0Title: Difficulty Engaged (9/10)
Author: klmeri
Fandom: Star Trek AOS
Pairing: Kirk/Spock/McCoy
Summary: During leave, trouble thwarts a good plan and causes Kirk and Spock to accelerate the timeline of their McCoy-centric agenda. But true to form, McCoy is already playing by a set of rules they don’t understand.
Previous Parts: 1 | 2| 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8
Chee’s bellow of “No!” makes all eyes turn toward him. He bares his teeth at the collection of officers, raising his cuffed wrists and clacking his claws together threateningly.
Wardyn waves down Security’s raised stunners. “It’s straightforward enough, Mr. Chee. You know best how your partner operates. We need you to—”
“Not the deal. I save the Lady,” the alien growls, looking like he would prefer to make his point by beating it into everyone there. “You save the human!”
Wardyn turns to Kirk. “It’s pointless to count on his cooperation.”
“We can work around that,” Kirk says curtly, only the tick of a muscle in his jaw belying the projection of calm confidence. “Mr. Chee’s stature makes him an ineligible candidate anyway.” The captain offers Chee a small but doubtlessly infuriating smirk. “That, and his barbaric tendencies are a dead giveaway.”
Spock reminds the group, “Time is of the essence. We must choose soon.”
Jim turns to Spock, tenser, concern briefly taking over his expression. “McCoy?”
The Vulcan officer inclines his head the slightest bit. “Dr. McCoy’s unease mounts with each passing minute. Due to Ruti’s influence, his mind senses something alarming but clarity around the matter remains elusive to me.”
“Master.” Chee slowly lowers his fists. “Prime. He is the one to fear.” Even the fierce, brutish being sounds spooked at the thought.
Kirk and Spock look for confirmation from Wardyn, who shakes his head in the negative. He says, “No report yet of such an individual in any arrival registers.”
“Master would not bother to inform lessers,” Chee states somberly enough that the others pay close attention. “Only our deaths matter, not laws, not your Federation.”
“Nobody can just walk in here, commit murder, and get away with it,” argues one of Kirk’s red-shirted officers.
Chee’s grunt is an unimpressed one. “Tell him that at your own risk.”
“Is there another way to detect him if he’s on the station?” Kirk wants to know, turning his gaze to Spock.
Spock says, “Not without alerting him to the fact we seek him.”
“Damn,” mutters the captain.
“If he expresses no interest in leaving his ship, it’s not uncommon for privately-owned vessels to withhold ship rosters,” remarks Wardyn. “This far out, we function primarily as an intergalactic pit stop. Most spacefarers stay long enough to refuel and restock supplies before heading out again.”
“I think this Prime has come for more than a cursory visit,” Kirk says grimly. “Given Mr. Chee’s statement, we should expect hostility.”
“We don’t have solid intel on their kind except that their powers can debilitate us. And if we try and interfere in their business, lethal might be the better description. Kirk, we ought to keep our officers out of the fight as much as we can.”
“I don’t disagree.”
“You don’t fully agree with me either. Why?” The port commander’s gaze holds the captain’s. “You were lucky none of your men were killed when you ordered them into that bar, not knowing enough about the enemy.”
Kirk argues, “Not knowing enough is always our situation.”
“And you believe luck can be on your side every time, Captain?”
Jim offers Wardyn a flat smile. “I know it won’t, which is why our current approach is probably more unorthodox than you care for… yet you’re here, offering your officers as backup. Enough with the hedging, Wardyn. Tell me what’s really biting your ass.”
“The Chief of Port is going to roast me alive if something bad happens to you and the Enterprise crew. Have a little mercy, Kirk. It’s tough to be your brand of hero.”
Kirk’s smile grows more genuine, then. “Every person standing here is a hero for coming this far despite the unknown. If it were in my power, I would recommend merits for that.”
Wardyn shakes his head slightly as, in the wake of this declaration, both his officers and Kirk’s come to attention, appearing so very proud. With Starfleet’s most decorated starship captain at the lead, it may be tough to be a hero but it is tougher still to deny Jim Kirk when he asks you to try.
Wardyn should have realized even his concerns could be assuaged by Kirk’s smooth-talking. He sighs and begins to say, expecting every hand to fly upwards automatically, “So, who volunteers to—”
“ME! I DO!” booms a voice from the back of the crowd. The man who works his way to the front is the very last person Wardyn expects considering where he last saw the man.
Kirk’s reaction seems equal to his own, for Kirk demands, “Mister, what are you doing here?”
“That’s my question,” mutters Wardyn from between clenched teeth. “Officer Huido, all I want to know is: who released you from the brig against my direct orders? Because this is the last day either of you wears that uniform!”
Huido quells a bit beneath his steely glare, but clearly isn’t scared enough to tuck tail and run straight back to the brig cell he broke out of.
“Now, now,” cuts in another newcomer, sounding far more nervous than Huido at facing down the commander’s wrath, “we came to help!”
When Wardyn sees Huido’s companion, his temper explodes. “ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR MIND! You brought a civilian?!”
