching echoes off the walls behind them, constantly following. The noise is sickening.

‘You won’t get away!’ cries a croaky, not-right version of Lieutenant Manheim’s voice.

Scotty shivers and speeds up.

When he thinks about those things...well, frankly, it's not good to dwell on. It's the kind of thing that deserves a nice bottle of Scotch and a “Never mind about all that!”, in service of happily repressing the memory forever.

Ahead, Scotty spots a familiar circular double-door, engraved with symbols all around its frame. Relief floods his chest. They're almost out.

The doors are still open from where Scotty burned his way through the locks. They pass through with ease, not slowing for a second.

The two shuttles—Copernicus and Galileo—sit side-by-side in the middle of the bay. Spock heads straight for them, Jim close by his side.

Loud shrieks fill the air. The monsters are far too close.

Metal screams and bangs as the doorframes give way. Clanging follows, getting closer and closer by the minute.

Without discussion, the rescued pile into Galileo—Spock taking their pilot position—with M’Benga following them, while all the rest flood into Copernicus. Sulu drops into the pilot seat, Scotty joining him in the other.

Sulu abandons pre-flight checks in favour of starting up the engine. Scotty can't claim he's against this breach in protocol. He's never that anti breaching protocol anyway and especially not when the grating and gurgling outside is audible even through the thick walls of the shuttle.

Sulu raises Copernicus off the shuttle bay floor and sweeps towards the exit, Galileo following suit.

Something slams into the side. The shuttle reels to the left. Several of the Security officers cry out in surprise, loud bangs echo through the shuttle as people are sent flying. Scotty barely manages to stay in his seat, clinging to the straps he hasn’t had time to fasten yet. Sulu grits his teeth, expression fiercely focused as he fights to maintain control.

‘Not today, you twisted pieces of shit,’ he mutters, steering away from another blow. ‘Hold on tight!’

He pulls back on the controls, sending them shooting upwards vertically. Once he judges he's high enough, he levels out, pushing the shuttle to her limits as he races for the exit. Galileo sweeps into view, joining them as they reach it, exterior crooked and dented.

And finally, finally, they're out—metal yielding to endless stars.

The shuttle evens out. ‘Everyone alright back there?’ Scotty calls, sending a glance back to check on the rest of his team.

Several officers stumble into seats, Tanaka breaking down into a giggling fit as she slumps into place. No one seems badly injured and Scotty breathes a sigh of relief.

He claps Sulu on the arm. ‘Nice work!’

Laughing breathlessly, Sulu flicks several switches, hailing the other shuttle. ‘Copernicus to Galileo. How are we doing over there?’

Jim's voice shakes with relief when he speaks. ‘Still in one piece, Copernicus. You?’

‘All's okay over here,' Scotty says. ‘What say you we go home?’

‘Scotty,’ Jim says. ‘I’ve never loved an idea of yours more.’

The Enterprise is already visible in the distance through the shuttle viewscreen, a beautiful silver beacon of hope and home. The sight alone is enough to make Nyota tear up—or maybe that’s due to M’Benga, who released himself from his restraints the second they were clear of the station and is now prodding at her broken leg. Alternatively, it might be the light in the shuttle. Despite being dim compared to the Enterprise, the brightness is physically hurting her after so long in the dark.

Through aching eyes, she looks around. Leonard’s arguing with Jim—who’s in the co-pilot seat—further towards the front, repeatedly attempting to leave his seat to treat one of the other injured. Jim keeps reiterating that Leonard is one of the injured. This argument—logical as it is—has little effect on Leonard. Gaila and Elsha are both unconscious and strapped into seats of their own. Whoever the Romulan woman is, she’s kneeling next to an Orion guy and a little Orion girl sits in the seat not far from them, hugging her knees through the restraints—they’re clearly not the right size for a child.

Nyota sinks her head back against the metal shuttle wall, her body heavy with relief. She could almost fall asleep, if it weren’t for the still-frantic beating of her heart pulsating in her chest and ears; it hasn’t quite figured out what the rest of her knows, that she’s finally safe.

Nyota breathes in deep, trying to calm her shaking hands. Gaila’s head is lolling, her body motionless. Suddenly, there’s nothing more important to Nyota than checking on her, than making sure she’s breathing. She fumbles with her restraints, trembling fingers struggling to work the mechanism.

‘Whoa, whoa,’ M’Benga says, gently pressing her back into her seat. ‘Where do you think you’re going, Lieutenant?’

‘Gaila, I have to...have to check on her, I have to, she’s...’ Nyota stammers out, her throat closing up on her. ‘I need to, I need to, please, please...’

M’Benga opens his mouth to answer but he’s not the one who next speaks.

‘I’ll check on her, Uhura,’ Jim says, rising from his seat and taking several steps over to Gaila’s side. He makes a show of checking her pulse, and grins—weakly—at Nyota. ‘She’s alive, no need to worry. How about you let poor M’Benga do his job?’

Trembling, Nyota forces herself to relax. Gaila’s alive, she tells herself, repeating it ad infinitum. Gaila’s alive, Gaila’s alive, Gaila’s alive...

A nudge to her arm makes her jump. Jim’s taken the seat to the left of her—formerly M’Benga’s. He raises his eyebrows questioningly and holds out his hand. She takes it, gripping tight enough to hurt. Jim doesn’t flinch or let go. He keeps holding on as M’Benga returns to treating her leg.

Closing her eyes, Nyota draws in another breath and slowly lets it out. Jim shifts beside her and she looks at him. He’s eyeing the back of Leonard’s chair. ‘Is he okay?’ she whispers.

Jim blinks, glancing back at her. He sighs. ‘I don’t know.’

It’s more honest than she was expecting him to be. She has to take a second to process it. ‘I guess none of us are.’

Jim doesn’t quite laugh but his lips quirk up into the realest smile she’s seen from him since she and the others were left in the Captain’s quarters. ‘True. Poor Doctor Marley’s going to have a field day with this one,’ he says, referring to the ship psychologist onboard the Enterprise.

That provokes a short huff of laughter from Nyota. Before she can reply, there’s a sharp pain in her leg. She hisses and glares down at M’Benga.

‘Sorry, sorry,’ he says, sending her an apologetic smile and loading a hypospray. ‘I’ll give you another lot of painkillers. The old dose is wearing off.’

‘Is she okay?’ Leonard’s voice comes from the front. ‘Nyota, are you...’

‘I’m fine, Len.’ Nyota raises her voice, as M’Benga gently presses the hypospray to her shoulder. ‘I bet you’re worse off than me.’

Leonard doesn’t seem to trust her word much. A grunt of pain comes from him along with the distinctive click of restraints being released.

Releasing her hand, Jim rolls his eyes and pushes himself to his feet. ‘Bones, quit it, you’ve got a phaser burn on your leg, no need to make it worse.’

‘I’m okay,’ Leonard lies, already heaving himself up from his seat and using it to balance.

Muttering something uncomplimentary under his breath, Jim hurries over to Leonard’s side and grabs his arm, pulling it around Jim’s neck so Jim’s acting as a human crutch. ‘You’re worse than I am,’ he says.

Leonard scowls back at him. ‘I am not.’

‘You are! Look at you!’

Continuing to bicker, the two make their way back towards Nyota and M’Benga. Jim gently presses Leonard down into the seat Jim vacated, giving a roll of his eyes—and a fond if exasperated smile—as he plops down in the seat next to him. ‘Happy?’ he says.

‘Ecstatic,’ says Leonard.

A giggle bursts out of Nyota. Leonard and Jim glance at her, both smiling—if reluctantly in Leonard’s case.

Leonard shifts, wincing. He sends a glance down at her leg. ‘Compartment syndrome?’

M’Benga confirms with a nod. He sets some kind of machine to roll over her leg—Nyota hasn’t a clue what it is, but it eases what pain is left after the painkiller. ‘She’ll be alright once I’ve got her in Sickbay.’

Leonard hums in acknowledgement, though he watches M’Benga’s moves with eagle-eyes—which is ridiculous, because Leonard knows and trusts M’Benga. Nonetheless, M’Benga doesn’t comment on it, nor does Leonard criticise him at all, even if there are moments when he clearly wants to.

A low moan draws Leonard’s attention away from Nyota, and—for that matter—everyone else’s too. Over on the other side of the shuttle, where she’s still solidly strapped in, Elsha moans, shifting.

Beside Nyota, Leonard stiffens, face paling, while Jim leans forward in his seat, focused on Elsha. The memory of Gaila’s near-rabid break from M’Benga’s grip returns to Nyota’s mind and she finds herself tensing.

Elsha lets out a louder moan. Her eyes flicker open. While her dark irises make it less obvious than Gaila’s brighter hazel, the ink-like veins stand out in the white surrounding them, winding throughout like burst black blood-vessels.

Leonard’s shaking. Nyota slips her hand into his uninjured right, squeezing tight. Not even that is enough to catch his notice.

Elsha’s breathing speeds up. Those black-shot eyes dart around the shuttle-cabin. One second passes, and another. Is she not going to do anything? Another second, another and…

She screams, hurling herself against the restraints. Her long fingers work at the mechanism holding her down—luckily, whatever’s influencing her is having trouble with it—fumbling as she bucks in place. Jim’s already up on his feet. Spock dares several quick glances behind as he steers in the direction of the Enterprise. In a flash, Jim’s by Elsha’s side, reaching out to take her hands.

Elsha shrieks and lashes out, her flailing hand hitting Jim right in the face.

Swearing, he stumbles back, blood dripping from his nose. Elsha renews her struggles, focusing her gaze on Jim. ‘I have to go back!’ she pleads. ‘I need to, please, please, I need to, I want to, I want to go back, please, please, please!’

Leonard’s shaking has intensified. Nyota squeezes his hand tighter. To the back, there’s another cry as the Orion man hurls himself against the restraints. The Romulan grabs hold of him, struggling to keep him down.

The little girl releases her own restraints in record-time, shooting underneath the nearest bench and huddling there.

‘M’Benga, we need sedation here!’ Jim calls.

Elsha successfully unlocks her restraints and hurls herself out of the seat, aiming for Spock—who’s doing his level best to ignore the chaos in the back in lieu of focusing on piloting. Before she makes it to him, Jim throws himself into her, knocking her to the floor and holding her down with his body.

‘M’Benga!’ he yells.

M’Benga has two hyposprays out, filling them with quick movements. The Romulan behind swears vividly in both Romulan and Klingon. M’Benga shoves one at Leonard. ‘Get the other one,’ he says, hurrying over to Elsha.

Leonard fumbles his grip on the hypospray, ghastly pale. Nonetheless, he forces himself up and over to the struggling Orion, stabbing the hypospray into the man’s neck a little too hard. At the same time, M’Benga successfully sedates Elsha and both infected fall back into a whimpering sedated state.

Silence reigns. Everyone breathes, taking in what just happened.

Jim sits back, climbing off Elsha. He runs one shaking hand through his sweaty hair. ‘You should probably give Gaila a dose too. Her nerve-pinch was more recent but...’ ‘

M’Benga hums, already reloading his hypospray. Heading to Gaila’s side, he calls over his shoulder. ‘Leonard, sit back down this instant, that wasn’t an excuse for you to go trying to treat people.’

Leonard, who was about to do exactly this, scowls. When Jim pushes himself to his feet, ready and willing to enforce M’Benga’s order, Leonard makes a face and caves, hobbling over to his recently vacated seat beside Nyota. He sinks back into it, trying not to show the obvious relief doing so brought him.

Nyota, body heavy and mind slowing, lets herself sink into his side, leaning her head on his shoulder. He tenses, before relaxing and wrapping his arm around her shoulders.

After repositioning Elsha in her seat, Jim returns to sit next to Leonard and lets out a long sigh. He doesn’t speak. Neither does anyone else. They all remain quiet as M’Benga returns to finish treating Nyota’s leg.

The silence remains, in fact, until Spock breaks it. ‘We’re approaching the Enterprise,’ he says, beginning to hail the Bridge.

Nyota closes her eyes. They’re home. Finally.

Chapter Text

If Leonard’s honest, all that’s keeping him together is the warmth of Jim next to him and Nyota’s solid grip on his hand. It’d be better if he could hear properly with his left ear, but that’s neither here nor there.

It’s still beyond belief, that he’s here and safe and not back there with that thing nor in that room with Hexilius. When Jim responds to Spock’s announcement by leaving his seat and heading over to the co-pilot seat, Leonard feels bizarrely bereft. He grinds his teeth together and squashes any stray emotions down. Quit being a baby about it, idiot, he tells himself.

