Title: The Boy and the Sea Dragon (9/?)
Author: klmeri
Fandom: Star Trek AOS
Characters: Kirk, Spock, McCoy
Summary: On an away mission, Captain Kirk encounters an old friend he hasn’t thought of in years. Unfortunately, their meeting is less than fortuitous and bodes ill for the rest of Jim’s crew.
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Part Nine

The creature looks exactly like it had when Jim first saw it as a young boy. The only difference is that there is no backdrop of an ocean or a salty sea breeze. Jim effectively slides in front of Bones and Spock, attempting to shield them. No matter what his memory says, it is not his friend, he reminds himself harshly.

This is his fault.

He’d been a stupid kid, of course, to not fear the unknown. Sure, Jim isn’t omnipotent, but he failed to sense that there was an undercurrent of deception to the sea dragon. And because he failed, his entire ship—and perhaps worse if the thing wins—will suffer the consequences.

“Stop where you are!” he calls when it is within range.

It obeys, sitting back on its haunches and tilting its head. A sense of déjà-vu distracts Kirk for a split second.

Jem-me. The thought drifts like a leaf on the wind.

He’s grimy, sick of seeing sun and long stretches of dry desert, and extremely unhappy that he has no clue what is happening on his ship. Jim’s even less happy that someone wants to take everything away from him just because it can.

“Shut up,” snaps the blond-haired, hard-eyed man. “I am Captain Kirk of the starship Enterprise.”

Jem-me is angry, it says to them all.

“Does that surprise you?” Bones asks from over Kirk’s shoulder. “You’ve put us all in a bad position.”

Leonard gets his wish. Leonard sees his friends.

Jim wants to know exactly Bones what wished for and why, but he doesn’t have the opportunity to ask. He needs to find a way to send them all back to the ship. Kirk tries a new tactic. “Whatever it is that you want, we can discuss terms on the Enterprise. You have to send us back, or allow us to make contact with the ship.”

Silence stretches for a minute or two before Jim is given a reply. For Jem-me, I would but cannot. Jem-me stays here. He is safe here.

“Why would the Captain be in danger aboard his ship?” Spock wants to know.

Not just Captain. Tall one, also, and ill one.

Jim’s mouth goes dry. Ill? Bones is ill? Maybe it means grumpy. Kirk is cold with the possibilities. He almost breaks a personal rule and turns to ask the doctor. A quick catch of Spock’s eye reminds him that he cannot afford to focus on anything but dealing with the enemy. And if Spock’s posture is indicative of his mood, the Vulcan too has something to address with the Chief Medical Officer.

Spock rephrases his question, intent on an answer. “What danger is present aboard the Enterprise?”

It leans forward, hands splayed and claws digging into the earth. There is much danger on ship.

“Oh for the love of God, would you quit talking in circles! We want straight answers, damn you!” Bones is apparently at the end of his rope.

There is other on ship, hungry one.

“Why… would you to do this?” Jim needs to understand. He doesn’t remember fear of this creature.

Young are always hungry. They must feed.

“Fuck” is the doctor’s quiet response. “What do your people require to survive?”

You not understand our ways. We travel far, must, to live.

“It is logical, Captain,” Spock interrupts. “All forms of life require sustenance.”

McCoy jumps in. “So you’re saying we should just accept they’re higher on the food chain and are allowed to snack on us?”

“Doctor, I merely state that we should not judge them based on our standards—or despite our lack of knowledge of their race.”

“Spock, I’m not a backwards hick, no matter what you think. But as a man, I should have a right to decide if I want to be someone’s dinner.”

“Did your forefathers give this right to the porcine?”

“Enough about the pigs!” barks Kirk. He puts his foot down, so to speak. “Debate on humanitarian rights later, gentlemen. Understood?”

“Affirmative, Captain” and “We’re lucky if we’ll have a later, Jim!” are the responses.

Everyone is so busy arguing or trying to prevent arguing that no one realizes the creature has edged forward until it is less than ten feet away. McCoy leaps back with a sharp curse. Spock remains still and Kirk pulls out his phaser (stupid thing is losing its charge after so many days).