The shop owner clucks disapprovingly, “I have been a citizen of this port for many years. I can go wherever I please!”
Wardyn is going to strangle them both. Immediately.
It’s Mr. Spock of all people who steps into his direct path, suggesting, “Commander, perhaps you should listen to their explanation before taking decisive action.”
Now hiding behind Huido, Murtee nods fervently. “Yeah, we can explain!”
Huido clears his throat a few times. “Murtee had a serious medical emergency. I certainly need not remind you, sir, that a prisoner has the right to be attended by a physician when his life is in jeopardy!”
“Then your station’s medical staff must be commended for the quality and effectiveness of their work,” Spock remarks dryly. “Mr. Murtee appears incredibly healthy.”
Kirk places a sympathetic hand on Wardyn’s shoulder, and Wardyn sighs in resignation. Is it the bane of every commanding officer to have upstarts among their juniors? And going by age, Hudio should be the maturest of them all!
“Mr. Huido.” Wardyn finds himself at a loss for words if he isn’t going to demote or fire the fellow on the spot. Maybe he should have someone bodily drag these two miscreants back to headquarters?
“Murtee and I volunteer,” Huido goes on, no doubt taking this hesitation from his superior as a sign of acquiescence to his presence. “We are willing to do anything you ask!”
Kirk’s gaze suddenly sharpens on theirs. “Anything?”
Spock turns to his captain, an eyebrow raised as if to say isn’t that convenient?
Wardyn’s stomach sinks toward his boots. Of all the talent available, it would have to be the clumsiest two, wouldn’t it? It’s not like Huido and Murtee have any face left to lose at this point. Sadly, that thought doesn’t make Wardyn feel any better about letting them spearhead a delicate mission.
Yet he can see by the sparkle in Kirk’s eyes, the captain has already decided in their favor.
Kirk confirms his guess a moment later. “Gentlemen, I can certainly use your help.”
The patrolman snaps to attention with an overemotional cry of “Captain! We’re yours to command!”
Sour-faced Murtee nods reluctantly after being nudged in the side multiple times.
Kirk beckons the pair closer and drops a friendly hand to the shoulder of each man. “You’re a fan of mine, aren’t you, Mr. Huido? Consider this a very good opportunity to observe what it’s like to be me.” He smiles, then, in a way that must be tantalizing for his starry-eyed fan base (as Huido is practically glowing with excitement) but to everyone else is most alarming, with the exception of Kirk’s first officer, who gives an air of being amusing.
Officer Huido and his shopkeeper friend lean in together with Kirk, their gazes growing wider as he explains to them everything a renowned starship captain could possibly need them to do.
Like a bloodhound scenting the air, Ruti lifts her chin in deep concentration. “Doctor,” she asks, “can you feel him?”
Oh boy, that’s an understatement! The man on his way to destroy Ruti is vengeance personified. The resonance of his murderous thoughts packs a punch that twists McCoy’s stomach, crawls along his spine and makes the hairs on the back of his neck stiffen. Sadly, clutching at his knees is the only way for Leonard to keep his body’s embarrassing trembles under control.
Leonard is hardly adept at judging physical distance, let alone the metaphysical kind; yet the threat seems very near. “It’s not too late to ask for help. I swear Starfleet will do what they can to give you shelter.”
“I have traveled too far to turn back now.”
He doesn’t think she means the light-years from her homeworld to this port in Federation space. “Then what about your partner?” he questions, looking pointedly down to his patient. “When you’ve worked so hard to keep her alive, why condemn her to die now?”
“We ran away because we had no choice but must we run forever, Doctor?”
A soft noise startles both of them. When McCoy realizes where it originates from, he immediately falls beside the cot, activating the antiquated medical scanner in his possession. A quick look at the readings is all he needs. “She’s trying to wake up. Don’t just stand there!” he snaps when he finds Ruti frozen behind him. “Help me draw her to consciousness! Talk to her!”
Leonard softens his voice as he faces his patient again. “Don’t be alarmed, my dear. You’re safe. My name is Leonard McCoy. I’m a doctor.”
“A doctor?” comes the uncertain whisper. “W-Where is Rutiana?”
The woman’s voice, however faint, breaks the spell on Ruti and draws her forward. “I am here,” Ruti says, bowing over the woman. “The doctor speaks true. You are safe, my Lady.”
The woman’s eyes open. In silence she studies the face lingering over hers, curtained from Leonard’s view by long hair. “My friend Chee. Is he safe also?”
“Yes, but he is away.”
They don’t speak after that—or if they do, the conversation doesn’t occur conventionally.
Leonard leans back to give the pair some privacy, choosing to recalibrate the old scanner. For his efforts, it gives a sad whir and croaks. “Piece of garbage,” he mutters. “Should’ve been recalled ages ago. Who would sell this?”
“Dr. McCoy.”
Leonard glances up to find the women focused on him.
Ruti asks, “Can she be moved?”
“Her stats,” that is, from what he had seen of them before the scanner’s sudden demise, “have improved, but she shouldn’t try to move on her own just yet. Exhaustion could cause the fever to return.” He rises to his feet, frustrated. “And damn it, I’m out of decent medicine!”
