Warning: MAJOR CHARACTER death (but not necessiarly a permanent one..see summary), gore, violence, slash, language, references to futuristic drug use (but not by any character in Star Fleet.)Do not read unless you are prepared for ANGST. You have been warned.
Part I:
"Then not only did you violate the rules, you also failed to understand the principle lesson."
"Please. Enlighten me."
"You of all people should know, Cadet Kirk: a captain cannot cheat death."
()()()
James T. Kirk never thought he'd live to see the day a new planet's discovery didn't rock him like revolution.
But he had seen much he never thought he would.
"Captain, receiving no transmissions on any station," Uhura swivled around briskly at her monitor, sleek ponytail snapping behind her like a whip.
"My scanners read massive amounts of biomass, but we are not picking up any sign of technology, sir. If there is intelligent life on the planet it has not yet reached Stage 3..."
"Thank you, Commander Iyengar," Jim cut off the flat not-voice from the science station without as much as an over-shoulder glance. "Lt. Uhura, page Dr. McCoy. Tell him to prepare to send one of his medics down to the planet. Commander Iyengar, prepare to beam down with four of your personnel. Three biologists, one geologist. Report to Lt. Kyle in the transporter room."
"Will you not be beaming down with the landing party, sir?" Uhura's voice piped up above the muffled chorus of "ayes." Her brow knitted in concern.
"Lt. Uhura, I don't remember giving you permission to question every order I make," Jim's forced non-chalant tone barely belied a snap. He did not meet the gaze which prickled his skin. Nomally, the mingled worry and anger ablaze in her face as she tensed would have stirred him. But her eyes...the footsteps clopping across the bridge...these gleaming lights richoetteing off metal in rainbow-laced fragments...the pattering of Chekhov's fingetips on a keyboard sharp through the usual humming buzz of the bridge...
All of this smeared indistinct as a lucid dream.
It had been two weeks today.
"Two weeks from today," Jim strutted jauntily down the Enterprise hallway, flanked by Spock and McCoy. "The planet of Theta Nix will be relieved of its narcotics problem. Mark my words."
"Narcotic addiction," McCoy grumbled, puffiing slightly to keep up. "I understand why the abuse of Substance N is such a big deal. It's highly addictive and triggers apathy and lethargic behavior. Not to mention it makes a person's brain look like burnt swiss cheese if you use it too long. But why is the Federation getting involved? Isn't this la job for local police?"
Spock cut off Jim before he could answer, gliding a pace in front of McCoy in perfect stride with Jim on Jim's right.
"Doctor, once again, you focus too intensely upon the details and overlook the larger picture. Substance N is a synthetic compound manufactered by the Ferengi. While there is yet no conclusive evidence that some Ferengi organizations may be in alliance with the Klingons, it is possible that some of the profits from illegal Substance N trafficking may be funding the Klingon empire."
"And besides, Bones," added Jim, apuff with a special pride he never knew until the day he first saw the Enterprise. "The colony of Theta Nix is a small, developing colony. They are overwhelmed by the problem facing them, and it's our job to protect all the Federation citizens on that outpost from all threats. Including themselves."
McCoy cocked an eyebrow rivaling Spock's, eyeballing Jim suspiciously as the three burst into the transporter room. The doctor paused at the door, folding his arms slowly across his chest.
"You seem to be in an awfully good mood for someone who's about to go on a mission where you can't break every damn Star Fleet regulation in the book."
"Well," Jim brightly remarked. "It's important work that we are doing, helping this struggling colony, promoting good behavior amongst the masses..."
"..and furthermore, you are eager to complete several missions which are, as you humans would say, "milkruns" until Admiral Komack forgives you for the Rigel incident," Spock supplied flatly, the corners of his eyes crinkling with warmth.
"Yeah. That too."
Kirk had a knack for thickening Bones's veins, matched only by his ability to deflate them with a boyish grin.
"We'll be fine, Bones," he reassured his old friend, smacking him on the shoulder as he passed. "It's a boring, calm old diplomatic meeting. You'd be bored out of your skull. It'll just be a bunch of old politicians are no jungles or wild fires or posion here."
"I dunno, Jim," a twinge of humor trickled through McCoy's crusty demeanor. The corner of his lips twitched from where he hovered on the other side of the room. He scowled good-naturedly at the command team as Jim and Spock took their places on the pad. "Remember that Serenian Ambassador?"
Jim threw his hands up in defense, all too-innocent eyes and barely-stiffened smirk likening him more to a schoolboy caught staring up his teacher's skirt than the captain of a starship.