‘Alright,’ says Geoffrey. ‘That’s about all I can do for you outside of Sickbay, Uhura. Is the painkiller working?’

Nyota nods, giving him a weak but genuine smile.

Geoffrey returns it before turning his attentions to Leonard. ‘Your turn,’ he says.

Leonard scowls. ‘I’ll wait. Doesn’t Gaila need those horrible cuts treating?’

‘And that obviously broken arm of yours?’

‘Well, it’s not getting any more broken,’ Leonard says. Not now that people—and monsters—have stopped yanking on it, that is. ‘It’s not urgent.’

 ‘Leonard—'

‘Geoffrey, please.’ Leonard meets his gaze. He doesn’t want to—can’t—sit here being treated when others are suffering. Especially not after everything that’s happened.

Their stare-down lasts a few seconds more before Geoffrey sighs. ‘Fine. But no more wandering around. I don’t want you walking on that leg and your arm doesn’t need any more jostling.’

Leonard rolls his eyes. ‘Yes, I know.’

Geoffrey frowns at him. ‘Uhura.’ He turns his gaze on Nyota. ‘Keep an eye on him, would you?’

Nyota gives him a two-fingered salute. ‘On it.’

With another shake of his head, Geoffrey heads over to Gaila. In the front of the shuttle, Spock’s attempts at hailing the Enterprise finally bear fruit. It’s hard to make out the distorted voices over the comm—Leonard’s left (and presently deaf) ear is the one pointed towards them. He shifts around, trying to aim his other ear at it.

Finally, he makes out the excited voice of Pavel Chekov, the sound of which brings immediate relaxation to everyone on board the shuttle. Well, except the three pirates—or, rather, two pirates and one little girl, Leonard needs the full explanation on that one—who don’t know Pavel from Adam and are clearly wondering what all the fuss is about.

‘Is everyone alright, Captain?’ Pavel asks. His voice trembles—a glimpse into the long anxiety-filled hours Pavel’s spent waiting for someone, anyone, to reply.

‘We lost three,’ Jim admits. ‘Lieutenant Manheim and Ensigns King and Dara.’

Leonard tenses at the mention of the last two names. King, meeting his gaze as he released his hold of Leonard and Dara’s hands, dragged back into shadow. Dara, shrieking and sobbing, slamming her head repeatedly into the floor, dragged to the door while Leonard was helpless to save her. Her screams from outside as she was torn apart and eaten alive.

‘Len?’ Nyota’s hand tightens painfully on his. ‘Len, what’s wrong?’

Leonard doesn’t answer her. He can’t. All he can do is try to breathe. In and out. In and out. In and out.

‘Len?’ Nyota repeats. ‘Leonard. Tell me what’s happening.’

Leonard breathes in so sharply that his chest pangs. ‘I’m alright.’

Nyota is clearly not convinced but—now that Leonard’s answering her—lets it go, leaning her head back on his shoulder.

In the front of the shuttle, Jim’s continuing the conversation with Pavel. By the time Leonard tunes back in, Jim’s issuing orders for med-teams to be ready and waiting in the shuttle-bay. ‘We’ll need medical attention for Uhura and McCoy. Neither of them can walk to Sickbay, so make sure there’re gurneys. We also have three in need of immediate restraint and transportation to a secure containment area in Sickbay.’

‘Containment, sir? Are they sick?’

Jim sighs slightly, running one hand through his hair. ‘In a sense.’

‘Who requires the containment, sir?’

‘Lieutenants Elsha and Gaila, and someone else we picked up on the station.’

‘I see. Are you and Commander Spock okay, sir?’

Jim and Spock exchange glances. ‘We’re fine,’ Jim says shortly.

Past experiences with Jim Kirk makes Leonard doubt that, but it’s not like there’s much he can do about it. The conversation goes on. Spock prepares to steer the shuttle into the shuttle-bay, and Leonard zones it all out, sinking his head on the wall behind him with a heavy sigh. His many injuries—big and small—create a constant burn of pain all over but, by this point, they’ve been there for so long that he’s getting used to them.

A tap on his knee startles him out of his pain-filled doze. Jim’s hovering over him, eyebrows drawn together. ‘Bones? You ready to move?’

Leonard nods, shifting as he tries to lever himself out of his seat.

Jim pushes him back down. ‘Sheesh, dude, I was warning you that the med-team’s coming, not telling you to stand up. Prepare to be poked and prodded like you love to do to me.’

Leonard shoots him a glare. ‘This wouldn’t be revenge, would it?’

‘Of course it is,’ Jim says cheerily. ‘Now sit down and wait. Be a good Bones.’

That earns Jim another glare but—as is always the case with Jim—he’s completely immune to it. He smiles, stepping back as Geoffrey returns from...wherever he’d gone to prep Leonard for the gurney. Nyota’s disappeared too, Leonard realises with a jolt of worry. That must be where Geoffrey went. Utterly exhausted, Leonard caves and lets Geoffrey do whatever the hell he wants.

Before bringing him out, Geoffrey hands him a pair of tinted sunglasses. ‘Put those on,’ he says. ‘The light’ll hurt.’

This objective fact of biology—after a prolonged period in darkness, it takes time for human eyes (and most other light-adapted species) to adjust to bright light—grates at something raw and painful inside Leonard. It’s as if he’s carried the darkness with him, into the safety of the Enterprise—rendering it not-so-safe any longer—like he himself has become one of those things, cursed to shy away from light.

He puts them on.

The next however-long is an extended tiring blur of dark-brown-tinted colours and questions. The—hell, his younger self would never let him hear the end of it, but—soothing interior of the Enterprise wraps around him. Even through the tinted lenses and the knowledge that the light would hurt him if he took the glasses off, the brightness is comforting. No monsters can lurk in here.

Somehow, Leonard ends up in the Sickbay. At some point, he must’ve been given real strong painkillers, because he’s practically floating on air and the constant pain has vanished. Geoffrey, being the jerk he is sometimes, probably gave him an anti-anxiety med too, because the buzzing fear has been blunted and the memories of that room and of the creature are no longer fighting to protrude into his present reality.

One of his nurses—Nahum Wang—is doing something to Leonard’s leg. Amid the medication-induced fog, Leonard can’t remember what it is he’s doing or, more importantly, how to care about it.

On the far side of the room, there’s a discussion happening. Vaguely, Leonard recognises Jim’s voice. Spock’s calm eloquent tone follows Jim’s. It takes longer for Leonard to parse their words. He has to turn around, knocking Nahum’s attempts to treat him as he goes, in order to hear properly. When he does, a stab of anxiety cleaves through his foggy thoughts. They’re talking about the infected trio, trying to figure out how to help them.

Dara’s dark eyes are staring at him, pleading with him to help her—to save her. He promised her he’d figure it out, that he’d fix it once they were back on the Enterprise.

She’s dead. He failed her, but he can help the others. He doesn’t have to fail them too.

It takes an immense effort to force his thoughts to cooperate, and more to make his limbs obey. He needs to get over there.

Nahum splutters to his left as Leonard successfully levers himself upright. ‘Doctor McCoy!’ he protests. ‘You’re...’

Leonard ignores him, far more interested in making his jelly-like legs cooperate. He has to get over there, he needs to do this.

Someone touches his arm and Leonard pushes out at them on instinct, half-convinced it’ll be Hexilius ready to shove him around more. It’s only the familiar cough that Spock does to clear his throat before readying himself to say something both annoying and probably true that tells him who it is. He hasn’t a clue when Spock got over here, but that’s the least of his problems.

Spock’s eyebrow is raised by more than two centimetres—poking out from behind his own protective eye-gear. Leonard scowls at him. The eyebrow goes up higher. ‘Doctor. Dare I inquire what you are doing?’

‘I can help,’ Leonard says, giving him a glare. It probably doesn’t have the same effect through two layers of tinted glass but it makes Leonard feel better.

Spock takes a pointed pause, scanning Leonard up and down. ‘That is not in doubt, however, might I point out that you are hardly in fit state for any such thing.’

‘I can do it.’ Leonard insists. ‘Let me help.’

Their eyes meet through the lenses. There’s a long pause.

Come on, you pointy-eared alien. You owe me.

Finally, Spock tilts his head. ‘Very well,’ he says, breaking the standoff. ‘As a compromise, might I suggest an anti-grav chair? You shouldn’t be walking with your injuries.’

Leonard waves his hand. ‘Yeah, yeah, got it.’

Honestly, an anti-grav chair sounds great. It was hard enough to get to this point. Sheer stubbornness alone is all that would have propelled him across the room.

With a expression that suggests he’s contemplating the foolishness of illogical humans, Spock turns his gaze to Nahum. ‘Fetch the doctor an anti-grav chair, please,’ he says. ‘If you would, at least, sit down in the meantime, Doctor, that seems like an excellent idea.’

Making a face at him, Leonard considers remaining standing on principle, but ultimately sits back down when a wave of dizziness threatens to topple him over. Once the anti-grav chair is brought over by the disapproving Nahum, Leonard soon finds himself in the thick of the discussion—the key players being Jim, Spock, Geoffrey, Christine, and Captain Neko. Jim, Christine, and Geoffrey all turn disapproving faces on Leonard as he approaches, but none comment.

On the PADD in Geoffrey’s hand are the vital signs of the three infected patients. Leonard quietly takes it. This earns him a worried glance from Geoffrey. Leonard ignores it, more focused on the information on the scan.

He’s not had opportunity to examine a scan from a patient whose infection is so advanced. Back when he scanned Dara, the infection was little more than debris in the open wound. Roguv’s was much the same. This is far beyond that. The foreign substance—entity, whatever it is—has invaded arteries and muscle and fat. It’s wrapped itself tightly around the spinal cord, climbing up the brainstem to infiltrate the brain.

Letting out a shaky breath, Leonard averts his gaze, nauseous. If he’d realised what that debris was, could he have done something earlier? Could he have saved Dara?

A hand brushes his uninjured arm. ‘Bones,’ Jim murmurs, as Geoffrey, Neko, and Spock continue the discussion—Leonard is receiving none of it. ‘You okay?’ Jim continues, keeping his voice low.

Leonard lets the PADD sink onto his lap. ‘I’m fine,’ he says. His voice comes out shaky.

Jim knows he’s lying immediately. Instead of arguing, he sits on the empty biobed right next to their chosen discussion area, to the right of Leonard’s chair. The tension to his face tells Leonard Jim’s starting with a migraine, which is no surprise with their newfound photosensitivity after the station. Leonard doesn’t mention it. For all Jim calls him a mother-hen, he’s not an idiot. Jim needs to finish this. Like Leonard does.

As the discussion—little more than a blur to Leonard—continues over their heads, Jim watches Leonard, not saying anything.

Finally, he shifts closer and—far more gently than Jim’s ever been in his life—he hugs him, careful not to nudge the broken arm. ‘I’m really, really glad you’re alive, Bones,’ he says softly, too soft for anyone other than Leonard—and maybe Spock, pointy-eared as he is—to hear.

Leonard chokes on a breath. Jim pulls back, careful not to hurt him. He doesn’t—can’t—say anything in response and Jim doesn’t ask him to. Instead, he turns his attention back to the discussion—carried on by their three crewmates who are doing an excellent job of pretending that they aren’t aware of Jim and Leonard’s brief emotional side-tangent, and Neko, who pretty clearly doesn’t care—and Leonard does the same. Finally, he adjusts his position so he can hear—well, so he can hear Christine and Spock. It’s not easy to aim yourself at a whole group of people when you’ve only one ear.

On they go, throwing ideas back and forth, everyone clearly growing more stressed the longer it takes.

Jim’s been listening closely for a while, eyes narrowed in thought. When he finally speaks, everyone else falls silent, turning their attention to him. ‘Spock,’ he says. ‘You said the organism is vulnerable to light and we saw that ourselves, right? With that shadow?’

‘That is correct,’ Spock agrees. ‘Yet the light had little effect on them once they had gained bodies to protect them from it.’

‘But they still had that vulnerability, right? The bodies just functioned as a shield against the light?’

‘That would be logical,’ Spock says, eyes trained on Jim’s face. ‘What is your point?’

‘My point is that the lights we carried had little effect so what if the lights were brighter? More powerful? As powerful as possible? Is there a chance that would burn the infection out of them?’

Spock freezes, expression blank. The thoughts buzz behind his dark eyes. ‘That...’ he says. ‘Might work.’

‘They’d need blindfolds, of course,’ Jim goes on, building up steam. ‘Otherwise, the light would blind them. Sunglasses won’t do anything against that.’