Ruti’s gaze returns to her partner, and she straightens up. “Zanceas has found us.”
The woman looks away at those words and lays silent for some minutes while they stand watching her, not daring to move. Leonard sees exhaustion gathering in her face, pain in her eyes, but knows it isn’t his place to speak.
When she faces them again, her voice is a shell of itself, but she clearly wants to say more. She moves her lips again and again until the words are finally forced free. “We tried…”
Her hands move uneasily as she whispers. Ruti clasps them with her own.
“…and… it is… enough.” McCoy’s patient’s gaze seeks him out. “Doctor, t-thank you.”
“Here now,” he hushes her gently, “none of that. Save your energy. Close your eyes. Yes, good. Focus on breathing.”
He advises Ruti in a lower tone, “There’s one sedative packet left but she’s so weak, so it might acerbate her condition.” Then he looks Ruti over as an unexpected possibility occurs to him. “Maybe you could assist in relaxing her?” The idea ends as a question; Leonard is not entirely comfortable with the asking but does so for his patient’s sake.
Ruti inclines her head to acknowledge having heard him, though her attention remains focused on the woman. “I have never led a mind to a healing state. That was not my station, Doctor, but for my Lady’s sake, I should like to try.”
Ruti closes her eyes. After some time, the patient’s breathing grows slower, her body settling to stillness. McCoy checks her pulse to find it a bit stronger than before and is relieved.
He cannot help but comment, “Have you considered that if your people spent more time easing pain like that instead of causing it, happiness wouldn’t be so difficult to come by?” He relents at the sharp glance sent his way. “Well, your attempt worked at least. Thank you.”
“You are too kind,” Ruti replies, and he can tell she doesn’t mean that in a facetious way. Why he would bother to thank her seems to bemuse her. The moment passes. Her expression hardens.
She doesn’t understand why, and Leonard mourns that. If she did, as he said things might never have escalated so far. But people learn on their own time, in their own ways and through their own personal trials. Some day he hopes that she—or some future generation of her people—will comprehend the importance of valuing all life and the protection thereof.
Some day can never come soon enough.
“There is one additional task you must do,” Ruti had told the freighter captain after he deployed his foreman to fetch her wealthy cousin. “When the authorities make contact, allow only Captain James Kirk and his first officer to approach me. Say that I will speak with no one else, for that is the truth. I will render any other beings useless.”
“James T. Kirk,” the captain reads sourly, nervously, having just searched the intergalactic web for this person and been bombarded with dozens of news articles touting the Terran’s achievements. “That deceitful chit has brought Starfleet upon us!” He whacks his data padd against the armrest in his ire, the screen showing an image of Jim’s boyish-looking face blanking out. He tosses the broken device aside, and in response to an ill-timed cough from among his crew, twists around in his chair with the threat, “If any of you says one word to a Starfleet officer, I’ll throw the lot of you out the airlock myself!”
The ship gives that tell-tale beep he has been dreading for the past hour. A subcommander says, “Sir, we have an incoming message from Port Security.”
The captain faces the viewscreen with a final grumble and wipes his sweaty palms on his pants. “On screen.”
A middle-aged, impeccably groomed human in the generic gray uniform of the station greets him with a flint-eyed stare. “This is Commander Wardyn, Head of Security. Am I speaking with the commanding officer of the Bantum?”
“That’s me,” he answers and smoothes down his vest. “To what do I owe the pleasure of receiving a call from Port?”
“We have reason to believe you harbor passengers of interest.”
“Commander,” he laughs weakly, “we’re a long-haul freight operation, not a cruise ship! You have our most recent roster. Surely your intel is mistaken.”
“Given that we have footage of a kidnapped Starfleet officer being forced to board your ship, I don’t see how you can dispute it.”
“Kidnapped!” the captain squeaks, alarmed. No one said anything about kidnapping! That’s a federal crime!
He moans as if experiencing pain, recalling that the scowling, dark-haired Terran with the chit had definitely been in some standard-issue uniform. She referred to him by the title of doctor, didn’t she, even after he kicked up a fuss about her method of forcing compliance from the crew? And hadn’t that insignia on his tunic been Starfleet-esque?
Now that he considers the matter, if he hadn’t been so terrified that he couldn’t move his body, he is certain he would have caught on to these little details sooner. Then he would have beamed the pair off his ship at the first opportunity and hightailed it to the next star system. Like any entrepreneur of questionable pursuits, the last thing this captain needs is to catch the attention of a galactic authority as hard-nosed as Starfleet!
Hold on. Does this make him an accessory to kidnapping? the man wonders.
He’s clearly been silent too long. Wardyn says knowingly, “I see you comprehend the seriousness of the situation, Captain. In the spirit of full disclosure, I must inform you that permission to come aboard would be appreciated but is not necessary.”
In other words, this is a courtesy call and he can count on there being a pair of handcuffs waiting for him.
The captain leans forward with urgency. “Of course you have my full cooperation, Commander Wardyn! I had no idea!”
“Then lower your shields unless you wish us to disable them. A tactical team will transport over.”