"Hey. Not fair. Kissing is how they "shake hands" on that planet, I was being polite. It was a wound inflicted in the line of duty, Bones! It wasn't like I decided to star part time in "Kinky Captain Serenian Posion Porn".."
"I admit myself somewhat disturbed by the swiftness with which you "invented" that pornography title, Captain" snarked Spock dryly, unable to still a mischevious wiggle of his eyebrow. His fine-boned face was precisely blank, but his dark eyes brightened with a mirth Jim loved to coax out. A soft, subtle smile tugged at Jim's lips.
"Nah, that's Bones's department. How do you think he paid his way through med school?" Jim teased McCoy, though his dancing eyes never flitted from Spock's. The doctor rolled his eyes.
"Good God, man. Get a room, you two."
"Love you too, Bones," Kirk winked. He gravened quickly, muttering to Spock seconds before both men's molecules were scattered. "Did you complete the background research on the societal norms of the Thetans?"
"But of course, Captain," Spock responded with an incredulous, mechanical little head tilt, as if mildly offended Jim even needed to ask. Jim chortled softly to himself.
"Ah, Mr. Spock," Jim smiled. "What I would do without you, I'll never know."
()()()
"Damn it, Jim, I'm a doctor, not a grief couselor..."
"Good. I don't need a therapist. I don't need anyone trying to get up in my head and project all of their own issues onto me."
"Will you let me finish before you jump down my throat? What I'm trying to say is, I know what you are going through...and quite frankly, I don't know what to tell you, Jim."
"Then why are you even talking to me? I have a goddam ship to run, Bones."
"Jim, you and I have been through too much shit over the years for me to shake off that easily. You know I'm on your side, kid."
"I'm sorry, Bones."
"Look-it's rough. I know it is. But you know that Komack and McArthur and those other pompous bureacratic sonofbitch vultures have been waiting for years to nail you on something, and there is a lot of talk going around the grapevine that you've been emotionally compromised..."
"Let them talk. I don't care."
"Do you care about anything these days?"
"Of course I do."
"Say it like you mean it, Jim, because if you keep acting like this,... I'm going to start to think you are emotionally compromised my ownself..."
"Acting like what exactly?"
"Like the fact that you've stopped beaming down with landing parties. Like the fact that you work every single shift and never let Uhura or Sulu or even Scotty take the conn if at all possible. Like the fact that you are actually doing all your own paperwork now...you never do your own paperwork..."
"Well, I don't have a First Officer who can do it all for me in about a minute anymore, do I?"
"Good God, Jim, don't do that. I...I...cared too...I do mis-"
"And I don't see what actually following regulations for a change has to do with..."
"But don't you see, you're not dealing with this! You're burying yourself in your work to cope and you're working yourself to death as a result! And it's not just that, you're...you're just out of it, like you are dead to the world. And if you need to be out of it, then by all means, there's no sin in that. Deal with what happened anyway you can. But take some time off. Let Uhura or Sulu take the conn for a few days. They can handle it. And even if it's a blow to your pride..and God knows I know all about that pride of yours... if you are actually emotionally compromised, take some shore leave. God knows you've accumulated enough..."
"I'm not abandoing my crew."
"No one says you ar..."
"I'm not. Fucking. Walking. Out."
"Is this what this is about? Is it that you feel abandoned, or betrayed, because-"
"Jesus Christ, will you stop trying to get inside my head? You have no idea what I'm going throug-"
"I would if you'd just tell me! You aren't being...don't make me say it...you're not being...logical..."
"Will you shut the FUCK up?"
()()()
Though Theta Nix was inhabited by colonists from many planets (included a hundred-odd humans), the ruling class was dominated by the Thetans. The Thetans were a lizardlike people (Jim was reminded, with a shudder, of the Gorn.) Thick dark teal scales crusted every inch of their compact, roundish bodies save their soap-soft hands,unshoed feet, and their fleshy, poutmouthed lips. A cluster waited in the room where Jim and Spock materialized, all less than a meter tall, drapped in feathery yellow-orange robes and resembling blue-cored daffodils. Jim picked out the leader instantly: the one drapped in the thickest robe, whose pot-belly stretched the farthest.
"Greetings, Captain Kirk," the alien spread his tiny blue-palmed hands in a priestly gesture. "I am Prime Minister Klor. This is my assistant, Roltz, and my wife, Kirana. I am attended by several of my heads of state, whose names and backgrounds I am willing to give if needed for security purposes."
Jim tried clumsily to mimic the Prime Minister's hand gesture, failing miserably.