‘We have zero-light blindfolds onboard,’ Leonard says. ‘Those should work to protect their eyes.’

‘Surely, it’s worth a try, right? It can’t hurt?’ Jim says.

Geoffrey nods—Leonard turns his hearing ear towards him. ‘It’s definitely worth a try,’ Geoffrey agrees. ‘We’ll need to put together a contraption that can accomplish it. It’ll take some finagling.’

‘In that case,’ Spock says. ‘I shall summon Mr. Scott. He and I can make what we need.’

There’s an electric buzz in the air. Jim’s bouncing in place, while Spock looks about as excited as he does whenever they find something new he terms "fascinating" on some unfamiliar planet.

It might not work, Leonard reminds himself, but it’s a chance. Right now, a chance is more than he ever believed they’d get.

Someone has hold of his head—that’s what it feels like, anyway. A cold clamping tightness that’s threatening to crush the left side of his skull. The continual rumbling buzz of Sickbay isn’t helping either—even the slightest noise makes Jim want to scream.

He grinds his teeth, fighting back the urge to be sick. He’s kept his sunglasses on past when M’Benga said they could take them off, hoping they’ll keep the migraine—triggered by the sudden light of the Enterprise—at bay. It isn’t working. Keeping his jaw tight, Jim settles himself, refusing to let either pain or impatience show—they aren’t helpful, not to him and not to anyone else.

Spock and Scotty are putting the finishing touches on their masterpiece: a machine making use of a hodgepodge of technology, combining the bright surgery lights and solar lights from the Enterprise’s Botany deck with stun tech to give them a boost. As is classic for Scotty and Spock, they’ve had no trouble putting it together and it has—in fact—taken no more than three hours for them to reach this point. It’s fast, far faster than anyone else could pull it off.

But in those three hours they’ve had to sedate the three infected twice more. The sedation’s growing less effective. The consciousness inside of the infection itself is growing more aggressive, more afraid. On the one hand, this suggests they’re on the right track. On the other, it could be doing an unbelievable amount of damage in there.

Bones has insisted on staying in his anti-grav chair, no matter what anyone else says. He at least consented to let M’Benga build a temporary splint around his arm, but the broken bone is bad enough to need surgery—it’s a compound fracture, which surprised Bones, though not enough to make him change his mind—and Bones wouldn’t let anyone put him under sedation for that long. In the end, M’Benga threw up his hands and surrendered, going to perform surgery on Uhura’s leg instead.

Now, Bones’s dozing off next to Jim, fighting the pain meds and whatever the hell else M’Benga’s got him on to stay awake and barely succeeding. A cool anger crawls under Jim’s skin—born of the bruises all over Bones’s face and wherever else his skin’s exposed, the cuts and grazes, and, worst of all, the haunted look in his eyes. While Jim doesn’t know much of what happened to Bones while they were separated, whatever it was left a mark.

Scotty lets out an overjoyed shout that rams a steak-knife of pain through Jim’s left eye, tightening his skull further. Scotty leaps to his feet. ‘We’ve done it!’ he says, grinning wide.

Spock is slower and more measured when he too rises, a pleased and satisfied smile reaching up to his eyes. ‘It should work. We need only move them into the room.’

The room in question is a repurposed decontamination chamber. The lights have been added to the top and the bottom and whatever sides aren’t glass, allowing them to blast the infection from all sides. If light really is this thing’s weakness, this should burn it right out.

If. So many ifs. Far more ifs than Jim is happy with, but this is all they have. It’s got to work.

Beside Jim, Bones draws in a shaky breath, fully awake after Scotty’s shout. ‘I guess this is it,’ he says quietly.

‘Yup,’ Jim says. ‘Let’s move them in.’

He pushes himself to his feet, ignoring the way the world shifts sickeningly around him at the movement and striding over to where the three have been placed, tied to gurneys with soft restraints. His gaze falls on Gaila, her green skin washed out and spiderwebbed with inky veins. The sight brings painful memories of sitting next to her hospital bed after the Narada, her skin almost entirely covered by bandages.

Preparing himself for the increase in nausea, he leans forward and gently kisses her forehead. ‘You’ll be okay, G,’ he murmurs. ‘I promise.’

He won’t accept any other alternative.

Much like she didn’t back in Starfleet Medical in San Francisco, she doesn’t move or respond now. The sedation is complete, far deeper than they’d normally need. She’s not even moaning or whimpering like she was earlier.

Straightening up, Jim glances over at Elsha. She doesn’t look any better than Gaila and the guilt—familiar to him as his own shadow—flares in his chest. He led her into this; he led them both into this. And they’re going to fix it.

He draws in a breath and steps back. Nurse Wang sets to fastening the blindfolds over their eyes. Once he’s done, Jim helps steer the first of the gurneys—Gaila’s—into the chamber. The other two soon follow. Chapel and a few other nurses go in to link each of their patients up to biobed monitors to keep an eye on their condition from outside. Once they’re out, Scotty shuts the door, sealing it. He taps a few buttons and, from above, shades slide down, blocking the view inside. 

‘Gotta keep our eyes safe too,’ he explains. With that done, Scotty leads them over to the impromptu controls he and Spock have set up not far from the monitor, which shows present-time physical scans of all three patients as well as detailed information on their vitals. ‘Just need to activate it from here,’ Scotty says, moving his hands to prep the machine.

Bones slides into the spot right in front of the monitor, eyes focused on it. Chapel’s close by his side, splitting her attention between the patients in there and the stubborn one out here. Jim waits for Bones to give him the nod that says everything’s working correctly.

‘Okay, we’re ready,’ he says. ‘Do it, Scotty.’

Scotty licks his lips nervously. He slowly slides up the lever that activates the machine.

The effect is instant. All of the vital signs on the monitor spike violently. Pained screams come from inside the chamber—driving that steak-knife deeper and deeper into Jim’s head. Chapel grabs his arm—and he realises he’s moving towards the chamber.

‘The infection has integrated itself into their bodies,’ she says. ‘It will hurt to get rid of it.’

Jim forces himself to breathe as the screaming goes on.

Bones leans forward, eyes focused on the screen. ‘It’s working,’ he says. ‘The infection is retreating from the brain, which is good...’ He jerks up in alarm, face paling as the screams grow louder. ‘It’s fighting back!’

Of course it is. It’s sentient, after all.

Jim bounces on his toes, frantic energy getting the better of him. He can’t stand those awful screams, it’s sickening—and painful. ‘Is it still working?’

‘It’s going back and forth,’ Chapel says, her eyes fixed on the scans. ‘Like armies on a battlefield. The infection’s being pushed back, then it’s pushing forward again.’

On screen, it’s a tug-of-war, the visible infection retreating and creeping back in, never staying put for long, always clawing its way back up. If it weren’t inside his crewmembers’ bodies, it might be impressive how tenacious the infection is. The light’s clearly hurting it, but it’s not giving up easily.

It’s conscious. It’s sentient. A piece of the three monsters from the station that they’ve brought with them. It’s still a part of them, an extension of their will.

Before his idea fully crystallises, he’s already bolting for the door into the main Sickbay.

‘Captain?’

‘Jim?’

The chorus of confused and alarmed voices follow him and he pauses in the doorframe, twisting around long enough to say, ‘The station. We need to destroy the station,’ before he runs.

The world is seasick, shivering, slipping and sliding around him. He ignores it. Heedless of the footsteps following him and the individual crewmen in his way, he races for the Bridge, nearly running into people in his hurry. To their credit—saying something about Jim and the Enterprise crew both—his crew don’t question him, dashing out of the way the second they spot him barrelling towards them.

Thus, Jim makes it to the turbolift up to the Bridge in record-time. Spock quickly steps inside before the doors close. So that’s who was following him.

As the turbolift shoots upwards, Jim’s hand clamped hard on the control stick, Spock straightens his back. ‘The creatures,’ he says. ‘On the station. You believe that destroying them will also destroy the consciousness controlling the infection?’

‘If it doesn’t destroy it,’ Jim says. ‘It’ll at least weaken it, surely?’

Spock tilts his head. ‘Indeed,’ he says—a steely edge to his voice. ‘Regardless, this would seem to be the correct course of action, no matter the effect on the infection. In fact, I believe it our duty as Starfleet officers to ensure that those things are wiped from existence.’

‘Why, Mr. Spock,’ Jim says. ‘You almost sound vengeful.’

Spock’s lips tilt up. The turbolift doors finally slide open. ‘Perhaps so,’ he says, before both bolt onto the Bridge.

Chekov spins around in the command chair, eyes wide. ‘Captain? Commander?’ he says, leaping out of the chair. ‘You...’

Jim waves him away. ‘Yes, yes, hello, Chekov, great to see you too. Ms. Sinclair,’ he aims this at Missy Sinclair, who’s the current helmsman on shift, taking over for Sulu—who’s stuck in Sickbay, waiting for his post-mission checkup. Missy shifts upright at the mention of her name, turning to him. ‘Load up photon torpedoes. I want you to blast that station with everything we’ve got. Destroy it, no matter what it takes. I don’t want a damn thing remaining.’

Missy’s expression lights up; he’s honestly glad it’s her on shift, Missy’s very enthusiastic about blowing things up. ‘On it, sir,’ she says, spinning back to her console and setting to work.

Jim sinks into his chair, tension rippling through him, head pounding and tightening. Come on, come on. This has to work.

He doesn’t have to wait long. Missy soon has all the Enterprise’s weapons systems brought to bear on the space station that’s caused such pain. The lights of photon torpedoes streak out, slamming into it. It takes a few rounds—the station’s extremely big—but the Enterprise has enough armament to take out a planet. It’s plenty.

The first piece breaks off under the bombardment and, from there, it’s all downhill. Bit by bit, the station is blasted to pieces, the leftover scraps blasted too—until dust alone remains.

Jim sinks back in his chair, dark spots flooding his vision and head throbbing. An electric elation floods his veins. He fumbles at the controls on his chair, hailing Sickbay.

‘Sickbay, Doctor M’Benga speaking,’ M’Benga’s voice comes through the com. He must’ve finished with Uhura’s surgery.

‘M’Benga!’ Jim says, leaning forward. ‘What’s the status down there? Are they...’

M’Benga draws in a breath. ‘I haven’t heard yet,’ he says. ‘I’ll put you through to them. One second.’

For a terrifyingly long few minutes, there’s no reply. Jim’s heart is practically clawing its way out of his chest by the time Chapel answers. ‘Whatever you did, it worked,’ she cries without preamble. ‘It worked, Captain! The infection’s retreating, it’s lost all strength. It’s working, sir!’

Jim chokes, fighting back unprofessional tears. It worked. It actually worked. ‘Good,’ he manages. ‘Thank you, Chapel.’

He stops the call and finally lets himself fully relax. ‘Holland,’ he says. ‘Call up Gamma Shift, tell them to take over here. Everyone here needs a rest.’

‘Aye sir,’ Holland says, delight in her voice.

‘Sinclair, set a heading for the nearest Federation planet. We don’t need any more excitement.’ Jim says, pushing himself to his feet, exhausted. She obeys. He turns his attention to Chekov. ‘Great job today, Chekov. Can you hold down the fort until Gamma Shift arrive?’

Chekov’s grin is as bright as the sunshine. ‘Of course, sir,’ he says.

With a final nod and a squeeze to Chekov’s shoulder, Jim leaves the Bridge, Spock by his side. The turbo-lift moves downwards and Jim slumps against the wall. ‘It’s finally over.’

‘It is,’ Spock says. His voice is quiet, relieved.

‘I wasn’t sure that’d work.’

Spock smiles. ‘Captain,’ he says. ‘I never doubted you.’

Jim returns a smile of his own, as the doors slide open. ‘Well,’ he says. ‘Let’s go check on them.’

Spock lets Jim take the lead. At a much slower pace, they step out into the corridor.

With adrenaline fading, Jim’s migraine is worsening. The halls of the Enterprise bend in on him, twisting. All a part of him wants to do is go back to his quarters, turn out the lights and hide. The rest of him can’t stand the idea.

Not only does he have responsibilities—to his injured crewmates, to handle the pirates, to make sure everything’s okay—but he wants to see his friends. He wants to reassure himself that he’s not alone. That they’re alive—they’re all alive. He hasn’t lost Bones or Uhura or Gaila.

They’re alive.

So he continues, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other. One step, another step. Keep doing that.

It’s a lot easier than trying to make the walls stay in the same place. He’s so focused on this, in fact, that he doesn’t process Spock speaking at first, registering a rumble.