“Please tread with care,” he hedges, “for the safety of my crew and yourselves. I did think the female passenger strange and unsettling. Yes, in fact, she said something very odd to me! I am remembering it just now,” he lies. “I asked how we might transmit any incoming communications to her during transit, and she insisted she would only accept a call from a Kirk or a Spock.” He widens his eyes to look innocent and concerned. “Is that helpful information, sir?”
Wardyn says nothing for a moment, glancing off-screen. Then, “The kidnapped is a senior medical officer under Captain James T. Kirk of the starship Enterprise. Kirk and his first officer, Mr. Spock, are prepared to deal with the kidnapper directly.”
He slaps his chair arm, crying, “Then not a second must be wasted when a doctor’s life is in danger! Send those two—Kirk and Spock—over at once! You there, lower our shields and prepare to receive personnel in the transporter bay! We’ll send you the coordinates, Commander.”
“Very good,” Wardyn says dryly. “We’ll take your cooperation into consideration.”
The captain of the Bantum slumps back after the viewscreen goes dark. He can accept a fine for ferrying unregistered passengers, or even a temporary suspension of his business license. After all, if the payment due to him for his part in this drama is as significant as promised, he shall be able to afford the best lawyers in the galaxy.
“Comm our stowaways,” he orders. “Inform them their Starfleet captain is on his way.”
Leonard gets up, sits down, stands again, and then resumes his seat.
The bridge called and said Jim and Spock are on their way, and Leonard is about to go out of his damn mind. This waiting is driving him crazy!
How can he convince Jim to cut his losses if Ruti goes on a mental rampage? What if Spock does something stupid like trying to nerve pinch the one person who can fight on his level?
Mostly Leonard wants to apologize for dragging them into this mess in the first place. That seems the right place to start. I’m sorry I was duped, he would say. He swears in the future he won’t even help an old lady cross a busy street just in case her intentions might be to kidnap him after the fact.
An annoyed huff sounds from across the room, Ruti, also at the end of her patience—with him.
Leonard presses his fingers together almost convulsively. “This is your fault,” he accuses. “I’ve never been this nerve-wracked in my entire life!”
“Do not blame me,” Ruti retorts, “when the confession is yours to attend.”
“What!” When she turns her back to him, he sputters. Yet before Leonard can aggressively insist she mind her own business—who’s confessing what to whom anyway!—the door to their cabin slides back.
The freighter captain sticks his face in briefly from around the opening, looking like his nerves are faring no better than McCoy’s. He disappears again in short order, and McCoy hears a terse “Best of luck, Captain.”
The color drains from Leonard’s faces as he comes to his feet.
Jim and Spock walk in together, stopping just beyond the threshold. They appear as unruffled as usual in an otherwise tense scenario and thankfully uninjured from the previous confrontation. But to Leonard’s horror, there isn’t a weapon in sight on either of man: they are literally empty-handed—and yet, by their expressions, they are still clearly up to something.
“Jim,” he starts, then checks himself. “Captain.”
Ruti is the one to step forward. In the next instant, when she stiffens, Kirk’s narrow-eyed gaze is drawn away from McCoy to assess her. Spock studies the room behind McCoy and, briefly, the unconscious woman on the cot in the farthest corner.
“You are mind-shielded.” Ruti’s words are slow with surprise. To Spock, she says, “I heard Vulcans are competent telepaths, yet was driven to consider the information as false given that you collapsed at our first encounter.”
McCoy bristles at the insult on Spock’s behalf, who doesn’t react at all, but Ruti ignores the hiss of anger.
“And now you display a strength I would think beyond your capabilities, Mr. Spock. I cannot penetrate your shielding without significant effort, and my strength must be preserved for a more critical pursuit.” She sounds almost approving. “If this is your weapon of choice, then you have clearly anticipated my reaction. Very good.”
Kirk and Spock exchange a look before Kirk breaks his silence. “You can’t fault us for attempting to even the playing field.”
“True,” she concedes. “Shall we dispense with formalities? I wish to know: is it a conversation you prefer, or a fight?”
Leonard thinks he might vibrate right out of his skin. “Nobody’s fighting anybody!”
“I agree with Dr. McCoy. We are here to negotiate his return and wish to do so as civilly as possible.”
“By negotiate you mean compromise, Captain Kirk. Your doctor has attempted to educate me on the concept.”
“Compromise?” scoffs Kirk, barely blinking an eye. “You dare to take one of my crew against his will, force him to bend to your every whim, and then add insult to injury by making light of a Starfleet officer’s honor! Ridiculous!” The man puffs up with indignation, hands going to his hips.
“Calm down, Jim” is on the tip of McCoy’s tongue but he decides against speaking lest it appears he is undermining his captain’s authority. The doctor cannot help except wonder, though, just how upset Jim must be to forgo his normal restraint and smooth-talking. Is he purposely trying to rile Ruti up? But what good would that do?
Spock turns to Kirk as if he too thinks back-talk is an ill-advised course of action in that moment. The Vulcan ends up pressing his mouth to a thin, unhappy line instead. Leonard jerks where he stands, more than aback by Spock offering up an expression than Kirk being quick to offend.
