Disclaimer: I do not own Star Trek or any of it's character's, although I do lay claim to the Desmodian tribes (you'll see what I mean later, I swear I'm not crazy…well not that crazy at least.)
I'm fairly new to the Star Trek universe and this is my first story so if you spot any inaccuracies or feel I'm not portraying any of the characters accurately please let me know. I'm here to learn and appreciate any feedback I can get. That said, I hope you enjoy the story. This is only chapter one, so there's plenty more to follow after this.
McCoy lay still as a corpse on the ground, or rather what was left of it. All around him explosions rocked the earth to it's very core, sending dust and rock spraying all over the Chief Medical Officer and the three men lying sprawled on the ground nearby – Spock, Kirk and Ensign Rick who had been gravely wounded in a prior explosion.
McCoy figured he should be used to such scenarios by now. If life aboard the enterprise had taught him anything after all it was to expect the absolute worst that life had to offer twenty- four-seven and three-sixty-five. Perhaps it was just him but McCoy swore the Enterprise and her Captain in particular had bulls-eyes permanently attached to their beings. Which was just peachy damn' keen by him. Moments like this, McCoy thought wearily to himself, made him wish he'd settled on a small country practice instead. "Damn' Jim and his ability to smooth-talk even a Dravidian slime worm…"
And so once again McCoy and crew found themselves in the middles of absolute chaos – amidst explosions, hail storms of red – hot shrapnel and a horde of aliens who wanted nothing more than their heads on a platter. The only real difference between this and past predicaments were the predators hunting them. The Chiroptera tribe, the most violent tribe of the Desmodians, were a race of humanoid, almost-bat like creatures. Covered from head to toe in course black fur with small, crimson beady eyes, the Desmodians reminded McCoy of the monsters and boogeymen his mother would read him as a child. And all things considered monster was certainly not too strong a word for the creatures. Their lives centered around violence and warfare and thrived on the inherent horrors and gore of battle.
Another explosion nearby sent dust and debris a-fly. McCoy choked on the dust and smoke, could feel his lungs struggling to breath. Vaguely McCoy became aware that Ensign Rick had gone still beside him. The boy's pulse confirmed McCoy's suspicions; Rick was no longer of this earth. "Damn' it," the CMO rasped. Chancing a glance over his shoulder, McCoy found to his dismay that he could no longer see either the Captain or Spock. The dust and debris kicked up in the wake of the explosions made it all but impossible to see.
A knot of dread tied itself in the pit of McCoy's stomach. In all probability neither Jim nor Spock had probably moved from their nearby positions upon the jagged and scorched ground, yet McCoy couldn't help but feel utterly alone. It was as if merely being able to see his Captain and First Officer had provided him with a sense of strength and security and now the he could no longer see the two, that link had been irrefutably severed. Fortunately, McCoy didn't find himself stranded and alone for very long. A slender hand wrapped itself around the CMO's shoulder, strong and firm.
Fearing that one of the native Desmodians must have found him, McCoy did the only thing his dazed mind knew to do – retaliate. He was a doctor, not a warrior but McCoy would be damned before he let one of those alien bastards get their hands on him.
Swinging his medical kit about where he thought the alien's face would be, McCoy let out a ravenous war cry. The medical kit made contact with McCoy's attacker, landing with a satisfying thwack! Hefting his kit back around to have another go at his assailant, McCoy's second strike was stopped short however by a strong, commanding grip. The superior strength of the alien's grasp nearly crushed McCoy's delicate hand. Yelping in pain, McCoy dropped to his knees.
Through a haze of pain and terror, McCoy was faintly aware that the shelling and explosions had stopped, at least for the moment. Whether that was a good or a bad thing the good Doctor neither knew nor cared. All he wanted was for the crushing pain in his hand to cease.
The Desmodian grinned, taking evident pleasure in McCoy's torment. He, it, McCoy's dazed mind wasn't entirely sure if the Desmodians had genders, cackled, increasing the pressure on McCoy's hand. A loud snapping noise announced the breaking of several bones. With a howl of pain McCoy sank even lower towards the ground. If the Desmodian hadn't still had a grip upon his hand, McCoy would undoubtedly have collapsed into an insensible heap upon the ground.
"You humans," the Desmodian hissed in what sounded strangely like Earthen English, "are so weak. With the smallest amount of force your body crumples and breaks. How your species has survived so long I do not know…killing you is much less entertaining than fighting the other tribes. Rest assured however, that my people shall rectify this matter starting with you and your comrades!"
