Title: A Matter of Size
Author: klmeri
Fandom: Star Trek TOS
Characters: Kirk, Spock, McCoy
Summary: Silly fic ensues; three instances of why size matters to the Enterprise crew.
A/N: A scene came to me out-of-the-blue last night where in Jim and McCoy saw something they didn’t like. I had to run with it, if only briefly.

#1

Doctor McCoy turned away from the table, the frame of his body shuddering. In any other instance, First Officer and now Acting Captain Spock would have presumed the human was inappropriately amused, but he suspected that today McCoy’s reaction was caused by genuine distress. This disturbed him; then again, every aspect of this situation disturbed him.

A tiny voice, which would sound like a high-pitched whine to the humans’ ears, was painfully shrill yet intelligible to Spock, courtesy of his Vulcan hearing. It came close to inspiring a rare migraine. He had deadened what he could of his pain receptors and hoped for the best, because if he did indeed develop a migraine, any medicine the doctor tried to give him would likely add to his physical discomfort rather than lessen it. Such an outcome was undesirable.

The other officers at the conference table, those who made up the command team aboard the Enterprise, each representing their respective departments, had expressions which ranged from disbelief to worry to slight panic. The cause of these emotions looked despondent as well, though it was difficult to tell Jim Kirk’s expression given his new—and unfortunate—stature.

Doctor McCoy muttered something, perhaps to hearten himself, and turned back around, looking Spock directly in the eyes. His voice still had a hint of strain to it. “You’re going to have to give us some direction on this one, Mr. Spock. What do we do?”

Spock scrutinized his commanding officer one final time. “I… will admit I am at a loss as to how to handle this situation, Doctor McCoy.”

“We can put ‘im back through the transporter. Try to trigger a reversal of… whatever it is that went wrong the first time,” suggested Mr. Scott.

Color drained from McCoy’s face. “You can’t be serious!”

It was a suggestion Spock had to agree with. “It may be only our option,” he informed the doctor, whose horrified expression did not diminish.

“The option could—could do worse to him, Spock! For god’s sake, he’s no bigger ‘n the size of a pen cap! If I can’t even register him on my tricorder, how’s a transporter gonna know what to make of him!”

Transporters were machines without cognitive capability. McCoy, with his current level of stress, Spock knew, would not appreciate him pointing this out.

The subject in question, one James T. Kirk who had previously been sitting (no doubt due to the shock of his unusual circumstances, the Vulcan hypothesized), clambered to his feet and demanded something with all the fierceness that a two-inch-tall person can. Kirk’s subordinates looked pained because they could not understand him.

Spock translated on their behalf, “The Captain wants to try the transporter.”

McCoy hunched down and looked at his captain, saying softly, “I’m against it, Jim. What if we lose you?”

Jim said something in response.

“Doctor, he wishes you to know that he understands your concern. He insists, however…” Spock looked at Jim for confirmation, and the minuscule man gave a nod. “…some risks are worth taking.”

Mr. Sulu offered tentatively, “The Captain’s right. We should try the transporter.”

A collective sigh ran around the room, and the remaining officers chimed in.

In the end, the CMO was out-voted. Spock thought no less of McCoy for holding to his belief against the odds. Were there some other safer route to restore Kirk to his rightful size, Spock too would have not wished to use the device. As it stood, like the incident which occurred with the alternate universe that mirrored their own, options remained limited. So it was decided they must recreate the conditions surrounding the initial transportation, and hope their gamble with their captain’s life paid off.

Spock did not particularly care to imagine what would happen if it did not.

#2

“What in tarnation is that?”

Next to Doctor McCoy, Captain Kirk craned his neck backwards and shook his head slowly as he looked at the array of enormous plants. “It’s not any kind of forest I’ve seen before. Spock?”

Spock twisted a knob on his tricorder to recalibrate its settings and rerun his tests. To confirm the results only took an extra three point six seconds. “They are graminoids.”

McCoy twisted at the waist to stare at the Vulcan. “What?”

The incredulity in his voice startled Kirk and caused him to look between Spock and McCoy. “And a graminoid is…?”

“Grass, Captain,” Spock supplied.

The doctor made a noise in the back of his throat. “You’re telling me we’re looking at blades of grass?”

“Affirmative.”

Kirk and McCoy shared a long look which Spock could not decipher. Kirk flipped open his communicator. “Kirk to Enterprise.”

“Enterprise here,” Engineer Scott’s voice came through. “Captain, is there a problem?”

“We hope not, Mr. Scott. Have Transporter Room One prepare to beam us aboard.”

“Aye, sir.”

Spock waited until the line of communication was closed. “Captain, may I inquire why we are returning to the Enterprise at this time?”

It was strange that Kirk continued to fiddle with the channels on his communicator, refusing to look directly at Spock. His voice held a line of tension. “If we beam aboard and all is well, you may return with a proper Science team to study the… graminoids, Mr. Spock.”