What’s wrong with them? Has Ruti damaged in them in some way with that attack at the bar?
Ruti hasn’t shown any proclivity toward being cowed by verbal repartees so far, and now is no exception. “Your hysteria is unwarranted, Captain. Do you mean to provoke a fight after all?”
Kirk makes a noise like a teakettle boiling over, and it takes Spock grabbing him by the arm to prevent him from charging at her.
“Jim!” Leonard cries, aghast. “Stop!”
“Don’t interfere, McCoy. I know what I’m doing!”
“Yes,” agrees Ruti coolly, “do not interfere in this discussion, Dr. McCoy. The consequences would be rather unpleasant.”
Kirk jabs a finger in Ruti’s direction. “How dare you threaten him!”
Leonard’s hands clench to fists. By god, why’s Jim being such a pig-headed fool all of a sudden? And why’s Spock acting like a wilted flower?
“I have no doubt a threat to Dr. McCoy bothers you. However, Captain, waste no more of my time with your antics,” warns Ruti. “My terms for his release are easily met: I want an exchange.”
Kirk stills a moment, falling silent. Then, “Me?”
Ruti looks vaguely amused. “No, the Vulcan.”
Spock stiffens.
“No!” Leonard bursts out, a tremble in his voice. But he’ll be damned if he stays quiet like Jim and Ruti seem to think he should! “I told you Spock won’t do it, Ruti!”
Kirk crosses his arms over his chest. “Why the first officer instead of me? Ah,” he answers himself, “because he is a Vulcan. And that’s all you require, trading him for the doctor?”
“A trade,” Ruti confirms.
Leonard’s heart breaks. “Jim, you can’t! She’s lying, she would never let me—ah!”
He cuts off to clutch at his head, overwhelmed by severe pain, worse than any migraine he’s had, like an axe embedded in his skull. He folds at the knees, dropping down to the deck.
Kirk’s face reddens. “Are you trying to kill him before I can save him?”
“He was warned.”
“There will be no exchange if he’s dead!”
The metaphorical axe is yanked out of McCoy’s head suddenly and the pain vanishes. Afterward, he slumps forward, shaking all over, barely able to make sense of the heated conversation happening around him. The warm trickle from his nose is blood, staining his uniform sleeve as he tries to wipe it away.
He hears Ruti say, “While I find your distress at being reminded of your place rather satisfying, Captain, time is of the essence. The Vulcan for the doctor. This trade is your only option other than fighting me to the death.”
When Kirk agrees, Leonard’s eyes sting.
“Spock,” he tries, pushing himself to an upright position on the floor. “Spock, please, you can’t—you could die. Don’t agree to it. Not for me.”
“Mr. Spock follows his captain’s orders,” Kirk says as he comes forward to help McCoy to his feet with gentle hands. He doesn’t meet Leonard’s eyes. “It’s for the best, McCoy,” he adds and blots rather awkwardly at the doctor’s bloody nose with a pocket-handkerchief.
The moment Leonard reaches to embrace Jim, thinking if he can just hold on hard enough to his friend, he can turn the tide of this disastrous confrontation, Kirk automatically steps back. Spock, having remained at some distance, is oddly impartial to their exchange.
Leonard feels like he’s stuck in a bad dream. He doesn’t know who these men are. Why would Jim agree a trade? What sense is there in that? What good does sacrificing one person’s freedom for another’s possibly do for the three of them? Truly, whatever leverage Jim thinks he will gain from it is a mystery to McCoy. And it is evident to him that Jim has not considered what Ruti will require Spock to do. Otherwise, surely Kirk would object on that principle alone.
Whatever the motive here, Leonard knows with certainty that if Spock dies from the brutality of Ruti’s methods or from the breaking of his integrity, forgiving Jim will be an impossibility.
“I don’t agree to this,” he has to say one more time, “and, Captain, it will be noted in my report.”
Kirk hesitates over his serious tone a moment before addressing Ruti. “I have a condition of my own.”
Ruti inclines her head. “Tell me.”
“I never leave a man behind. I choose to remain here with my first officer.”
This bad dream has truly turned into Leonard McCoy’s worst nightmare. With wordless horror, he throws himself at Jim and Spock not knowing what he can do but determined to do something. He trips on air before he can touch either man, and his body jerks upright of its own accord, every muscle freezing in place. He finds his voice is locked too.
Ruti seems disappointed in his continued desire to save his friends and resist her will. But it is to Kirk that she states, “I believe you mean it, Captain. Your thoughts may be hidden from me at this moment, but I sensed during our last encounter what motivates you so desperately. How could I not know, when your love for one is only rivaled by your love for the other—and you are prepared to give up everything for both. Yes, I understand very well that love makes one reckless. I accept your condition.”
Kirk’s eyes widen comically, as though he is shocked by her revelation of his feelings for his officers. But he sobers quickly enough when Spock murmurs, “Captain.”
“Ah, right.” Kirk clears his throat. “Send McCoy away now. Mr. Spock and I are yours.”