Body still in shock, McCoy could only watch in pained silence as the man-sized bat-like creature reached out with a clawed fist for his other hand. Still the ever stubborn CMO refused to go down without a fight, or at least without giving the Desmodian a piece of his mind. Drawing a heaving breath, McCoy leveled a defiant glare at the Desmodian sufficient enough to stop the creature dead in it's tracks.
"Oh, what's this? Still got a little bit of fight left in you after all I see. Good, good… Then perhaps this hasn't been a complete waste of my time after all."
"Do…Do you even comprehend…what you've just done? The Federation offered your people a…place…among it's ranks. A chance to aide your people…to help them grow…and develop. What you've just done is an open act of war. Not just against my people…but against every planet who is a Federation member as well. You and your people…have just signed your own death warrants."
"Oh, how terrifying," the Desmodian mocked. "Is that supposed to frighten me? Make me quake in my armor? You forget human that my people thrive on war – we have for centuries. It's how we make a living, how we grow and develop. War is our life. Bring on your Federation warships – your glorious armies. We'll see who stands triumphant in the end. Whether it be your people or mine we care not. For we neither fear death nor defeat, merely the end of our lives as we know it…the end of war."
"You…You're insane!"
"My dear human, I weary of this conversation. You've prolonged your death for long enough. Now it's time to die."
A torrent of emotions washed over McCoy as he watched the Desmodian heft it's battle axe into the air, intent upon bringing it down upon McCoy's cranium. Anger, fear, sadness, bitterness. So many emotions he didn't quite know what to do with them all.
So this, McCoy scowled, was how his life was about to come to an end. Stranded on some alien planet light years from Earth and it's comforts, he was about to be axed by a giant freakin' man-bat. After all he'd been through, the years he'd lived both on Earth and abroad, everything amounted to this one moment in time. Just wonderful.
With some bitter irony, McCoy mused how he always had believed that it would be Jim, the reckless and headstrong Captain who bit the dust first. Then again, given the odds both Jim and Spock were already probably dead. In that case, McCoy welcomed death with open arms. Better to go with his friends than live a lifetime without them. As much as they may have annoyed him at times, they were the closest thing to family he had, though he'd never admit it to their faces. Not that he'd get the chance to do that now.
His mind and heart resolved upon the matter McCoy waited for the inevitable death blow to come. When several seconds ticked by and nothing happened however McCoy kept his eyes shut tight. The Desmodian was probably toying with him, trying to get as much sick pleasure out of McCoy as it possibly could before killing him. Well, at the very least McCoy could deny the demented creature this one pleasure.
When a few more seconds passed and McCoy still found himself very much alive; the throbbing pain in his hand attested to this, McCoy began to get mildly irritated. "Well aren't you going to kill me already?"
"Doctor, I fail to see why I should desire to kill you."
That voice - that beautifully stoic, emotionless voice! In any other circumstance McCoy could have been annoyed at the emotionlessness of Spock's voice in light of the carnage and horror surrounding them. Never before had McCoy been happier nor more relieved than now to hear that hollow Vulcan voice. In took every ounce of McCoy's waning resolve and pride as he beheld a dust-covered, battle weary Spock, not to reach out and embrace the Vulcan in a tight hug.
A brief look of concern mingled with fatigue crossed the Vulcan's countenance for an instant, only to be gone the next. "Doctor McCoy, you have been injured."
"Really Mr. Spock, I hadn't noticed…just a broken hand I should think." McCoy winced, taking a good look at his hand for the first time McCoy rather wished he hadn't. His hand looked alien, like some giant black and blue balloon that had at some point been exchanged for his once slender, boney hand. "Thanks to you I didn't lose my head on top of that." McCoy stole a glance at the fallen corpse of the Desmodian and shuddered, the phaser burns on it's back still smoking. "I owe you one, you pointy-eared, green blooded hobgoblin."
"Nonsense Doctor," the Vulcan replied with even measure, "considering all the time you've saved me in the past I believe I still owe you several lives. At any rate, discounting your poor attempt at an insult I believe the correct return would be you're welcome.
It was then that McCoy realized that something was wrong. Very, very wrong. Pushing aside the cold feeling dread that seemed to pool in his stomach, McCoy locked eyes with Spock. "Spock," he breathed, voice just above a whisper, "where's Jim?"
The moment Spock looked away and refused to meet his gaze McCoy knew… "Dear God no… No, no, no…"
"Doctor, the Desmodians have taken the Captain prisoner."
Sorry this chapter was so McCoy centered. Next chapter will feature a whole lot more Kirk and perhaps even a little more of Spock as well, so stay tuned.
Review if you love tribbles (or even if you don't!)