"No validation is necessary. We have already checked out your personnel from our ship. I am Captain James T. Kirk of the U.S.S. Enterprise, representing the Federation. This is my first officer, Mr. Spock."
"Pleasure to make your acquaitance," Spock entoned, forming perfectly the gesture Jim had so badly botched. Jim could have sworn Spock's mouth thinned in amusement.
"The pleasure is ours. Welcome to our colony," pipped up the assistant Roltz. He was a candid-eyed little lizard who stared up at them with earnest softness, as if as much as a frown in his direction would cause him to cry.
Jim and Spock were gestured towards a pair of seats, but both chose to remain standing, as did the Thetans themselves.
"So, I understand that there is a bit of a drug trafficking problem in this colony." Jim delved straight into meat of the matter. The Prime Minister nodded fervantly.
"Yes, Captain. There has been a spike in Substance N usage over the last few months, and it is halting the progress of our civilization. You see, Captain, Substance N users become lazy as a result of their drug use. They are content and happy to do little but hold hands and babble about sweet voices in their heads, speak of their hope for the future...all total nonsense."
"Are they violent?" Jim asked seriously.
"Not usually, Captain. Quite the opposite in fact...they are incredibly gentle, speaking often of unconditional love and kindness...until you try to convince them that the hallucinations that they suffer are not reality. Then some of them become quite violent indeed."
"The drug induces a numb, detatched state not entirely unlike your Earth's opium-based drugs, Captain," Spock supplied swifly. "However, unlike opium-based drugs, Substance N lacks a certain potency. The user is less likely to die of an overdose than to slowly wither away. The user is also less likely to realize the gravity of their situation. After a certain amount of time, their rational faculties disintegrate until they can no longer separate reality from fiction. They also are unable to realize they are dying, for one of the most common delusions of Substance N users is that they will live forever."
"Precisely," the Prime Minister's yellow cat-slit eyes glazed in concentration. The muscles in his scaly jaws bunched and relaxed. Smoothly, he drew a tiny device from his pocket and pressed down a button. The outline of a molecule was suspended suddenly before them.
"This is the structure of a Substance N molecule," the Prime Minister told them. "The clear, odorless, tasteless substance is usually taken intraveniously, but not always."
The snowflake-diagram blipped out, replaced by the image of a pig-eyed alien; its papery-skinned ridges cresting a wide, monkeyish head.
"This is Tholkar, the Ferengi trader who has been linked as an ally of the Klingon empire."
"Tholkar is an outspoken opponent of the Federation," Spock whispered in Jim's ear. The two men leaned instinctively closer, their foreheads nearly brushing. "He believes that the Federation is a socialist state undermining economic prosperity, and that the more harsh, unfettered Klingon government is more welcoming to commerce."
Jim nodded while the Prime Minister warbled on as if Spock had not spoken.
"...though neither Tholkar nor any of his known associates have been spotted on the planet, law enforcement has confiscated several weapons and other goods matching the description and serial numbers of cargo on a ship registered to Tholkar."
"So you have proof he is dealing phasers and legal goods, and since he's been linked to Substance N trafficking in the past, you suspect that he might be the one behind your planet's problem?" Jim deduced shrewdly. The Prime Minister nodded again.
"Precisely, Captain."
"Tell you what, Minister," Jim placed his hands authoritatively on his hips, brow furrowed, clear and alive with the focused energy that command never failed to strike in him. "If it is alright with you, I would like to look over the documents and information your law enforcement has collected on the products. If we can establish proof that Tholkar is responsible for the trafficking, the Federation will be able to authorize an intense search of the planet. Otherwise, legally, we will be unable to help you. I'm sure you understand that there must be a warrant issued for a suspect's arrest, that we cannot simply send personal barging through houses seaching for Substance N."
"Of course, Captain. Roltz!" The Prime Minister barked at his assistant and sharply clapped his hands twice. The assistant flinched. "Fetch Captain Kirk the documents he has requested!"
"Yes, Minister!" squaked Roltz, his broad tail causing him to waddle slightly on his fat-thighed legs as he scurried from the room.
"Do you know if Tholkar is using the drug himself?" Jim asked the Minister.
"Unlikely. If he were, he would be caught by now."
"Explain."
"Substance N users," supplied Spock, drawing himself to full height and clenching his hands in the small of his back as he fell into his most matter-of-fact, informative mode. "Are not among the universe's most lucid thinkers. Even the ones who are incredibly intelligent exist in a state of perpetual denial."
"Exactly. Excuse me, Captain..."