Spock says something else. This time, Jim registers it as talking, yet he can’t translate it into words.

There’s no one else around.

Stopping, Jim turns to him. Throb, throb, throb. Something pounds behind his eyes. ‘What’s up?’ he asks.

Spock’s standing at attention. Through the thick jelly his brain’s become, Jim manages to remember that’s a bad sign.

‘I have a report to make, Captain,’ Spock says. ‘It pertains to Doctor McCoy’s capture by the creature.’

Jim blinks away black spots. ‘What?’ He doesn’t want to think about that—about the awful few hours where his best friend was dead and Jim himself was nothing but a black hole, like the one that ate Vulcan alive. ‘What about it?’ he says. ‘Neko stopped me by knocking me out.’

The red-tinted memory threatens to drag him back into that black hole. He focuses on the pounding pain in his head and Spock’s tightening expression.

‘This occurred after that,’ Spock says.

Something wakes up in Jim’s chest, something cold and raw and angry—there’s blood and mould on his tongue and a crying child on his back. He doesn’t want to hear this. He doesn’t want to know what Spock’s trying to tell him.

He has to know. ‘What happened?’

Spock raises his chin, eyes dull. ‘When you were stunned, I alone was left to control Lieutenant Elsha. In so doing, I made a mistake. It did not occur to me to use the nerve pinch and…’ Spock’s voice trails off. Visibly, he steels himself. Jim wishes he could do the same—he’s drowning, falling into that black hole all over again. Spock straightens his back. ‘I made the conscious decision to abandon Doctor McCoy to the creature, in favour of fleeing with the Lieutenant.’

The black hole has hold of Jim. He’s falling, breaking, unable to breathe. His head pounds and pounds, like an old-fashioned gun is going off inside his skull. Bang, bang, bang… ‘You what?’

Chapter Text

It’s working. The black infection is retreating, writhing, burning. Leonard can’t bear to look away—what if it regains a foothold in that moment? The screams are so loud—a dagger to his right ear. Phantom hands grip his arms—he can’t save her; he can’t get to her; she’s dying and he can’t…

Leonard grinds his teeth, pressing his fingers into the burn on his thigh. The pain brings clarity, reminds him where and when he is—more importantly, where and when he is not.

The infection wanes, receding back towards the original injuries. Elsha’s the fastest to be cleared of it. It retreats into her arm and shrinks, until no trace is left. The next is the unfamiliar Orion man—Hoshi’s the name written on his impromptu file—whose wounds are on his upper arms.

Gaila takes the longest. Unlike the other two, she had three major entry points: several punctures on either leg and deep claw-marks across her chest. The infection is strong in her, fighting back the longest, growing and shrinking, growing and shrinking.

Until it finally, finally dissipates.

The screaming stops. They’re not in pain anymore.

Leonard stays focused on the screen. The infection’s gone—it looks gone; it sounds gone. Yet how can he be sure? What if it’s lulling them into a false sense of security only to return with a vengeance?

He dares not blink. He can’t miss it. If it revives, he has to spot it.

A second passes. Another. And another.

Someone taps the button to turn off the lights in the decontamination chamber. A hand brushes his shoulder. He tenses—for a moment unsure how two different hands are touching him in the same place, before he realises that the grips on his arms aren’t real. Not anymore.

‘Leonard?’ It’s Christine. Professional calm overlays warm concern. ‘It’s done. They’re cured.’

He presses the burn a second time, fighting for a grip on reality—it’s like gripping water. A warm hand wraps around his, pulling it off the burn.

‘Don’t do that,’ Christine admonishes. He sees her. She’s crouching beside him. ‘You’ll make it worse. Let’s get you to a bed, okay?’

Leonard shakes his head, gaze returning to the screen. Their vital signs aren’t exactly normal, but they’re stable at least. ‘I need to…’

‘You need to lie down and let us treat you,’ Christine says, squeezing his hand tighter. ‘Please, Leonard.’ She lets her voice tremble on the last two words. It’s a tactic to make him listen. Christine is good at controlling her emotions and doesn’t show them unless she chooses to. That doesn’t make it a lie.

Leonard yields. The three patients are cured. There’s nothing more for him to do.

So why does it feel like there is?

Christine smiles, relieved. She sweeps him over to a biobed, where she sets up the scans and gives him another painkiller. ‘I’ll find Geoffrey. Stay here.’

Leonard doesn’t argue. He stays, legs hanging off the biobed, waiting. It’s been maybe five minutes when the door into Sickbay opens.

Leonard is expecting Jim and Spock. It isn’t Jim and Spock.

It’s Nurse Diego Santana. Dara’s boyfriend. Frantic, he darts over to talk to one of the other nurses, Nurse Ingalls, asking her something. Probably asking where Dara is.

Nobody’s told him yet. He wouldn’t look so worried if he knew.

The cold creeps upwards, freezing Leonard’s throat. Dara’s screaming, just out of reach, he can’t save her, he can’t do anything, he suggested bringing her here and now she’s dying and he…

Leonard can’t breathe.

Santana’s face pales as Ingalls responds, reaching out to squeeze his arm in sympathy. Santana shakes his head, saying something else.

Leonard can’t bear to watch any further. He can’t think—he can’t breathe. Somehow, he’s back in his anti-grav chair and out the door, heading down the hall. His hand itches where it touches the controls—like King’s hand is still holding on tight to it.

Dara’s screaming. King is releasing Leonard’s hand, resolute. And Leonard didn’t save either of them.

He has no idea where he’s going. No idea what he’s doing. A storm of something has taken root, roaring, exploding—and he needs desperately to be anywhere else than here, watching Santana find out that his girlfriend is dead.

White noise takes over everything. He can’t hear anything or anyone—not with either of his stupid ears—can’t see anything or anyone.

Until.

‘…damn right it was wrong!’ Jim’s voice slices through the fog—a homing beacon for Leonard to aim for. He doesn’t process the words at first. Jim continues. ‘Why…why would you…’

Leonard doesn’t understand.

‘I did not believe I could save both of them,’ is Spock’s quiet response. To any old observer, his voice would sound emotionless. Leonard picks up on the trace of guilt. ‘Upon reflection, I should have knocked Elsha out and gone to Doctor McCoy’s aid. In the moment…’

‘In the moment you left him to die.’ Jim’s voice is shaking.

Leonard tenses, clarity dawning. No. Damn it, no. There was no need for Spock to tell Jim about that—and, damn it, it wasn’t Spock’s fault! Leonard would rather he die a hundred times over than risk someone else taking his place.

His hand manoeuvres the anti-grav chair controls of its own accord, bringing him out into the corridor where Jim and Spock stand, at odds. Neither notice him.

‘Yes, sir,’ Spock confirms, ‘I regret it immensely.’

Jim shakes his head. ‘Damn it, Spock, why would you do that? Why would you…’ He cuts himself off running his right hand through his hair. ‘You left Bones.’ His voice aches, breaking apart on the nickname. ‘You could’ve saved him, and you left him!’

‘I am sorry,’ Spock says. His face is unreadable, burying all emotion behind that Vulcan persona of his. ‘I will submit to whatever disciplinary action you believe is needed.’

‘Disciplinary…?’ Jim stops, sucking in a breath. ‘I don’t…Spock, you…’

This has gone far enough. Frankly, it’d already gone far enough when Leonard first overheard—and before that too, when Spock made the idiotic decision to tell Jim this when Jim’s wrecked and suffering a migraine, nowhere near a rational frame of mind.

‘Jim.’ His hand closes around Jim’s left.

Jim jumps, eyes flitting down to Leonard. Spock zeroes in on Leonard. His emotionless Vulcan mask cracks—just a tad—as he takes a step forward. ‘Doctor McCoy, why are you—’ He cuts himself off, teeth clicking as he shuts his mouth.

Leonard draws in a breath and lets it out. ‘That’s not important. You two need to stop this.’

‘Bones, you…you shouldn’t be here, you should be in Sickbay,’ Jim says. His gaze catches on Leonard’s admittedly-very-misshapen arm. ‘You haven’t been treated yet, what are you…?’

‘Figured you two idiots would be getting into something,’ Leonard lies, deliberately not thinking about Santana and screaming and dark dead eyes poking out of rippling flesh. ‘That’s not important. You…’

‘Not important, Bones, you’re not serious!’ Jim snaps.

‘Yes, I am,’ Leonard insists. His heart is trying to escape his ribcage, banging, banging against the bones. ‘Jim, you can’t do this, you can’t blame…’

It wasn’t Spock’s fault, it wasn’t.  If it was anyone’s, it was Leonard’s—for getting himself into that situation in the first place. If he’d handled it better—if he’d handled things in that room better, Dara’d be alive, Solara and Crush and Carai would be alive, and he’d never’ve been held hostage by Hexilius to begin with.

 ‘You shouldn’t be here,’ Jim repeats, looking over Leonard, free hand hovering in the air, like he’s not sure where to start. ‘You need—’

‘You need to not say things you’ll regret later,’ Leonard interrupts, gripping Jim’s hand tighter. There’s little point in trying to convince him of anything right now—his brain’s on high alert, searching for danger, mired in pain and exhaustion. Once he’s calmed down and his migraine’s gone, he’ll have more understanding view of Spock’s decision—or if he doesn’t, he’ll at least be easier to convince.

Silence. Jim stares at him, eyes bleary and bloodshot. ‘…We need to take you back to Sickbay,’ he says eventually, avoiding the elephant—or Vulcan—in the room like a pro. He injects a forced levity into his next words. ‘I know Nurse Chapel didn’t authorise this little excursion of yours, Bones.’

Leonard lets him change the subject. ‘I just needed…to not be there for a second,’ he admits.

Jim’s eyes soften. ‘I understand,’ he says. ‘Not sure Chapel will, but I get it. Ready to go back?’

Leonard glances at Spock who avoids his gaze—while studiously pretending to be doing nothing of the kind. Looking back at Jim, he sighs. ‘Sure. Spock, you coming? Nyota’s out of surgery soon.’

Spock meets his gaze and inclines his head. ‘Indeed.’

Jim’s frown deepens. Thankfully, he doesn’t say anything. He straightens and waves a hand down the corridor. ‘After you, Bones.’

Leonard complies, leading the way. Neither Jim nor Spock speak. It’s an unusual state of affairs. Neither of them are the type to stay quiet—and, privately, Leonard’ll admit he isn’t either. Today, however, he has no words and he doubts Jim or Spock feel any different.

As they turn a corner and the Sickbay doors become visible, Leonard runs colder. He doesn’t want to go back in, doesn’t want to meet Santana’s eyes. He has to. He’s no coward. You can say a lot of things about Leonard McCoy but he’s not a coward.

So, he goes.

The instant they enter, Christine descends upon him, scolding as she guides his anti-grav chair over to the nearest empty biobed. Nyota lies in the biobed next to him, sedated. Spock takes the seat next to her and—after a moment’s hesitation—he holds her hand.

Leonard, meanwhile, is bundled out of his anti-grav chair and onto the bed. Despite her annoyance, Christine’s gentle and careful as she finishes off the scans he ran out on.

‘Don’t go anywhere,’ she warns him when she finishes, glancing at Jim. ‘Watch him, Captain.’

Jim forces a smile, dropping into the chair beside Leonard’s biobed. ‘Like a hawk.’

Satisfied, Christine goes to fetch Geoffrey.

Leonard sinks his head into his pillow and closes his eyes, drained of energy. ‘I’m not going anywhere,’ he murmurs.

Jim snorts. ‘Sure thing, Houdini.’

Without opening his eyes, Leonard sticks his middle finger up at him, producing a bark of genuine laughter from Jim. Dropping his hand back down, Leonard sighs and opens his eyes. ‘Jim, seriously. You need to get changed and you need to either find a nurse to give you migraine medication or fetch your own from your room.’

Jim splutters a protest. Spock, on the other side of Leonard’s biobed, coughs.

‘You too,’ Leonard tells him. ‘If you won’t do it for yourself, at least have the decency to do it for Nyota. She doesn’t need you stinking up the place.’

Forgetting he’s mad at Spock for a second, Jim laughs out loud. The noise dies quickly yet Leonard’s reassured by it.

‘Shoo,’ he says, closing his eyes, ‘the both of you. No more fighting until I’m well enough to get between you. I’m tired.’

Neither Jim nor Spock say anything in response to that. Instead, material rustles to either side of him as they presumably do as he says. Not long afterward, Christine and Geoffrey return. It’s with relief that Leonard sinks into a deep drug-induced sleep.