McCoy, weeping beneath his immovable countenance, retrieves Ruti’s partner from the corner cot like a puppet moved by strings. There is a strange quality to being aware of the manipulation of his body this time; he thinks he might actually prefer being lost to oblivion while under someone else’s control. The act makes him feel more helpless than ever.
Ruti comes forward to trail her fingers delicately along his patient’s face, and she tells McCoy, “Care for her well.” To his mind, she promises, We will meet again.
Leonard walks out of the cabin, the love of his captor’s life held safely in his arms while the distance to the ones who hold his heart grows farther with each echoing step.
“Have we made a mistake?” whispers Kirk to Spock in McCoy’s absence.
“Many too count,” Spock replies in a deeply aggravated tone.
Ruti beckons the pair into the corridor, choosing the direction opposite of the one from the others. They trail behind her with a growing sense of foreboding.
Prime Zanceas walks onto the bridge of an outdated ship called the Bantum and grimaces as though encountering a repugnant odor.
“Where is your captain?” he demands, glancing across a deck of empty control stations. He rounds on his guide. “You dare to trick me!”
“I don’t k-know. Where is everyone?”
A flick of his power forces the image of the Scavengers’ last victim into the man’s mind, turning him into a pathetic puddle of screams and weeping. For a moment, Zan watches the fool claw at his own head desperately before moving to exit the bridge.
After a few steps, his gait falters as he changes his mind. There is little need to search this ship for his quarry on his own. The nearby pack is already straining the leash to corner the prey. What does he have to fear? No one else except him could possibly control them.
Cousin Rutiana! he calls imperiously to the mind most similar to his own, some decks below. Your Prime awaits your greeting.
A second passes, and another, before her answer comes. An exile is not worthy of greeting the Prime.
Zan can picture the haughtiness of her expression had she spoken to his face, and the very image makes him grind his teeth in anger. “Then come greet Death instead, little cousin!”
Buoyed by the anger, his power roils around the bridge, sending out dagger-like tendrils that attack the wide-open mind of the shaking guide, setting the little man to screaming again.
Zan knocks him out with a blast of thought some seconds later simply to relieve his ears of the man’s noisy racket.
The bridge is utterly still except for his power skirting the stations, the floor, reaching outward to the connecting corridor. He reluctantly draws it in and dampens it so that he might touch the other minds on the ship and briefly assessing their uses. Zan’s mirthless laugh comes afterward, on the heels of the realization that Ruti has made more enemies. Some minds truly are terrified of her; others think her morality quite unsalvagable.
And neither type is wrong to feel so, in Zan’s opinion.
His cousin had said to him once, “My life has not been a happy one, any more than yours,” and then she cruelly made his life many times more unbearable by stealing the affection of those he wanted to trust. And she claimed often to wonder why he hated her so! That dalliance with his wife was the breaking point of their familiarity.
Zan won’t leave this ship until she suffers as he has.
He takes the knowledge from the unconscious guide of how to operate the ship’s transporting function and finds the controls to activate them remotely from the bridge. Then he calls to his Scavengers with the silky promise, It is time to feed, fetches them aboard and unleashes them on the ship.
As per Kirk’s plan, Wardyn waits until the signal that the freighter captain has left Kirk and Spock inside the kidnapper’s quarters before his team commandeers the Bantum. They disable the shields, round the crew up on the bridge, stunning the handful whose first instinct is to try and run away. Wardyn would have expected more protesting, possibly a healthy amount of resistance, but the unnerving sense of relief from the crew when they are beamed portside speaks too much on the danger left aboard the Bantum. Most crewmen go without complaint into the security vans. Some of them offer to make official statements.
Wardyn returns to the ship with two of Kirk’s security officers and one of his own to locate the erstwhile captain of the Bantum, who seems to be loitering somewhere instead of returning to his bridge. They find him in his quarters (an opulent cabin compared to the rest of the ship) shoving valuables into a large pack.
He seems surprised at their appearance. “Ah, it’s the port commander,” the man blusters, shoving his pack behind his bed and coming forward to cling to one of the red-shirted officers. “Sir, you were right, my ship has been overrun by criminals! Your help is direly needed!”
Wardyn snorts and orders, “Arrest him.”
Suffice to say, the captain is even more shocked by this turn of events, and Wardyn is rather pleased about it.
“Arrest me! Have you gone mad? What is the mean of this!” he cries as he is being surrounded on all sides.
Wardyn detaches a communicator from his belt and activates it. “Wardyn to Kirk.”
“Kirk here.”
“We’ve collected the captain and crew of the Bantum.” He pauses. “Our scanners picked up strange life-readings on the starboard side of the ship during the transport. Do you want us to investigate?”
“Spock’s tricorder picked up the same readings. He and I are proceeding ahead anyway, so we’ll take care of it, Commander. See your team safely back to port. Consider that an order!”
Wardyn would remind Kirk he doesn’t have to take his orders but it’s probably not worth the trouble of starting an argument with the man. Kirk is too stubborn for his own good sometimes.
“Understood. Wardyn out.”