The Prime Minister turned to his group, chattering in the shrill, chirpping Thetan language which was but gibberish to Jim's ears. Pity Jim had not brought Uhura...
"I have never understood," Spock confided quietly in Jim while several of the other Thetans scuttled from the room. "How a sentient being...fully aware of their own mortality...can so easily fall into denial."
"You are talking about the delusions of the N users?"
"Precisely. It is illogical to choose to believe a scenario based not upon plausibility, but upon whether or not the scenario is pleasant."
"You're right. It isn't logical, but you would be surprised to find, my friend, that nothing is more addictive than hope."
Twin points pressed behind Jim's temples. Another exhaustion headache was coming on. A slow, churnning rage, tense as gravity, stirred constantly in his chest; sucking from him all the energy he would otherwise devote to living. In this haze of perpetual weariness, his neurorsis reached a stage of torture where as to shield him from reality. Reality was cruel and strange. His dreams left him screaming his throat raw.
He had refused to drink at the wake, scared he would drink heavily, think heavily, say heavy things and reveal too much. Years ago, he would have gotten so drunk the Riverside bar floor would have stamped its pattern unto his drool-slimmed cheek. But Jim was not that kind of person anymore. No; he took a certain vicious, masochistic pride in standing, fists clenched, while the others around him cried. Knowing Uhura would end up warbeling in an even-more-wasted Scotty's arms by midnight, knowing Chekhov would take more than his tiny frame could handle, knowing Bones would hit the bottle harder than he did on Joanna's birthday or his anniversary. Jim, on the other hand, bore the world in stubborn pride, with a compsure worthy of a Vulcan.
It felt almost illict to enjoy anything, even alchohol. He still felt guilty, too, even two weeks later, when work would draw his mind from Theta Nix. Sometimes he'd even be on the verge of a smile or even a laugh, because of something Scott or Sulu said. Then he'd remember. Awash in guilt, he'd shudder. The laugh choked in his throat.
He was never wholly asleep or awake. Most nights he tossed in the vicious cycle in his thinning skull, his fried-nerved mind diseased and sick of thinking the same thoughts on repeat. When he did sleep without nightmare, he woke unrefreshed and peered out bitter-eyed at the world.
His crew ached too. He could see it in their eyes. He found it hard to care. The day after it happened, a crewmember had been killed in a transporter accident. Normally, a crewmember's death left him melancholy. Yet this time he stared at that twitching splatter of matter oozing dark red unto the transporter, as dully awed as when watching the showers run, or the watching the replicators drizzle coffee sludge into his cup.
Life goes on.
The closest he came to feeling (besides those nights breathing cracked his ribs) was irritation at his command team, especially Bones and Uhura. His crew was talking about him. He knew it. Just because he knew he was paranoid didn't mean his spine didn't ice at the whispers lingering on the edge of his hearing range. Those times when Sulu and Chekhov fell abruptly silent when he entered a room... Uhura's doe stare seared white hot in his gut.
Don't you dare pity me.
They must never know, a sleep-deprived wail shrieked hysteric. He was the Captain. He was a role model for the crew. He was in charge. None of them, not even Bones, could see beneath this title that first made him realize that he could own and love his name, that it owned him as much as he owned it. It was all he had to force him to drag his weary bones to the bridge each shift.
Besides, only one person had ever been able to see the full man behind the Captain. Letting anyone else in would be blasphemy.
"How long has this colony been here?" Though Jim directed the question towards Spock, the Prime Minister answered.
"10 years, Captain Kirk."
"Impressive," Jim nodded decisively as the party of six-the Prime Minister, his wife, 2 bodyguards, Jim, and Spock-squeezed their way through narrow streets. The streets were slit channels cut in stone blocks through which zipped a hot, gritty wind. The pot-hole windows of a thousands apartments dotted up the stone walls like the many eyes of Argus staring blindly from the peacock's tail. Security had gone before them, purging the streets of all common folk. On one street corner, a cleaning robot still buzzed frantically to obliterate a graffiti mark which, in its half-melted state, resembled a leper's blotch. The Prime Minister's fat eyes narrowed, but he said nothing until Jim asked.
"My rule," the Prime Minister explained "Is under some contestation. Because of the Substance N situation."
"I thought that the users were non-violent unless you tried to convince them their hallucinations weren't real?"
Yet again, Spock answered. "Not the users, captain. The dealers. They can become deeply nonplussed at those who undermine their power."
"An understatement, my Vulcan friend, but true in essence."