Spock returns to the Sickbay, clean and tidy. Ordinarily, this alone would alleviate the tension radiating through him—he does not like mess at all. On this occasion, it does no such thing.

As he enters, his gaze catches on the empty biobed where Leonard lay not long ago. He must have been taken into surgery—none too soon.

Nyota’s still there and Spock returns to her side, retaking her hand. Though her mind is deeply asleep, her emotions leak through their bond, through his skin. She’s afraid, ashamed, desperate. Sleep is no refuge for her at present.

Frowning, Spock gently pokes at her mind, rousing her.

Her eyes flick open. They flit about, not landing on anything specific, until they find him. The confusion clears. She bolts upright, hissing in pain when the movement nudges her broken leg, fastened inside an osteo-regenerator.

Spock presses her back down. ‘Careful. I think you have quite enough injuries to be going on with.’

A weak laugh bursts out of her. ‘You’re here,’ she says. Her eyes are flooding with tears that she rubs away with her free hand. 

Spock squeezes her hand tighter, sending warmth and comfort into her. She chokes, sitting up and throwing her arms around his neck, burying her face in his shoulder. ‘You’re here, you’re here, you’re really here,’ she mumbles on repeat, voice muffled.

Spock hugs her back. According to Vulcan ideals, this would be an unspeakable display of emotion—to hug publicly—but Spock finds he does not care. Nyota is here and alive and she needs him to hug her. That is what matters.

It has been approximately six minutes and thirty-three seconds when Nyota pulls back. Spock helps her lie back down, checking the osteo-regenerator wasn’t disturbed by her movement. Nyota lies back, smiling.

She turns her head. Her gaze lands on Gaila and—after a frozen second where she examines Gaila from afar—she exhales. ‘She’s okay?’

‘She is cured. The infection has been cleared.’

‘Good.’ Nyota runs her free hand over her face. She smiles weakly. ‘I guess M’Benga finally got Len into surgery?’

‘It would appear so.’ Spock glances back at Leonard’s empty bed. ‘He was here when I left. Nurse Chapel was fetching Doctor M’Benga.’

‘How was he?’

Spock holds back his sigh, something tightening in his chest. This is not a question he knows how to answer. In pain—that much was obvious. Tired—that was clear too. Fragile, ready to break apart at the seams if Jim or Spock made a wrong move? Very much so but he is not alone in that.

‘In pain,’ is what he settles on, ‘but awake enough to boss Jim and I around.’

Nyota snorts. ‘Right. Where’s Jim?’

‘Changing,’ Spock says, sitting back. ‘He should return soon.’

She nods. ‘Is he okay?’

‘…He is well.’ For a given standard of “well”.

There’s a silence. Nyota inspects him, her dark eyes roving over him. She’s sensed something off. He has no desire to explain.

She ought to know. He cannot withhold this. Communication is vital in a relationship.

But he cannot. Not today.

Rather than allow her to press, he raises his PADD. ‘You’ve finished the fourth instalment in that—’ his nose wrinkles in displeasure ‘—literary work you somehow enjoy, haven’t you?’

‘You mean Quest for the Kalian Crown?’ Nyota asks.

Spock tilts his head in confirmation.

‘Yeah, I finished book 4 a few nights ago,’ Nyota confirms, gaze fixing on the PADD. ‘Do you...’ A smile spreads across her face, lighting up her eyes. ‘Do you have book 5 with you?’

‘I thought,’ says Spock, ‘that since you will be trapped here for at least a day longer, you might appreciate...’ He stops. ‘That you might appreciate my reading it to you.’

No matter how utterly illogical he finds said works of fiction.

‘You hate those books,’ Nyota says, her smile growing further.

‘Perhaps I may discover what you find so appealing about them.’ Unlikely, but one cannot call anything truly impossible until it has been tested.

‘Charmer,’ Nyota says fondly. She snuggles deeper into her bed, waving her hand. ‘I’m listening.’

So, Spock begins.

Jim walks back into Sickbay—after checking on all the other members of the reinforcement team, talking to Giotto about the three casualties (and wasn’t that a throat-punch), and popping into his quarters to change and take the migraine relief hypospray he keeps loaded in there—to discover three things.

Bones has both been to surgery and come out, arm in an osteo-regenerator, leg under a dermal regenerator. Nyota and Spock are together, Spock’s reading to her out of a book that does not—in any way—sound like Spock’s kind of book. And Neko’s eyeing him from her position beside Hoshi, Eda in a chair beside her. Right. He has that to deal with.

Even though he wants to go right over to Bones’s side, he doesn’t. He heads towards Neko, stopping at the foot of Hoshi’s bed. ‘Captain Neko.’.

Neko eyes him. ‘Captain Kirk.’

‘Your man is cured, I assume?’

‘…Yes.’

‘Have you and Eda been checked out?’

‘Eda has,’ Neko confirms. She moves her gaze from him to Spock and Nyota—who’ve paused in their reading to eavesdrop—then to Bones, who’s sedated, before going back to Jim. ‘Right,’ she says, straightening and aiming a glare at him. ‘We all know where this is going. Quit screwing around and arrest me already.’

‘Who said we’re arresting you?’ Jim asks, raising an eyebrow—honestly, he hasn’t made up his mind on that yet. He’s mad as hell about her making him leave Bones behind but, well, he hasn’t decided yet.

‘I’m not an idiot, Kirk.’ Neko rolls her eyes. ‘I know damn well you know I’m wanted in the Federation.’

Jim tilts his head. This, he is aware of, though so much has happened since Spock told him that the information’s lost its importance. ‘That’s true. It’s Starfleet regulation for me to put you in the brig and bring you to face Federation justice.’

That, of course, does not mean that he will do that. Jim’s never been one for regulations. It doesn’t mean he won’t either.

Neko, however, has made her own decision. Flicking a glance at the sleeping Hoshi and brushing a hand over Eda’s tight dark curls, her shoulders slump. ‘I’ll go peacefully,’ she says, showing her teeth in a not-quite-smile.

‘Captain!’ Eda protests.

Neko ignores her. ‘As long as Hoshi and Eda stay here. Hoshi’s sick and Eda’s only a child. Agreed?’

Silence. Eda looks between them, eyes wide.

Jim sighs. ‘Agreed. I’ll call Security.’

At this, Neko rolls her eyes. ‘Show me the way yourself, Kirk. Come on.’

With that, she strides towards the Sickbay doors. Jim’s left with little choice but to hurry after her. He catches up as the doors slide open and keeps up the pace, all the way to the brig.

Displaying all the confidence of a conquering emperor, Neko steps inside the empty cell and turns, arms folded over her chest. She raises an eyebrow at Jim. ‘Well?’

This feels distinctly like he’s not the one in charge here. Jim glances at the Security officer on duty—Lieutenant Nguyen, who meets his gaze with a confused eyebrow raise—and back to Neko. ‘Well,’ he says, reaching out and shutting the cell, ‘I’ll…be back. Soon.’

Dropping onto the bed and lying back, Neko waves a lazy hand. ‘I don’t care.’

Jim coughs, sensing Nguyen’s gaze on him. He straightens his back. ‘Right. Keep an eye on her, Nguyen,’ he says, before he makes good his escape.

Chapter Text

Her hands are warm.

They’re hers again, she can feel them—control them. A buzzing electricity runs underneath her skin, building, building.

Gaila opens her eyes, snapping upright. With shaking hands, she tears at the thin material of her gown. Bandages block her view and she swears, ripping at them.

‘...Gaila, Gaila!’ Nyota’s voice filters through the mist that’s enveloped her. ‘Gaila, stop it! You’re going to hurt yourself!’

She’ll hurt Nyota. There’s something inside of her, she can’t get it out, she has to get it out.

‘Gaila?’ Nyota repeats. She’s leaning over, in the bed next to Gaila’s, reaching out for Gaila.

This time, Gaila jumps back, falling from the bed. Nyota cries her name in alarm as Gaila digs her nails under the bandages and tears them off, revealing shallow cuts—far shallower than they were, she’s sure of it, what’s...

‘Lieutenant.’ The voice is sharp, commanding, snapping her attention to the speaker. Spock stands beside Nyota’s bed, eyes fixed on Gaila. ‘You are well,’ he says firmly. ‘Do not do yourself harm. The infection has been cleared.’

‘It’s...what?’ Gaila stammers out.

‘It has been cleared. You are no longer in danger nor are you a danger.’ Spock’s voice is measured and logical. He takes several steps towards her.

Beyond him, several nurses are hovering in the periphery. She’s in Sickbay, she realises abruptly. Spock crouches in front of her, meeting her gaze. ‘I promise you, Lieutenant,’ he says. ‘You are not a danger to anyone. Please, allow me to help you back into bed.’

Gaila stares at him. ‘I’m not? I...’

‘There was a foreign entity attempting to take over your body,’ Spock says. ‘You were not alone in this, both Lieutenant Elsha and Mr...Hoshi were infected too. We have rid you all of it. You are well.’

‘I’m not going to hurt anyone?’ Gaila asks, scarcely daring to believe it. She remembers, vividly, the sensation of burning in her veins, of her emotions and thoughts going out of control, of her body acting without her conscious choice. ‘I’m...’

‘You’re okay, G,’ Nyota says from above. She’s leaning off her bed, a slight wince on her face.

Gaila leaps to her feet, gripping the bed hard when a wave of dizziness washes over her and pain explodes across her chest and legs. ‘Nyota, you’re...’

‘I’m okay,’ Nyota reassures her. ‘Knocked my foot.’ She gestures down at where her leg is encased in an osteo-regenerator. ‘It’s healing me up.’

Gaila sinks down onto Nyota’s bed, trembling violently. ‘Nyota,’ she breathes.

Nyota grasps Gaila’s hands tight.

Distantly, Gaila hears footsteps and, when she glances around, Spock has gone over to the nurses and is quietly talking to them. They disperse back to their duties and he sends one brief glance back at Nyota and Gaila, before leaving Sickbay altogether.

‘Sorry,’ Gaila says, turning back to Nyota. ‘Drove your boyfriend away.’

‘Don’t be stupid,’ Nyota says, squeezing Gaila’s hands tighter. ‘Though you should be sorry for one thing.’

‘What’s that?’

Nyota’s eyes flash. ‘That stupid stunt you pulled in those tunnels, that’s what.’

Oh. That. ‘You tried to make me to leave you first!’ Gaila protests.

‘Yeah, because I was injured and slowing you down! You were fine, you would’ve made it! Instead you...’ Nyota cuts herself off, choking. She releases one of Gaila’s hands and rubs hard at her eyes. ‘I thought you were dead, Gaila. I thought...I didn’t...’

Instinctively, Gaila pulls her hand free and hugs Nyota tight to her chest. ‘I would never have left you behind, stupid,’ she says softly. ‘And you wouldn’t have. That’s why I had to make you.’

‘You could’ve died, G.’

‘So could you.’

Nyota squeezes her tighter. ‘Don’t ever do that to me again, G. I couldn’t...I can’t bear to lose you. Not again.’

‘I’ll try. Promise.’

And Gaila means it, even though she knows, deep in her heart, that if placed in the same situation again, she’d do exactly the same thing. Nyota must realise that too. She doesn’t point it out. Instead, she pulls back and regains hold of Gaila’s hands. ‘Guess what?’ she says with forced cheer.

Gaila raises an eyebrow, deciding to play along. ‘What?’

‘Spock’s been reading to me,’ Nyota says with a grin.

‘Ah. Pair of nerds.’

‘And,’ Nyota goes on, ignoring the interruption. ‘Guess what book series it was. Quest for the Kalian Crown!’

Gaila stares. ‘No way.’

‘Yes!’ Nyota grins wide, her fake-cheer becoming genuine. ‘He’s been reading to me for a few hours.’

‘Is he liking it?’ Gaila asks, genuinely fascinated. Spock hates Nyota’s adventure novels. It’s the one thing they’ve never been able to agree on.

Nyota scrunches up her nose. ‘I don’t know. He keeps interrupting himself to complain about how illogical it is.’

‘That means he’s enjoying it,’ Gaila says confidently. ‘I’m sure it does. He just won’t admit it.’

That makes Nyota laugh out loud. ‘Maybe,’ she says. She goes to say something more, only to be interrupted by a noise from the next bed over from Gaila’s.

Elsha’s waking up.