He turns to the others, ignoring the angry shouts about rights violations and lawyers. “Take that idiot directly to the brig.”
“But my property!” yells the captain even as he begins to dissolve in a transporter beam. “My profit! I WAS GOING TO BE A RICH MAN!”
“So, I have you at last.”
Zanceas crosses the open bay area, his quarry turning around at the sound of his voice. Her expression is impassive, but there is an unmistakable albeit deeply buried undercurrent of fear running through her thoughts. Zanceas excels at sensing weak spots in his enemies.
He takes a few seconds to eye the two beings behind her, apparently attempting to push a sealed body-length capsule off a hovercart into the back of a shuttlecraft.
He laughs nastily. “Running away again so soon? But we haven’t had time to catch up, dear cousin. You must agree that we are long overdue for a chat.”
One man puts a hand to his back, clearly winded, and complains, “Manual labor is not what I signed up for.”
The Prime takes another closer look at the two others and sneers upon recognition of the one who spoke. It’s the ugly humanoid from the billboards! Well the man looks even more unsightly now with his tunic wet from perspiration and tufts of hair flopping over his eyes.
“What is this!” Zan snaps at Ruti. “You’ve hired a celebrity as your protection?”
The second man drops his end of the capsule with a yelp and a crash, leaping backward just in time to avoid crushing his own foot. At the sight, Ruti looks dismayed at her laborers’ obvious ineptitude.
To hire such a hapless pair! Even their minds are so minuscule as to be practically nonexistent. The Prime’s disgust turns to suspicion, then.
He glides closer to them. “What are they moving, cousin? Is my wife hiding in that contraption?” He scoffs. “And of course you let those idiots drop her! Better to have that stupid giant do the menial work, at least he has the physical strength!”
“I do not command them,” Ruti says, watching him again. “Yet.”
Zan feels her push against something he had failed to recognize until now: strong mind-shields around the groaning Federation captain and his scowling pointy-eared companion. What power could be at her disposal behind those shields?
In his blinding rage, he has forgotten the quiet planning she is capable of, machiavellian schemes that almost always prove advantageous for her pursuits.
Zanceas knows he has to strike first before she retrieves any power or skills that can be turned against him—
—and finds himself taken back when her final mental strike against those shields results in the two men collapsing to the floor.
Ruti stares, as startled as Zan, and backs up in consternation when the captain weakly flops an arm like a fish thrown to land before going utterly still.
Zan cries out with a hard spiteful laugh, “Oh, too good! What a farce, this Federation!” He stabs a finger at the unconscious pair. “See how useless their most beloved citizen is. What was his name again? Kirk!”
But Ruti disagrees. “You are mistaken, Prime. That is not Captain Kirk.” Her tone is bemused. “Or his Vulcan, Spock.”
On cue, Kirk and Spock’s bodies begin to flicker and dissolve, leaving behind into entirely different images: one rotund, balding man sprawled out like a starfish; the other not even Terran, gangly, his antennae twitching periodically in unconsciousness.
“Who are they?” demands Zan.
“Imposters, obviously.” The corners of Ruti’s mouth turn up faintly. “Captain Kirk proves to be not so useless after all.”
Ruti’s control over McCoy disappears so suddenly, he almost drops the person in his arms. When he manages to ease his patient safely to the floor with only a bit of a wobble, he apologizes to her. Then he buries his head in his hands and indulges in a moment of abject despair.
He can’t leave her, and yet he can’t stay. He has to go back for Jim and Spock. They would do no less for him, no matter what foolish thoughts have driven them to take his place as Ruti’s captives.
He’s made up his mind to leave her somewhere relatively out of the way. Then he will have to find a comm station and call to the Enterprise to relay her location. Kirk definitely would have placed the crew on stand-by before he came aboard.
A sense of urgency returning to him, Leonard starts to gather the woman into his arms again. Then a voice echoes from the adjoining corridor, rendering him immovable. The person says, irked, “I can’t believe he managed to give us the slip.”
“I did suspect Mr. Chee is more cunning than he allows others to believe.”
“Well, you could have shared that suspicion, Spock.”
The voices are of such familiar timbres and the last complaint is so perfectly in-character that Leonard had automatically guessed its exact wording, and at long last the doctor is certain he has lost his mind.
But McCoy’s instincts hold true, for it is none other than Jim Kirk who turns the bend of the corridor, followed closely by his famous Vulcan shadow, Mr. Spock. Kirk looks like a man on a mission, phaser held high, eyes quickly assessing the surroundings to ascertain any danger, making the red security tunic he has on quite appropriate. But to see Spock in Security red is like a splash of cold water to the face for McCoy—that, and the dawning realization Kirk and Spock are nowhere near the last place that McCoy saw them.
He’s already half-risen to his feet when Jim makes eye contact with him.
He cries, “Jim! Spock!” at the same time Jim calls, “Bones!”
This time when Leonard throws himself at them there is no one else to intervene. The three men spend nearly a full minute clutching at each other (and ha! McCoy won’t let Spock deny the hugging later on, a Vulcan’s dignity be damned), at the tail-end of which McCoy falls to fussing at Jim and Spock while furiously blinking back tears.