"Prime Minister," Spock stared fixedly at the lizard as they walked, possessed in that intense, fierce intellectual curiousity which always coaxed a smile from Jim. "There is much talk amongst scientists about the time-altering legends of your homeworld. Can you divulge any information about such things?"
"Oh yes, the time travel," the Minister's fishy lips flexed in what Jim recognized as mild embarrassment. "It is not a legend, Mr. Spock, there is indeed a way in which our people have been able to alter time...but we do not speak of it. It has not been done for many centuries."
"Time travel? Aren't we a little old to believe in that kind of thing?" Jim laughed nervously, his inside joke with Spock not quite masking the unease unsetting his gut.
"This time travel would not create an alternate reality, Captain," Spock leaned close, his whisper warm in Kirk's ear as they walked more tightly together, arms brushing. "Thetan legends say that their people can rewind certain events, but how exactly this is done, is something of a mystery."
"At any rate, we do not talk about it much," the Prime Minister interrupted, having heard the entire conversation. "It was long ago decided by our people that the power to control time was too much for one or even several people to handle. However, the Chamber is maintained out of respect for tradition, and in case we should ever have dire need of it. After all, one never knows what might happen."
Snap.
Phaser shots zinged from nowhere, sharp, hollow, and dry. The Prime Minister was missed, but the closest shot singed his robes black. The phaser was set to kill.
"Get down!" Jim shoved the Minister and his wife around the nearest corner. The two body guards whipped out their phasers as quickly as Kirk and Spock. The four curled around the street corner as well, using it as a shield, shooting off rapid fire at the single window from which the shots came.
"So much for a routine mention," Jim quipped lightly to Spock as the bodyguards' shots pinged through the window several stories overhead. "I owe Bones five credits."
Spock's dark eyes bored into Jim's face, bright with quiet fierceness Spock saved for him alone. There was a passion in those Vulcan eyes Jim could not explain; an unforgettable fire he could strike in his friend at whim, that curled like bloodfever in those dark green veins, quivered in his very bones.
Odd, how a moment ordinary when happening can, in retrospect, become etched into your heart forever.
An hour after he screamed at McCoy, Jim received a comm from Commodore Pike.
Normally, a comm from Pike would have been welcome, a chance to talk to his favorite admiral. Now, however, Jim pressed the button with a current of apprehension tingling under the numb. He wondered if he was in trouble. More pressingly, he wondered if Pike was going to look at him like he had been recently.
Pike's familiar face suddenly dominated the Padd screen. The delta wrinkles at his eye corners seemed deeper of late.
"I have a new assignment for you from Star Fleet," Pike was saying. A bright teensy corner of Jim's brain pipped Why is he messaging me in person to tell me this? Even if it were super-important-top-secret, I'd be getting it from Komack...
"We need the Enterprise to return to Theta Nix." Pike's gravely voice softened several decibles. T+here was a gentleness in his steely eyes bordering on apologetic. "I'm so sorry, Jim, but the situation there has gotten much worse than before. We have definite evidence that Thokalr is on the planet. He was spotted via satellite. There will be more information in the debriefing document being sent to you right now."
An unfamiliar voice bleeped out in stillborn calm
"Understood Admiral. I will complete the mission as efficently and quickly as possible."
Pike's face was snuffed out like a blink.
This was one of those moments, Jim later reflected, naked in the shower with a hot stream pelting his skin. This is one of those moments when I should be feeling something. Maybe it's true and I really am in what Bones likes to call 'shell shock.' Maybe I am crazy. But if craziness is disorientation from reality, and reality itself is so absurd, how can I truly know that my craziness is not a higher plane of sanity?
He would be returning to the planet where settlers, once aquiver with hope, pumped their veins with Substance N and lay with filmed eyes and halcyon grins.
He would be returning to the planet where the only people whose hearts beat true shot at their leader's heads.
He would be returning to the planet...
….where they could turn back time...
A whisp of smoke snaked out the window. The post-shot silence quivered pregnant.
"I think the coast is clear," Jim called out from where he squated, thighs aching, peering nervously around the corner.
From a completely different window, in a different direction, three blasts cleft the air.
The first shot soared over Jim's head, missing him by at least a meter. The second one struck the wall behind the Prime Minister's wife's shoulder, pebbling her with fractured rock.
The third hit Spock directly in the throat.
"Computer," Jim's voice croaked hoarse as if from lack of use. "I need you to compile all known information...involving Thetan time travel."
()()()
Spock sprawled flat on his back. Blood gurgled dark green from the wound and streamed thick out the side of his mouth, staining emerald the whites of his wide open eyes.