Stiffly, Gaila climbs off Nyota’s bed, hobbling over to Elsha’s side in time for Elsha’s eyes to open in panic. Before she can do anything, Gaila gently presses her into the bed, repeating reassurances as she does so. It takes a few seconds for Elsha to process what Gaila’s saying. Eventually, the words penetrate and Elsha slumps back, her face several shades paler.

‘It’s gone,’ she breathes.

‘It’s gone,’ Gaila confirms.

Elsha chokes on a sob, one hand going to cover her eyes. ‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t...I’m sorry.’

Now that Elsha’s calm, Gaila relinquishes her grip, opting to sit on her own bed, facing Elsha. ‘Hey,’ she says. ‘You’re reacting better than I did.’

‘I still shouldn’t...’ Elsha draws in a sharp breath, gritting her teeth, quelling her tears.

Gaila makes an aborted attempt at comfort, almost reaching out before dropping her hands back into her lap. She’s not super familiar with Elsha and—from what she knows—Elsha’s not one for physical contact, under most circumstances. Gaila glances back at Nyota, who’s worrying at her lip with her teeth, and back at Elsha. ‘How are you feeling?’ she asks. ‘I feel like crap. It’s like all my muscles’ve been stretched out and put back.’

Elsha slowly releases her breath, gaze flicking over to Gaila. ‘Yeah, that’s about right.’

‘I’ll call a nurse, see about painkillers,’ Gaila says, rising from her seat.

‘No!’ Elsha says hurriedly. She stops and settles herself before continuing. ‘Well, if you want some, obviously that’s fine. I don’t need anything. I can handle it.’

‘You don’t have to handle it,’ Gaila points out.

Elsha snorts. ‘Didn’t handle much else, did I?’ she mutters, before apparently realising she said that out loud. ‘I didn’t mean that. Ignore me.’

Gaila doesn’t comment. She doesn’t forget it either. She files the comment at the back of her mind, with a note to tell Jim. He needs to talk to her.

As if summoned by her thoughts alone, that’s when Jim opts to stride into the Sickbay. He’s dressed in a fresh uniform, face black-and-blue along one side, like someone used his face to mop up a grape juice spillage. Gaila giggles to herself at the mental image.

When his gaze lands on Gaila and Elsha—the latter of whom struggles to sit up at the attention—Jim’s face lights up. ‘You’re awake!’ he says, hurrying over. ‘I thought you should be waking up soon. How’re you doing?’

‘Sore,’ Gaila says. ‘But better than I was.’ She gives him a bright smile. ‘I see you’ve been used as a punching bag again.’

Jim gives a heavy aggrieved sigh. ‘Alas, I’m so compelling, my face so beautiful. People get the overwhelming urge to punch it, just to try and diminish its power.’

‘Yes, I’m sure that’s the reason,’ Gaila says, grinning.

Jim grins back, taking a few steps forward and wrapping her in a brief hug and softly kissing her forehead. ‘Glad you’re okay, G,’ he says, pulling back and turning his attention to Elsha. ‘What about you, Elsha? We were all worried.’

Elsha stares at her hands. ‘I’m fine. Thank you, sir,’ she says quietly.

Jim eyes her, then Gaila, raising an eyebrow.

Gaila brushes her fingers through her hair, before tapping the right of her chest. Feeling guilty.

Jim’s eyes narrow. Talk later, he signs back, brushing his lips with the back of his hand.

Gaila accepts that and glances over at the third of their infected trio, taking a good look for the first time. He’s a fellow Orion, she notes, no small amount of anxiety rising at the realisation. It isn’t that she hates her people—not by any means—but out here in space, any Orions she encounters have a high likelihood of being connected to the Syndicates. She straightens her back, refusing to be cowed. She is free and she will remain free.

‘Who’s he?’ she asks.

‘His name is Hoshi,’ Jim says. ‘We met a pirate crew on board, he’s one of the few survivors. The others are the captain—who’s in the brig—and a little girl, who’s...somewhere around here.’ He frowns. ‘I hope we haven’t lost her.’

‘A little girl?’ Gaila asks.

Jim hums. ‘She’s Orion too. She’s an escaped slave too—she had the scars. Think she was a cabin girl or something on board the ship.’

‘They didn’t own her?’

Jim pauses. ‘I doubt it. She was too comfortable with them. They didn’t scare her. If I had to guess, I’d say they’d freed her.’

Gaila takes that in with a frown. Interesting. ‘She’s not here?’

‘She was,’ Jim says. ‘She was sitting next to Hoshi when I took her captain to the brig. I’m not sure where she’s gone.’

Gaila processes that. She turns back to the slumbering Hoshi. His forehead creases—he’s waking up too. It’s slow going. After considering for a moment, realisation dawns. ‘I know,’ she says, climbing slowly off her bed. Jim hovers by her side as she hobbles over to Hoshi. He doesn’t interfere. She reaches the bed and plops herself down on the floor next to it, smiling brightly.

Sure enough, curled up under the bed with her knees hugged to her chest, is a little Orion girl. Her dark eyes stare at Gaila over her thin little kneecaps. She doesn’t move or acknowledge Gaila in any way.

Gaila reaches up and brushes her nose with her left thumb. Hello.

The little girl starts, eyes flicking to Jim who’s behind her, and back to Gaila. She repeats the gesture back tentatively.

‘Eda,’ Jim says, relieved. ‘There you are. I was wondering where you were.’

The girl—Eda—shrinks in on herself. ‘You took Captain Neko away. Why did you do that?’

Gaila and Jim exchange glances. ‘Well,’ Jim says slowly. ‘She’s committed a lot of crimes in the Federation. She knew that, that’s why she said all she did.’

‘She’s not bad,’ Eda whispers. ‘She’s nice to me.’

‘I know,’ Jim says. ‘But she’s done bad stuff, kiddo.’

‘What’ll happen to me if she’s gone?’

Jim draws in a breath. ‘You’ll be safe. We’ll sort it all out, I promise.’

Eda peeks out at him distrustfully.

Gaila leans forward, smiling. ‘Hey,’ she says. ‘I’m Gaila, no clan. Your name’s Eda, right?’

Those dark eyes focus on her. Eda hums an affirmative.

‘Do you want to play a game?’ Gaila suggests. ‘I know all sorts of games.’

‘...Can we play Peeko?’ Eda asks, referring to a common Orion childhood game. You begin with a word and take turns coming up with the next, until you put together the world’s silliest story.

‘Of course we can,’ Gaila says. There’s a faint moan up on the bed. Gaila smiles. ‘Your friend’s waking up. Shall we see if he wants to play?’

Eda’s eyes widen. Smiling, she crawls forward and out from under the bed. Gaila helps her up onto the bed, settling her by Hoshi’s feet.

‘Be gentle,’ she cautions. ‘He’s not well.’

Eda nods seriously and not-very-gently tries to wake Hoshi up. With a fond shake of her head, Gaila glances at Jim who’s risen to his feet too. ‘I’ll take care of her,’ she says softly. ‘Don’t worry too much.’

Jim glances at her and smiles. ‘I’m sure she’ll be fine with you. Don’t forget to rest yourself.’

Gaila waves him off. ‘Shoo. Go sort that face of yours out.’

‘Rude,’ Jim says, but he goes.

Dreamlessness slips into long bloody corridors and screaming, Dara’s head poking out of a monstrous chest and King’s blood-dripping hair worn on its head like a trophy, Bako collapsing dead and a disruptor blast blowing a hole clean through Solara’s body as she slumps back onto Leonard—Hexilius holds the disruptor, his grin all-consuming and Leonard can’t breathe…

He was out, he was free, he’s sure he was, but he’s not—he’s back, he’s trapped.

‘Doctor? Doctor McCoy? Leonard, you must wake up.’

The voice is familiar. He can’t put a name to it. All around him is darkness and blood.

‘Sir,’ another voice joins in—younger, also familiar. ‘Sir, this is Nurse Diego Santana. You are in Sickbay on the Enterprise, sir. You are safe, I promise.’

Santana. Diego.

Dara’s dead eyes are staring, as a giant mutilated hand reaches out for him.

‘Leonard, what you are seeing is not real,’ the other voice says—Spock, it’s Spock. A cool hand brushes his, sending a flood of calm and security through him—a beacon for Leonard to focus on, drawn towards. ‘Return. You must awaken.’

You are safe, I swear it. The words aren’t said aloud. Leonard hears them all the same, impressed deep upon his mind, more like a vow than a reassurance.

White engulfs him when he peels open his eyes—the comforting blinding light of the Enterprise. Spock’s to his right, leaning over him. Behind him, Nyota’s gripping the side of her biobed with blood-drained knuckles.

And to his left is Santana.

He looks tired, worn, pale eyes surrounded by dark circles and face red and puffy. His uniform is slightly askew, his hair sticking up.

‘Sir!’ Despite his appearance, a genuine smile spreads across Santana’s face when he realises Leonard’s awake. ‘Are you alright, sir? You were having trouble coming out from under the anaesthetic, you must’ve slipped into real sleep after the drug cleared.’

Guilt slithers up Leonard’s throat, slimy and nauseating. ‘Yes, I’m…I’m fine. Thank you, Santana.’

Distantly, Leonard realises that his left eardrum’s been healed. Santana’s voice is painfully clear, not muffled in the least.

At his words, Santana’s smile brightens—though a deep sadness lurks behind his eyes, tinting everything. ‘I’m glad. The Captain will be back soon. He needed treatment.’ Santana glances at Spock—who’s returned his attention to Nyota, trying to pretend he’s not listening in on the conversation behind him—and leans closer to Leonard. ‘We haven’t managed to convince the Commander to do the same, he’s being stubborn,’ he whispers conspiratorially.

A giggle comes from Nyota. Spock’s back straightens. ‘I will go when the Captain returns,’ Spock says stiffly. ‘Not before.’

Santana looks meaningfully at Leonard.

Leonard shifts in place, wincing when he knocks his arm. It’s not in an osteo-regenerator—presumably the first cycle must’ve finished, there’ll be more to come—instead, it’s wrapped in a cast and sling. ‘How’s Jim?’

‘Bruises,’ Santana says. ‘Nothing to worry about.’

‘Good.’

Silence takes over. Spock and Nyota are quietly talking—giving them a degree of privacy. Santana runs a hand through his hair, making it stick up further, his gaze dropping to stare at the bed, his smile gone.

Dara’s eyes are staring at him from over Santana’s shoulder. Leonard sucks in a breath. ‘I’m sorry, Santana,’ he says before he can reconsider.

Santana sits up straighter, meeting his eyes. ‘Sir?’

‘I tried to save her.’ The words are inadequate. Dara’s eyes stare at him, blame him. King’s hand is warm, nails digging into Leonard’s wrist, pulling on his shoulder. ‘I tried to save them both. I’m so sorry.’

Santana’s lips tremble. He stares at the biobed, running a hand over his face. ‘I know, sir,’ he says—voice barely above a whisper. ‘You did all you could.’

Did he? It doesn’t feel like he did.

‘I’m really glad you’re okay, sir,’ Santana goes on—giving him a weak smile.

Leonard’s chest constricts. He has no words to say. No words will bring back Lucy Dara or Fabian King—or Axel Manheim, for that matter. He reaches out and squeeze Santana’s hand. ‘You don’t need to be on shift right now, Diego.’

Santana shakes his head. ‘I want to be, sir,’ he says. ‘If I went off, I’d be thinking about it. I want to be doing something.’

That, Leonard understands. He doesn’t argue.

Santana soon disappears, heading out to do inventory—a good job for distracting yourself. Leonard stays there, staring up at the ceiling.

He glances to the side. Gaila’s sitting with the little girl from the shuttle—Leonard has no idea where she came from—and playing a game. A taller Orion man is eyeing Gaila suspiciously; Leonard recognises him as one of the pirates.

Nyota and Spock are still talking. There’s no sign of Captain Neko.

When he asks, Spock says she’s in the brig. This draws amusement from Nyota—Leonard’s not sure what he’s missing, but he’s missing something.

Most importantly, however, Leonard knows what he needs to do. Under the guise of going to the Sickbay restroom, he pinches another anti-grav chair and sneaks out of Sickbay. This, he acknowledges, is hypocritical given how much he complains about Jim and Spock doing exactly this, but at least he’s being smooth about it.

Besides, he needs to do this.

Down a few floors in the turbo-lift, he comes out and heads down several corridors until reaching the brig. He hovers out of sight—doubt getting the better of him for a second—before he grinds his teeth and manoeuvres himself out into the open.

The Security officer—Shaka, a Bolian who joined at Yorktown—eyes him cautiously. ‘Doctor,’ she says. ‘Is everything alright?’