“You’re both morons!” he rails. “Why’d you do that? How did you manage to get away?” He pauses, then says accusingly, “And you changed clothes. What kind of trick did you pull this time?”
Jim hooks an arm around Leonard’s neck to keep him close. “Ah, Bones. You must be okay if you can yell at us.”
“Indeed. Given his rampant emotionalism, one naturally assumes the Doctor is feeling very much like himself.”
Leonard almost pops Spock on the arm, settling for a glare. “I think wearing red has affected your logic, Spock. I don’t like it!”
Spock raises an eyebrow. “Which implies your preference is that I am logical. Why, thank you, Dr. McCoy.”
Leonard sputters, “That’s not what I meant, you damn Vulcan!”
Jim pats his back. “All right, you two. Bones, you said something about seeing us before. Where?”
Leonard’s irritation turns to confusion and then, inevitably, understanding. “You don’t know? Then…” His eyes widen. “That wasn’t you!”
Jim’s blue eyes gleam with satisfaction. “A good old-fashioned bait-and-switch,” he confirms.
Leonard stares at him a moment before bursting out laughing. Kirk keeps him from staggering too much. He sounds giddy, likely from a combination of exhaustion and relief. But what does any of that matter when the happiness at seeing his friends again is so overwhelming?
“That makes a lot of sense, actually,” he says when he can talk again. “You didn’t act like yourselves. I was wondering if you’d both lost your mind.” He sobers, then, reaching out to touch Jim’s cheek. “What Ruti did to you earlier… Are you hurt, Jim?” He turns to Spock and looks Spock over in concern. “Spock?”
“We are well,” Spock replies with uncharacteristic gentleness.
“I had this horrible feeling that—” He stops there, swallowing hard. Now isn’t the time to burden them with his guilt.
As if sensing Leonard needs a minute, Jim half-turns to Spock to say, tone proud, “It was Spock who ensured Ruti couldn’t tell the stand-ins were not us.”
Spock offers to this praise, “It was Jim’s idea to use the new prototype of holographic technology to grant the impersonators our physical likeness.”
McCoy ponders that, and soon a funny feeling starts in the pit of his stomach. “But that sounds like the stuff Jim used when—” He inhales sharply at the memory of that particular adventure. “Jim!”
McCoy’s idiotic captain winks. “Our spy toys are the best, Bones, courtesy of being the flagship.”
“That damn tech barely worked the last time! It was given to us for beta-testing only!”
Jim’s mouth pulls into a slight pout. “But I tweaked it.”
Leonard rounds on Spock. “I bet you didn’t even blink when he made his crazy suggestion.”
Spock pointedly blinks at him now, the bastard—and has the audacity to say, “The matter is irrelevant as it clearly worked.”
Spock is an idiot too, because Leonard isn’t going to let the topic slide by a long shot, oh no he isn’t! They can certainly receive an earful once he is in better condition and able to express his displeasure at the appropriate decibel.
Thinking of yelling at them makes him feel good.
“He’s smiling, Spock,” Jim stage-whispers. “I think we’re in serious trouble.”
Trouble has arrived, but not in the form any of the three men expect. It starts as a low growl from behind them and builds to a warning of “Don’t move.”
Kirk, Spock, and McCoy turn around as a unit.
“Oh hell,” says Leonard succinctly, “what is he doing here?”
Kirk narrows his eyes at the interloper. “Mr. Chee.”
Chee aims a Starfleet-issued phaser at Kirk. “The Lady, give her to me.”
McCoy flicks his gaze to his patient where he had placed her by the wall before launching himself at his friends. They stand between her and Chee.
A small part of the doctor wants to say “be our guest” but that is in direct opposition to his oath, not to mention his personal nature, and so he cannot good conscience let Chee cart off the woman to sicken again. Her dying on his watch would be an utterly unacceptable outcome. He knows the Enterprise’s medical bay is her best chance, and that’s where she needs to go rather than back into the hands of Chee or Ruti.
Jim glances at him, and by his look knows Leonard’s thoughts. He doesn’t seem angry as he turns back to Chee. Then he smiles lightly, says to the alien, “Too bad you can’t tell a fake phaser from a real one,” and charges at Chee.
Spock pushes McCoy toward his patient before rushing after Jim, and Leonard nearly has a heart-attack when Chee fires at Kirk and Spock. But Jim guessed right: the phaser is a dud, and when Chee realizes this he tosses the fake weapon aside to dodge Kirk’s fist and ram the human into the nearest wall with horrifying strength. Spock pulls Jim back to his feet, Chee snarls at them with battle-fire in his gaze, and then the fight begins in earnest.
Whew! Final confrontations, more Triumvirate reunion, and McSpirk goodness in the final chapter on June 28th!
Related Posts:
- Difficulty Engaged (11/11) – from June 29, 2020
- Difficulty Engaged (10/11) – from June 28, 2020
- Difficulty Engaged (8/10) – from June 12, 2020
- Difficulty Engaged (7/10) – from November 29, 2019
- Difficulty Engaged (6/10) – from September 19, 2019