Jim levels the weapon at it, despite that he wishes the threat weren’t necessary. “I won’t let you hurt my friends.”

The emotion that washes over him can only be described as sadness. Time is up now, it cries softly to all. It rises, then, on its backwards-bent legs and beckons to McCoy. No more time for Leonard.

Jim is inexplicably frightened at those words. His hand automatically reaches back for Bones and when it finds nothing but air, he half-turns with a cry. “Bones!”

McCoy is nowhere to be seen.

Before Jim can protest, the still Vulcan quakes once with a tremor, as if something sharp bursts and is quickly reined in; then in a sudden, impossibly fast movement (Jim barely sees it happen) Spock launches forward at their enemy. The thing simply watches, its black eyes reflective in the light of day, as it is attacked.

“God, not again” is Leonard’s weak reply when he blinks open his eyes. He is in Sickbay, his office to be precise, slumped against a wall. McCoy doesn’t bother to move or get to his feet. Instead, he places a hand firmly against his temple and says, “You’re one mean fucker. You know that, right?”

“Did you accomplish all that you needed to, Doctor?”

Shit and double damn. Spock, the sadistic not-Spock, sits cross-legged on the top of his desk. A pile of PADDS and notes have been summarily tossed away and now litter the floor.

“Why would I bother to plot when none of what just happened was real?”

That laugh is most certainly not Vulcan.

“It was real. I allowed you to speak with them and now I have returned you to the ship.”

McCoy drops his hand, staring. “So they’re on the planet?”

“Affirmative, I believe, is the appropriate answer.”

Leonard plans to tell the real Spock that maybe Vulcan stoicism isn’t so bad. Anything else is entirely too creepy to handle from a Vulcan. McCoy may have just gained a new respect for blank-faced species.

“I don’t understand. Why did you…” He trails off, thinking. No, it definitely wasn’t this one with the evil sense of humor that had spoken to the three officers. Perhaps the other… creature-dragon is not completely cooperative with its partner. McCoy hopes that that is the case, that this monster is not in control of whatever horrible game plan is in progress.

Shit, they have so little chance of saving themselves, don’t they? With the Captain and First Officer unable to communicate with the crew—oh God, he needs to tell someone! If they can figure out a way to get down to the surface to retrieve Jim and Spock…

“Do not try,” hisses not-Spock.

Leonard manages to smooth out his expression. “Try what? Is there something I should be tryin’?” Maybe cheeky will distract it enough that Leonard can get to his emergency kit of hyposprays. Damn, he should start packing an extra one or two in his boots for crazy situations like this. The doctor makes a show of stumbling to his feet, favoring one leg for dramatic effect.

“Damn xenopolycythemia works fast,” he grumbles while laughing bitterly on the inside. “I think I’d better have a good and proper seat.”

The Vulcan watches him with apparent suspicion but makes no move to detain him. McCoy settles behind his desk, sliding the chair in close enough that it won’t be too obvious he is rummaging through the drawers.

“Please get off,” the doctor asks. “Spock always makes me uncomfortable when he meditates on my desk.”

It removes itself and Leonard suppresses the urge to roll his eyes. Stupid monster doesn’t how to play its roles with accuracy. Spock would have a Vulcan conniption fit if he saw how the creature disregarded Vulcan propriety. Leonard will have to remember to tease the First Officer later. (Good Lord how he hopes there will be a later!)

“So how’s this, er, take-over going to happen?” starts McCoy. His hidden hand carefully slides open the lower right drawer. “You plan to beam us all to the planet and masquerade as an entire crew?”

It narrows its eyes at him.

“That’d be a big job for any man, let alone a single lizard-thing like yourself.”

“Stupid human,” it says.

Leonard raises an eyebrow. “Really? ‘Cause I was about to call you a stupid swamp monster. You can’t expect over four hundred crewmen to buy your act. You can’t be a Captain, a First Officer, and a Chief Medical Officer all at the same time!” He runs a thumb along the side of a box and flips a catch.