‘Yeah,’ Leonard says, ‘I just…can I talk to her?’

Shaka blinks, pointing over her shoulder. ‘Her? The pirate captain?’

‘Yes, the pirate captain.’ Leonard restrains the urge to snap. It’s not her fault he’s tired and in pain—or that he decided, damn it all, he’d come out here and visit Neko anyway. ‘Please, Shaka.’

Shaka tilts her head to the side. ‘Okay,’ she says finally. ‘Don’t get too close, sir.’

Leonard waves her away, pushing forward until he’s in front of the transparent barrier between Neko’s cell and the rest of the ship. ‘Captain,’ he says.

Neko’s lying on her bed, one arm covering her eyes. ‘What?’ she asks shortly.

Leonard draws in a breath and lets it out. ‘I wanted to say I’m sorry about your crewmates. About Solara.’

Neko sits up. Her dark eyes are focused on him, trapping him in place. ‘What happened to her? The real story, not the load of dung Hexilius tried to sell me.’

‘Where is he?’ Leonard asks. He hasn’t seen his tormentor at any point, but Hexilius had been with them when they fled the gardens.

A cold, mirthless smile takes over Neko’s face. ‘He tried to sell me a load of dung,’ she reiterates—the implication obvious.

Leonard swallows hard. He suspected as much. Honestly, he’s not sure how he feels about it. Death isn’t something he ever celebrates but it’s hard not to be relieved, knowing that Hexilius will never hurt him or anyone else ever again. He curls his uninjured hand around the arm of his anti-grav chair, tightening his grip, using the rough material to ground himself. And—with stumbling words that come from someone other than him, like he’s not party to any of this—he tells Neko the story of Solara’s final stand and Roguv and Dara’s deaths to the monster.

Neko stays quiet until the end. She does not interrupt or move a muscle. Her eyes do not move from Leonard. When he finishes, she breathes in and out—a slow methodical movement.

‘I’m sorry, Neko,’ Leonard says quietly. Something hurts inside of him, something cold and afraid and lost. ‘I didn’t…they were good people. Your first mate and Crush and Carai. I…I’m honoured to have met them. I’m sorry I couldn’t save them. I’m sorry I couldn’t save Roguv either.’

Neko doesn’t say anything at first. She watches him, unmoving, taking in his words. Finally, she breathes. ‘Thank you, Doctor,’ she says. ‘And, for what it is worth, Solara was correct. I would not have approved of what they did, to the infected or to you. I assure you that those who did it have paid with their lives.’

This shouldn’t be a relief. It is, all the same.

Wordless, Leonard nods and Neko—apparently deciding the discussion is over—lies back down, arm back over her eyes. Leonard waits a moment more before he turns his anti-grav chair around and heads back towards Sickbay, giving a smile of thanks to Shaka on the way out.

He doesn’t make it more than three corridors away from the brig before a frantic—except not, because that’s an emotion, how dare—Vulcan descends upon him.

‘Doctor McCoy!’ Spock’s voice is tight, barely controlled. ‘Where have you been? You were not supposed to leave Sickbay yet!’

Leonard eyes him. ‘You aren’t worrying about me, are you, Spock?’

Spock draws himself up, eyes narrowing. ‘I do not worry,’ he lies—though, of course, he claims Vulcans don’t lie either and that, itself, is definitely a lie. ‘You disappeared from Sickbay. Jim and Nurse Chapel were concerned.’

‘Yeah, well, I’m good. There was something I needed to do.’

Spock looks at him, then in the direction Leonard came from. ‘You went to visit Captain Neko?’ he asks, eyebrows drawing together. ‘What for?’

‘I needed to talk to her. About what happened. Back on the station.’ Leonard doesn’t want to talk about it. Reliving it to tell Neko was bad enough—he never wants to think about that storage room ever again.

Spock’s expression softens—only a touch, enough for Leonard to spot it. ‘I see,’ Spock says after a moment. ‘Are you well?’

If that isn’t a loaded question. ‘I’m…well enough.’

‘…Very good.’ Spock stops for a second, before setting his shoulders. ‘There is something I have been meaning to say. I owe you an apology, Doctor McCoy.’

Oh. This again. ‘For crying out loud, Spock, I don’t blame you for leaving me behind,’ Leonard snaps. ‘I wanted you to do that.’   

Spock remains immovable. ‘I made a grievous error, one that did you immense harm. In making the decision that I did, I allowed the situation to overrule my rational thought and neglected to consider all possible options, thus willingly abandoning you to what I believed was your torture and death. In this way, I failed as both a Starfleet Officer and as a Vulcan. I offer you an apology for this and—’

‘Whoa, whoa, Spock!’ Leonard interrupts. His head aches—he’s too damn tired for this. ‘I told you, I don’t blame you! It was me or Elsha and I’d’ve killed you for choosing me.’

A muscle twitches in Spock’s jaw. ‘It was not the only option, Doctor. I should have nerve-pinched Elsha, thus freeing myself to save both of you. My irrationality resulted in my forgetting this simple face and making a choice that could have killed you.’

Leonard stops at that. The nerve-pinch has never occurred to him. Could Spock have saved them both? Made it so Leonard would never have to experience the sensation of dead cannibalised flesh around his throat, the terror of believing wholly that he was about to be eaten alive with no way out? ‘Maybe,’ he allows. ‘That might’ve worked. But there’s no way of knowing for sure.’

‘I nerve-pinched her after. It worked.’

Leonard rolls his eyes. ‘I didn’t mean that. Sure, knocking her out might’ve helped but it doesn’t mean you could’ve saved me. What would you have done? Abandoned her helpless body while you came for me?’

Spock raises an eyebrow. ‘As you are aware, I am significantly stronger than a Human. I would not have had to leave her behind.’

‘And you might’ve gotten all three of us killed,’ Leonard points out.

‘An acceptable risk.’

‘Not to me!’ Leonard snaps. ‘I’m here and I’m alive. Isn’t that all that matters? Maybe you could’ve saved me, but in the end, it doesn’t change anything. Either way, I made it out.’ Spock opens his mouth to say something more. Leonard hurries on before he can. ‘Look, if you need me to say it, I forgive you. It wasn’t your fault but I forgive you anyway. Idiot.’

This makes Spock stop short, at a loss for words—an unusual state of affairs for Spock. ‘In that case,’ he says finally, ‘I will not do you the dishonour of refusing it. Thank you, Doctor.’ He presses a hand to his heart and bows his head. ‘I will not fail you again.’

This is about as good as Leonard’s going to get. ‘Right, well, I guess I should probably go face Jim and Christine.’

An annoyingly smug smile takes over Spock’s face. ‘Indeed. This will be entertaining.’

‘Oh, go suck on a carrot, Spock.’

Nyota drums her fingers nervously on her blanket. She can’t believe Leonard snuck out—for the second time, apparently! It’s thoroughly out-of-character and deeply concerning.

A warm hand takes hers. Gaila clambers up onto the biobed next to her—careful not to nudge Nyota’s leg, which is presently free of osteo-regenerators though that won’t last. ‘You worry too much,’ Gaila tells her. ‘He’s fine.’

‘Why would he wander off like that?’ Nyota worries at her bottom lip, eyes fixed on the Sickbay doors.

‘Maybe he was sick of being in here,’ Gaila says with a shrug. ‘I definitely am.’

‘You’ve been awake three hours.’

‘And I’m already sick of it. What does that tell you?’

‘That we blasted you with way too much solar light?’

Gaila grins wider, flopping across Nyota’s lap. ‘Perhaps. I feel great!’

Nyota rolls her eyes. ‘Hurray for you.’

‘And also terrible,’ Gaila continues, ignoring her. ‘But amazing at the same time. It’s weird. Everything hurts and I’ve also never felt more alive.’

‘You’re high on sunbeams,’ Nyota says. ‘Now go photosynthesize somewhere else. I want my lap back.’

‘Nah.’ Gaila lolls in place, grinning up at her. ‘I’m comfy here.’

Nyota heaves a heavy sigh. Her fingers find Gaila’s hair and start playing with it. ‘You’re unbelievably annoying.’

Gaila hums, curling into her. Unable to keep the smile from tugging at her lips, Nyota shifts so they’re both more comfortable.

Loud bickering announces Leonard and Spock before they appear. The Sickbay doors slide open for the pair to walk—or hover, in Leonard’s case—in, arguing for all their worth. No Jim—they can’t’ve met up with him yet.

‘Len!’ Nyota sits up straight. ‘Where did you go?’

‘Out for an ill-advised visit with our prisoner,’ says Spock dryly.

Nyota blinks at that. ‘Oh?’

Leonard rolls his eyes, as he heads back over to his biobed. Spock’s close behind him. ‘I wanted to talk to her, that’s all. It’s nothing.’

He goes to lever himself onto the biobed—thankfully halted when he tries to use his broken arm by Spock sweeping in and lifting him with little effort. Leonard immediately squawks, hitting him on the head. Spock is unaffected by this. He gently puts Leonard down on the biobed.

Once Leonard’s down, Spock grabs the anti-grav chair—picking it up, even though he could, by all rights, have pushed it. ‘I shall be locking this up.’

Leonard kicks him. This does not concern Spock in the last. Ignoring Leonard, he strides off, carrying the—heavy—anti-grav chair as if it’s nothing, muscles not even straining.

‘My, look at him go,’ Gaila says, leaning on one elbow. ‘What a guy.’

‘He’s something, alright.’ Leonard scowls, sliding under the covers and sinking into his pillow with evident relief. ‘Where’s—?’

‘Jim?’ Nyota interrupts. ‘Searching the ship for you.’

Of course, this is when Jim races back into the Sickbay, pink with exertion.

‘Never mind,’ Nyota says. ‘He’s right there.’

‘Did Bones come back here?’ Jim asks, oblivious to the Leonard in the room. ‘I checked his quarters and he’s not there, where else would he go? I don’t…’ He trails off, gaze landing on Leonard.

One second of staring. Two seconds.

‘Hey,’ Leonard says.

Jim’s face lights up. ‘Bones!’ He’s across the floor and beside Leonard’s biobed before Nyota processes him moving. ‘There you are, we’ve been looking all over for you!’ He stops, expression morphing into a glare. ‘By the way, you have officially lost all rights to complain about me as a patient.’

Leonard opens his mouth to respond. Before he can, Spock re-enters the room, stopping short when he notices Jim’s back.

Nyota frowns.

The peculiar tension ramps up when Jim realises he’s there, tensing and greeting him with a nod. It isn’t that Jim’s glaring or actively unfriendly, there’s just a coolness to him—a chill passing between them both.

It’s not right. Once, Nyota’d never imagined Jim getting on with Spock—in the Academy, they were two separate social spheres of hers for a reason. Now, it’s equally as incomprehensible for them to be at odds. More so, at odds and not even arguing about it.

‘Captain,’ Spock greets him. ‘As you see, Doctor McCoy has returned safely. I will go tell Nurse Chapel that he has been located.’

With that—to Nyota, not subtle—excuse, Spock speed-walks out of Sickbay.

A muscle twitches in Jim’s jaw.

Leonard groans, pushing himself up to sit against his pillow. ‘You’re not seriously still mad at Spock, are you?’

‘What?’ Nyota looks between them.

Gaila pushes up onto her elbows. ‘You guys are fighting? What’s wrong?’

Jim breathes through his clenched teeth, slowly relaxing his jaw. The tension remains. ‘I’m not mad at him,’ he says. ‘I’m just…’ He stops and sighs. ‘Bones, you know what he did.’

‘He did what I wanted him to do, Jim.’

‘Oh, you’re a self-sacrificing idiot, we’re all aware of that,’ Jim snaps. ‘That’s not a reason to listen to you!’

‘What happened?’ Nyota says, as Gaila sits up properly. ‘Len? What did Spock do?’

Leonard sighs, running his uninjured hand through his hair. ‘It doesn’t matter. It was the right decision.’

‘Bones, he left you!’ Jim’s words—sharp and loud—cut through the air, leaving an aching silence in their wake.

Nyota’s throat closes.

Beside her, Gaila leans forward. ‘What’d you mean left him?’ she demands, voice lowering.

Leonard groans. ‘It’s not what it sounds like. It was an impossible situation, Gaila. Elsha was infected and Spock had hold of her. I was in the…’ he draws in a breath, ‘that thing’s grip, and Spock couldn’t save us both. So he saved her, like I wanted him to and like I know—if Jim would get his damn head out of his ass—he’d’ve wanted too!’