If ‘all is well’? And was the offer to expand the landing party with a ‘proper Science team’ meant to secure cooperation, to appease, or both?

Before Spock could press for further information, Doctor McCoy made his agreement known. “I’m with Jim on this one, Spock. Won’t do us no harm to make a quick return to the ship.” There was a notable nervous quality to McCoy’s voice.

“…I see,” Spock said slowly. “Doctor, Captain, evidently some element of this planet disturbs you, yet—”

The communicator chirped in the captain’s hand. “Sir, Transporter Room One is on standby.”

“Excellent,” Kirk said in a rush, both he and Doctor McCoy appearing greatly relieved, “three to beam aboard!”

“Aye, Capt’n.”

Spock experienced the tell-tale sensations of the transporter effect and any additional questions he might have asked were lost as his molecules dispersed and flew back towards the Enterprise. After he coalesced alongside the two humans on the transporter pad, he observed an unusual spectacle: Jim Kirk released a great sigh and sat heavily upon the edge of the deck; Leonard McCoy muttered a fervent thank you to his god and ran a medical tricorder over himself then over the back of the captain.

Spock shifted to give them the full measure of his regard, still unable to make sense of their relief—or what had upset them in the first place. Even with an initial glance, the planet fascinated him.

Kirk batted away McCoy’s tricorder and said, some humor having returned to his voice, “I think we’re okay, Bones.”

McCoy stepped off the transporter pad and settled beside his friend on its edge. “So, you going back down then?”

Kirk snuck a sidelong glance at Spock. Spock, recognizing a look of guilt when he saw it, offered not-unkindly, “The Captain’s presence is not required for an ecological study. And as I suspect it may take some time to catalogue the remarkable phenomena of this particular planet, his time would be more wisely spent aboard the Enterprise.”

Doctor McCoy seemed cheered by this news. “Well if you don’t need a captain, you don’t need a chief medical officer either!”

Spock lifted one eyebrow. “Your logic, as always, Doctor, is astoundingly circumventive.” He paused. “Captain, I recommend we do not alter the original landing party roster more than necessary—with the exception, of course, of the additional Science team.”

McCoy sputtered.

“Sorry, Bones,” the captain said, clapping a hand to the man’s bony shoulder, “Spock has a point.”

“A point, my sainted aunt! Jim, you double-crossing devil, I don’t want to be down there anymore than you do!”

But Kirk had already skipped to his feet and was hurrying towards the exit of the Transporter Room, signaling the technician at the control panel to proceed. Spock pretended not to notice the way McCoy kicked at the transporter’s set of steps with his boot as he trudged back into place on the pad.

There the man crossed his arms, expression grumpy. “Fine, let’s get this expedition over with.” He squinted one eye at the transporter tech in an odd but clearly unnerving fashion (at least to the young officer manning the controls), his other blue eye glaring his displeasure for all to see. “Make a note of this, Lieutenant, for the record: if I get eaten by a giant ant, it’ll be Commander Spock’s fault!”

The tech knew better than to deny the doctor his vengance, however pitable. “Yes, sir! Right away, sir!”

In that moment, Spock decided it would be reasonable to require readings from a higher vantage point upon the graminoid to round out his data. When they arrived on the planet’s surface, he would provide McCoy with a rope and harness from one of the kits they had left behind to complete the task, stating that until the other scientists arrived, he would be very appreciative of the human’s cooperation.

It was most amusing how McCoy generally seemed unable to refuse a request when Spock was extremely polite about it.

Three hours later, the expedition had proved to be more of an adventure than Spock originally anticipated. They were not consumed by giant ants. However the praying mantis which chased them through ‘somebody’s glorified lawn’, as Doctor McCoy phrased it, was another matter entirely. It apparently thought they looked tasty.

Gaze knowing, Jim remarked upon Spock and McCoy’s return to the ship (they were intact but dirtier they had been and covered in some kind of insect webbing), “Sometimes you just have to let others have all the fun.”

#3

“Have you ever considered that our catastrophes might be minor annoyances in comparison to somebody else’s problems?”

“Everything’s relative, Bones.” Jim tugged at the manacles encircling his wrists for the third time but they refused to budge. “Somehow I don’t think we rate as ‘minor annoyances’ to these pirates.”

Leonard un-bent a leg and, sighing, stretched out his painfully cramped calf muscles. “Maybe right now there’s a demi-god or something out there worrying about the extinction of his entire race.”

Jim let his shoulders sag, no doubt because they ached from his repeated attempts to escape the chains affixing him to the metal wall, and stared at the man across the cell from him, namely his chief medical officer Leonard H. McCoy.

“Or maybe,” Leonard theorized, drawl agonizingly slow, “the universe is about to implode and we just don’t know it because it’s above our pay grade.”

Jim’s face took on a look of concern. “Bones, I will get us out of here.”