When his knee accidentally bumps the underside of the desk, the creature imitating Spock takes a step forward. Leonard hastily says, “Sorry, my knee bounces when I’m cornered.”

“Cornered?” it asks.

“Yeah. Trapped. About to be hoodoo-ed by the likes of yourself.”

“I not trap Leonard,” it says almost sibilantly.

Uh-oh. Speech change is a bad sign. Perhaps it can maintain a charade of its victim for only so long before it loses its grasp on its form.

“No?” he asks quietly. “Then what do you call what you’re planning to do? You can’t stick a man between a rock and a hard place and expect him to be grateful.” Leonard’s fingers find what he is looking for, grasps the hypospray firmly. “I don’t want to die, and you Goddamn well know that. And even though I can force myself to give up, I can’t stand the thought of others suffering because of me.” He pushes back his chair and rises, careful to conceal the object as he does so. “So don’t stand there and tell me you haven’t cruelly forced me into this situation!”

It reaches out for him with one of Spock’s long arms, hand open and beckoning. “I give cure.”

McCoy edges around the desk. “How?” He gives the thing a taste of full-on McCoy sarcasm. “A simple cool touch? Does your spit have magic healing properties? Xenopolycythemia is too complicated to be solved by some of the most brilliant medical minds in the galaxy! We’ve been trying since the first case went public and you—” He does not step back when it moves into his personal space. “—think that you can waltz in here, claim you can solve it, and I’d believe you?“

Leonard inhales deeply when it finally touches him, grasping the doctor’s shoulder. He wraps a wrist around its arm and says flatly, looking into those eyes much too dark to be Spock’s, “I’m not that fucking stupid.“

The hypospray comes in low, a sharp, short stab into the monster’s side. It jerks McCoy forward in surprise and unfurls claws instead of fingers. Leonard has a short moment of terror, thinking it will rip into him but the monster shudders once, eyes wide, and drops like a stone to the floor of the office.

Leonard leans most of his weight on shaky arms planted on his desk. The hypospray still clutched in his right hand is completely empty. The dosage would be lethal to any other person aboard this ship, so it is possible that he has just euthanized the enemy.

His knees decide that then is a great time to buckle. He is sitting on the floor, slumped against the side of his desk when the shouting and banging starts on the other side of the door. McCoy is confused for a minute, only realizing belatedly that he’d originally command-locked the door to his office. Before he can even begin to go about disengaging the locks, there is a loud bang and the door groans under pressure.

Leonard blinks, his mouth dropping open, when a familiar hand—too damn familiar—successfully pries back part of the door like an inconvenient obstacle. It smoothly punches in a series of codes on the wall unit mounted close to the frame; the rest of the office door slides back as best it can (it is terribly bent out of position) to emit one Vulcan.

Spock steps into the room, sees his sprawled doppelganger and says, “Fascinating.”

The bubble of hysteria that had been roughly pushed aside such McCoy found himself in this awful situation rises up in his throat. By the time Captain Kirk enters the office with a worried and sharp “Bones? Are you okay?”, the hysteria has turned into painful laughter. McCoy makes no attempt to control it or the tears squeezing themselves out of his eyes.

Everything seems better and is yet so much more worse than they can imagine.

McCoy is ousted from his huddled position in his office and gently deposited onto a biobed. He purposefully avoids looking at the other occupied beds. It is inevitable that his attention (dying-down hysteria) is caught by a small group of armed red-shirts off to the side. Leonard sees who they are guarding, or rather guarding everyone else against, and gasps “I need a drink.”

The second (original, first?) creature, quiet and unnerving, looks at the doctor from across the room. It is, of course, amused.

Next Part

Related Posts:

• The Boy and the Sea Dragon (14/14) – from December 7, 2010
• The Boy and the Sea Dragon (13/14) – from December 6, 2010
• The Boy and the Sea Dragon (12/14) – from December 2, 2010
• The Boy and the Sea Dragon (11/?) – from November 27, 2010
• The Boy and the Sea Dragon (10/?) – from November 25, 2010