Understanding dawns—the memory of Gaila, tearing herself out of their grasp and running after her attempted murderer, echoes through Nyota’s mind. Her chest hurts; one hand presses to her mouth.

Gaila’s skin has paled several shades. She sinks back into Nyota, trembling. ‘I don’t…’

‘It’s not that simple,’ Jim snaps. ‘It’s…’

‘It is that simple!’

‘He admitted himself there was more he could’ve done!’

‘That’s not…’ Leonard’s words are cut off by a cry of pain as he tries—and fails—to shove himself upright.

This has the dual result of making both Jim and Gaila leap forward—Gaila promptly falling off the bed in her hurry. Jim presses Leonard back—sending a brief worried glance at Gaila, who has bounced back up, unperturbed—whilst rambling a mile a minute. ‘D’you need painkillers? I should find Chapel, right? Damn it, we shouldn’t be talking about this, you’re not well. I’ll get Chapel, you need painkillers.’

Leonard shoves him. ‘Chapel’s not here, idiot! I’m fine. No need to bother anyone, I’ll…’

‘I’ll fetch a nurse,’ Gaila says, jumping to her feet and—slowly—hobbling away.

Into the midst of all this chaos comes Elsha. Her hands are curled tight around her antenna, as she bows deeply to Jim and Leonard—in what Nyota realises with dread is the Andorian kalshtow, a symbolic gesture to acknowledge total dishonour and failure.

Jim stares at her, shaken. ‘Elsha?’ he says, glancing at Leonard and back at her. He pushes himself to his feet. ‘You shouldn’t be…’

Elsha speaks before he can come closer. ‘I have failed you, Captain. I did not do my duty and allowed myself to become an obstacle for you, rather than standing strong as a true Andorian warrior and Starfleet officer. I offer up no explanations, no defence, for this. I have dishonoured my clan and my home and I will accept any judgement you may impart.’

‘Elsha…’ Jim’s voice is gentle—heartbroken. ‘You didn’t do anything wrong, Lieutenant. I’m sorry that I made you believe you did. You…’

‘I was the problem,’ she insists, staying in her bow. ‘I should have…’

‘Elsha.’ Jim steps forward, hands on her shoulders. ‘It wasn’t your fault. You did nothing wrong, I promise. You haven’t dishonoured anyone.’

‘I allowed myself to become infected,’ Elsha says, ‘and failed to fight it off.’

‘You didn’t fail,’ Jim says, gently guiding her back up into a standing position. ‘I swear, Elsha, you didn’t fail me or anyone else. You did everything you could, and that’s all I ask.’ He runs a hand through his hair. ‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have been discussing this in front of you. I want to make one thing clear. At no point was I angry at Commander Spock for saving you. I wanted him to do that. I was angry that he failed to consider all possible options before abandoning McCoy. I wanted…I wanted him to try and save you both.’

‘But I…’

‘You did nothing wrong,’ Jim repeats. ‘You’ve been an exemplary Security officer. None of this is your fault.’

Elsha’s hands loosen from around her antenna. ‘I don’t…I’m…I’m sorry, sir. I tried…I didn’t…’ She cuts herself off with a sob.

Jim doesn’t hesitate to draw her into a hug. Like a litany, he repeats his words, tells her it wasn’t her fault, that he doesn’t blame her. He keeps on, even when Gaila returns with Nurse Wang and painkillers, even when Chapel arrives back.

Only when Elsha has fully cried herself out does he let her go, helping her back over to her biobed. It’s a sign of how exhausted Elsha is after her breakdown that she falls asleep not long afterwards.

Jim returns to Leonard’s side, face pale and drawn. He runs his hand through his hair. ‘I didn’t mean for her to hear any of that,’ he murmurs. ‘I should’ve…’ He trails off.

Nyota’d forgotten Elsha was there too, if she’s honest. ‘I think she needed it,’ she says.

Jim hums and slumps back into his seat with a sigh.

A few moments pass before Leonard shifts. ‘Jim,’ he says quietly. ‘I’m not saying that there weren’t other options, but he’s not infallible. He can get scared and forget things in the heat of the moment, being Vulcan doesn’t save him from that, especially not in such extreme circumstances. Maybe he could’ve saved both of us, but in the moment, he wasn’t sure and he had to save the one he could. You understand that.’

Jim sighs. ‘I get it,’ he says. ‘I do, I just….’ He runs a hand over his face. ‘I hate this.’

‘It’s definitely not been much fun,’ Gaila agrees, sitting on the arm of his chair and carding her fingers through his hair. He relaxes under her touch, leaning into her. ‘You know it isn’t really Spock’s fault, don’t you?’

‘…Yeah.’

‘And it’s not your fault either,’ Gaila continues, eerily perceptive as ever. ‘Not what happened to Len, not our crewmates’ deaths, none of it. Guilt won’t change any of it. We’re here and we’re alive. That’s all that matters.’

Silence takes over—a comfortable one. For a time, they all sit there, quiet.

It’s Leonard who breaks it. ‘You need to talk to Spock, Jim. You can’t be shutting him out. You need him and he needs you.’

Jim doesn’t answer for a moment. Finally, he nods. ‘I’ll talk to him.’

‘Good.’ Leonard sinks back into his pillow.

Nyota lies back too. Her leg’s aching after so long sitting up. She stares up at the beautiful white lit ceiling, letting herself take it in. She’ll never complain about it being over-lit again.

Her eyes slip closed and—to the soothing sound of Gaila quietly humming an old North Jushi Orion lullaby—she drifts off to sleep.

Chapter Text

The halls of the Enterprise are quiet this late. While daytime and nighttime have no real meaning on a starship, the simulated day-night cycles mean that most people—unless they have a night shift—fall instinctively into that same pattern. Anyone who isn’t working is in bed.

Where Jim should probably be.

It’s hard. Sleeping. Insomnia and nightmares have been his close companions for years, but it’s difficult to even reach that point when turning off the light makes you want to throw up. He’s been sneaking into Bones’s quarters most nights, since Bones was finally released from Sickbay a couple of days ago. Bones doesn’t mind. It helps them both to be near someone who’s breathing and alive. But, well, nothing can keep the dreams at bay forever.

It’s been over a week since the station. Neither Uhura nor Bones are back on duty yet—and for those of them that are, the station haunts every moment. Gaila’s flinching more than she has in years and has switched entirely to water showers—always set a little too hot, from what he’s heard from Nyota, who shares a bathroom with her. Elsha’s been going from shift to gym, in a constant loop, working herself to the bone. And Spock…well, he hasn’t talked to Spock much. Not because Jim’s mad at him, more because Spock’s been working nonstop and what little time he takes off work has been spent with Uhura.

Admittedly, Jim hasn’t tried all that hard either. He’s not sure what to say, how to say it. Part of him still struggles with the idea that Spock left Bones to die. It’s not Spock’s fault, but it’s remains a block in Jim’s mind. Any words vanish every time he tries to plan out what he’s going to say.

He sighs, speeding up his pace. For as much of a problem as that is, it’s not his goal tonight.

Tonight, he’s headed for the shuttle bay.

As he approaches, there’s faint quiet talking inside. Weird, since Jim not-so-subtly pulled any guards from the shuttle-bay and, thus, there should be no one in here.

Ah well. Such is life.

He slips in through a side-door that makes less noise than the main one, leaning on the wall. Ahead of him, Neko hisses orders at Hoshi, who hurries inside the shuttle—probably to prepare to take off. Eda’s holding a box full of provisions tightly, taking her job very seriously. Neko waves her inside, pausing to check around the bay for any guards.

Jim pushes himself off the wall. ‘Personally, I would’ve posted someone to keep an eye out from the side-door.’

Neko’s hand brushes her empty holster. ‘Captain Kirk,’ she greets tersely. She shifts in front of Eda. ‘I’m not going to let you take me to the Federation.’

‘I never expected you to,’ Jim says agreeably, strolling towards them.

He’s still angry with Neko for what she did but...he’s tired. And Eda needs someone to take care of her. There’s a reason the Security guards assigned to the brig were "mysteriously called away".

He has no interest in dragging her back to face justice. She’s hardly the worst criminal he’s ever met.

‘Supposedly,’ he says, as he reaches just outside arm-reach of Neko, ‘the nearest planet, Coxly, isn’t bad for someone who wants to disappear. The shipyard’s also great for alerting us if they spot one of our shuttles. If, perchance, someone was to leave one there, we’d recover it easily enough.’

Neko stares at him. ‘...Is that so?’

‘It is.’

Silence. Eda moves closer to Neko, eyeing Jim nervously. Neko continues to stare at him, expression blank. Finally, she tilts her head. ‘Why?’

She doesn’t elaborate. She doesn’t need to.

‘Because,’ Jim says, tilting his head towards Eda, ‘she thinks there’s something good in you. And a kid like that doesn’t trust easily.’

Neko takes that in, one hand going to brush Eda’s head. Eda’s pressed against Neko’s legs, peeking out at Jim with big eyes. ‘That’s why?’

‘That’s why. Don’t break that trust, Neko.’ Jim meets her gaze. ‘It’s worth a whole lot more than any number of credits.’

‘...I know,’ Neko says.

‘And that’s why too.’ Jim looks between her and Eda. Finally, he holds out a hand. ‘Goodbye, Neko.’

Neko eyes the hand. After a moment of contemplation, she takes it, her grip firm. ‘Goodbye, Kirk,’ she says. ‘I hope your doctor fully recovers. I truly didn’t want him to get hurt.’

‘I know,’ Jim says. And he does. He’s thought about it a lot. She might’ve stunned him but something tells him that was more about protecting Jim than it was anything else. And her first mate—her best friend it seems—defended Bones to the end. That says a great deal about them both. ‘Stay safe.’

‘You too.’

They shake hands and let go. Neko turns and clambers onboard the shuttle. Eda pauses, eyeing him. A second later, she darts forward, throwing her arms around Jim’s legs to give him a quick shy hug before she too hurries after her Captain. Jim watches the shuttle fire up and the bay-doors open. He already spoke to Sulu beforehand about opening them. Sulu didn’t understand but he didn’t argue either.

Soon, the shuttle disappears out into space and the doors close behind it. Jim is left standing alone in the shuttle-bay, in total silence.

Intending to leave, he turns and stops short. A shadow lurks near the side-door. The identity isn’t a mystery to Jim. It’s the person that he hasn’t properly talked to in days.

‘Hey, Spock,’ Jim says. ‘Fancy seeing you here.’

Spock steps out of the shadows. ‘Captain.’ He comes to stand next to Jim. ‘I saw the abnormal guard-shifts you ordered. It was...peculiar.’

Jim shrugs. ‘No point in making them stay. They’ve lost enough.’

Spock hums as he gazes at the bay doors, face motionless. ‘They will leave the shuttle at the shipyard?’

‘Should do.’

‘Good.’ Spock falls silent.

For a long few seconds, all Jim hears is them breathing.

‘I am truly sorry, Jim,’ Spock says finally. ‘My apologies cannot change what happened, but I am sorry for what I did.’

‘...I know,’ Jim says. ‘I’m sorry too, for lashing out at you like that. It wasn’t your fault.’

Spock’s eyes widen. ‘I made the decision...’

‘Under duress,’ Jim points out. ‘And, ultimately, both Elsha and Bones lived. That’s all that matters. If Bones doesn’t hold it against you, I won’t either.’

‘I...’

‘I forgive you,’ Jim interrupts. Spock goes silent, staring at him. ‘If that’s what you need me to say, there it is. I forgive you. I shouldn’t’ve responded like that, I just...’ He stops and sighs. ‘It’s Bones. I’m not the best at being objective about Bones.’

‘...The good doctor has a peculiar talent for that.’

Jim snorts. ‘I’m telling him you said that.’

‘Please do not, he will be insufferable.’

‘He’s always insufferable.’

Spock purses his lips. ‘He will be more insufferable.’

Jim laughs. A weight has been lifted off him. He hadn’t realised how much this weird stalemate with Spock was affecting him until now. ‘I’m definitely telling him you said that.’

‘...You are also insufferable.’

‘Oh, I already knew that,’ Jim says cheerily, as they both head towards the side-door. ‘I’m not sure why you’re only just realising this.’

‘I am not,’ Spock says. ‘It was clear from very early.’

That makes Jim laugh again. ‘I have to set expectations high,’ he says, as they reach the door. They step out into the corridor. ‘Hey Spock,’ Jim says. ‘Fancy a game of chess?’

Spock lets out an aggrieved sigh. ‘I suppose.’

Jim grins. ‘You love me really. Come on, let’s go.’