The doctor shook his head slightly. “It’s not that, Jim. The hobgoblin won’t let these arrogant bastards keep you. I just…” he mused, “…I wonder sometimes why we attract all the trouble in the galaxy.”

“Beyond the galaxy too,” added McCoy’s captain and friend in a tone too solicitous for McCoy.

“Thanks, Jim,” he said, wry. “Ironically I was also tryin’ to downplay how bad our circumstances normally are. Some help you are.”

Jim would have replied but he fell silent abruptly, his eyes skipping over to the cell door as boots could be heard marching down the adjoining hallway. “Pretend to be asleep or unconscious,” he told McCoy in a soft command. “I don’t care which. Just do it.”

Leonard sighed through his nose. “Sorry, Jim.”

They had had this argument before. Jim could order him—which Leonard just ignored—but he couldn’t force McCoy to obey the order. He wouldn’t let Jim take the brunt of their captors’ attention. Two punching bags were better than one, right, if it reduced the likelihood of Jim receiving a fatal injury? The hobgoblin would be proud of him for that logic, surely!

Jim’s unhappy but resigned look cut in Leonard’s direction just as a pair of boots and the person wearing them stopped in front of their cell door. As Kirk and McCoy watched, the squat-looking pirate guard, rather than making his usual rude remark about ‘another excellent day for torturing Fleeties’, unlocked their door with a trembling hand. Then a familiar form stepped into view and dropped the guard like a stone with a simple, efficient pinch to the neck.

“Well, you’re a sight for sore eyes!” Leonard said. “How the heck did you get back here without a fight, Spock?”

Spock busied himself snapping Jim’s chains in half with his bare hands. “Quite easily, Doctor. As you are aware, this race of beings has a particularly non-threatening appearance.”

Leonard watched as Jim, immediately upon being freed, set about flipping the unconscious pirate over onto his back and ransacking his person for a weapon and a communicator. The doctor offered up his wrist manacles to Spock, which Spock removed for him without batting an eye. “Yeah but they’re feisty little miscreants.”

And enthusiastic when it came to bullying others; not nearly as bad as the Klingons, Leonard thought, but they still had a distinct lack of morality.

Spock stepped back unexpectedly, looking like he did care that Leonard’s face was evidence of how ‘feisty’ the pirates had been, and stated in a not quite inflectionless tone, “Nonetheless, I am a Vulcan,” as if that answer explained everything.

Which it didn’t.

Leonard hiked up an eyebrow in a gesture of go on, do tell.

The Vulcan did not blink. “Given my body mass, strength, and the speed of my reflexes, it was only logical that they admit defeat.”

Later, Leonard learned that meant (according to Sulu, who had been part of the rescue team which beamed directly onto the bridge of the renegade ship to ‘deal’ with the beings who dared take two members of the Enterprise crew) Spock broke one of them.

Literally.

The leader issued a challenge with the all of the arrogance of his race, Spock accepted (calmly, Sulu said, which was that much scarier for those who knew him well), and twenty seconds later the poor little bastard was beamed aboard the Enterprise ahead of the rest of the prisoners slotted for the brig so Leonard’s medical staff could put him back together again.

When the patient-prisoner woke up (that is, woke up to find McCoy eyeing him speculatively with a hypospray in hand) some days following, he demanded, still as arrogant as ever, “Where is your great Commander-King?”

“There ain’t no kings on this ship,” Leonard replied.

“I speak of the Giant. A great Commander-King! I will swear fealty to him!” He was very exuberant for a fellow that just been on the losing end of a fight.

When Nurse Christine Chapel poked her head around the curtained-off area, obviously curious about the nature of the lunatic’s shouting (which undoubtedly could be heard across the medical ward), Leonard sedated the prisoner to save them all from a headache.

Spock seemed unsurprised to hear that he had gained the respect of a fierce little band of pirates. When teased by his captain that he could take up an exciting new life, Spock rejoined, “Given the choice, would you prefer to command respect garnered through fear or honor, sir?”

Leonard had to admire him for that sentiment, at least.

Years down the road he will have to grudgingly admit to admiration again for Spock’s suggestion concerning diplomatic relations with the renegade race, because after less than a decade of collaboration and talks, the Vulcans will announce they have successfully negotiated a peace treaty with the space pirates. Leonard will assume the treaty has everything to do with the stupid awe the little beings feel for that ‘Giant’ race and not a darned thing to do with the prospect of becoming a cooperative member of the Federation.

Jim will laugh at his sarcastic comment.

Spock will say, unperturbed, “I believe such an achievement with a hither-to violent race is a ‘gift horse’ you should not look in the mouth, Doctor. After all, did Vulcans not once inspire the Terrans in a similar manner?”

Leonard will have to retort then that the Vulcan and his ego obviously need to go find a room, and Jim shall just laugh harder.

-Fini

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