THE NIGHT OF THE TREK AMONG THE STARS

By Andamogirl

Author's notes : WWW season 3 / Star Trek TOS season 1.

Reference to "The Night of the Flying Pie Plate", to "The Night of the Underground Terror", to "The Night of the Lord of Limbo" and to "The Night of the Firebrand."

Reference to my stories "The Night of the Ice Cold Death" & "The Night of the Green Woman From Outer Space" (for the plot, I inserted the last one inside this story). But you can read it as a stand-alone on FFNet.

Reference to the ST/TOS Episodes: "Space Seed", "Tomorrow is Yesterday" & "The City on the Edge of Forever".

Reference to Star Trek V The Final Frontier camping scene.

Richmond: First of all, you and Jim disobey my orders. Take it upon yourselves to break in and smuggle Colonel Mosely out of his own stronghold, right under the noses of his own guards.
Artie: Thank you, sir.
Richmond: I have to give you points for doing a first-rate job.

The Night of the Underground Terror.

Capt. Kirk: [as McCoy wipes Kirk's split lip with bourbon] Ouch!
McCoy: What's the matter?
Capt. Kirk: What do you call that stuff? Fire?
McCoy: [reading the label] Taos Lightning, straight bourbon. Try some. In small amounts, it was considered medicinal.
Capt. Kirk: Well, label it "For external use only".

Star Trek: "The Spectre of the gun."

Captain John Christopher: I never have believed in little green men.

Mr. Spock: Neither have I.

Star Trek: "Tomorrow is Yesterday"

Crossover between the Wild Wild West and Star Trek the original series. Time travel.

Warning: minor violence and non-consensual body modification. Forced kissing & drug use (mind control). A few disturbing images (aliens are very bad people!). Skinny-dipping.

Many thanks to my beta reader Tripidydoodah.

For Tripidydoodah as a gift to thank her for her wonderful job. You're the best.

WWW

TEASER

On the beach,

Somewhere near San Francisco

Lost in the contemplation of the dancing flames, his mind blank, oblivious to the world around him, Artemus Gordon didn't react when James West sat down on the cooling sand beside him.

Artie noticed his best friend's presence when he felt a hand press his shoulder. "Hey J'm. How did y' find me?" he asked, still watching the fire, his voice strained and hoarse with fatigue.

Throwing a piece of wood on the fire, Jim said, "When you are not well in your head and in your heart you come to relax by the water; a river, a lake... a beach along the ocean, and we are near San Francisco. It was only a matter of time before I found you sitting here on the beach."

Holding a bottle of whiskey, nearly empty, Artie took a huge gulp, finishing it. "Good thinkin'," he said." He threw it beside the other one, empty too, lying on the sand. "M' was'ed."

Jim pulled out a cigarillo from the inside pocket of his jacket, "After only two bottles of whiskey? I'm surprised. I thought you had built up a tolerance to liquor to the point where you can drink any heavy drinker under the table…," he said, then he placed the small cigar between his lips.

Opening a third bottle of the amber liquor, Artie nodded. "I'd like to get even drunker – alone. Go back to the train. I want to be alone," he slurred.

Fishing a burning twig out of the fire, Jim lit his cigarillo, the tip glowing red as he did so. He puffed on it twice and said, "No. I'm staying. We're partners, for better or for worse."

Artie smiled weakly. "It's sounds like we're married…but not quite. We do everything together, yes, everything but lovemaking."

Amused, Jim chuckled, "Sorry buddy, you're not my type." He took a drag and serious again, he added, "Married couples hide nothing from each other… so I'd like to know what's bugging you, Artie," as the smoke flowed past his lips. "Tell me what's wrong Artie, you're out here drinking alone…"

But Artie didn't say a word. He was absent, his look hollow, empty, immersed in his thoughts, his gaze lost on the horizon where the sun was setting.

He swallowed hard and finally whispered, "Nothing that concerns you, and I'm not drinking alone, you're here Jim."

Following Artie's gaze, Jim said, "Anything related to you concerns me. You're my partner, my best friend and my companion. You're like a brother to me, I care about you, a lot and you know that." He paused, and then asked again, "Tell me what's going on." He looked at Artie, straight into his bleary chocolate eyes, hoping that Artie would open up to him, but he didn't. To force him to do so, he added, "You don't want to talk, okay. I'm sure that I can guess what's bugging you."

Looking at Jim with a fierce look, Artemus growled. "Forget it."

But Jim didn't, driven by his curiosity and wanting to help and comfort Artie. "You started to be grumpy, reserved, saying little, drinking a lot of whiskey and not sleeping… after our last assignment, after Colonel Richmond left, three days ago. Is it related to that prisoner of war camp…?" He saw Artie's shoulders hunch and his head drop on his chest. The connection was immediate: "You were taken prisoner during the war and locked up in a prisoner of war camp… and being in Susquehanna has revived very bad memories… Did I guess right?" Seeing the other man close his eyes in pain for a few seconds, he knew he was correct. "I didn't know that… You never told me, Artie."

Closing his haunted eyes, Artie shook his head. "It's a story I prefer not to talk about. It hurts. I had not thought about it for years, but being in that prisoner camp… triggered some horrible memories. I thought I had buried them somewhere in a recesses of my mind... but everything came back to the surface and replayed in my mind in excruciating detail, the images, the sounds, the smells, I should say the stench, I got used to blood, piss, shit and vomit… I remembered everything, like it was yesterday. And I remembered pain and death. It's the most traumatizing experience of my life and I'm trying to dull the agony and block out the memories… but it doesn't work."

Nodding, Jim said, "Why didn't you tell me that…?"

Raising his head, Artie took another swig of the bottle of whiskey. "I don't like to talk about myself. There are a lot of things you don't know about me," he said.

Watching the ocean, Jim nodded. The sun had descended below the horizon and the sky was darkening, the stars showing. "I know that. You're a very private man, and I respect that. You had a life full of danger and mysteries before we met in Petersburg where I almost killed you while trying to protect General Grant." He looked at his partner. "I'm here to help you, Artie."

Artemus gave a noncommittal grunt. "There are lots of things-s I keep s-s-secret," he slurred. He dropped his bottle of liquor in the sand and buried his face in his hands. "I'd like to be alone…"

Moving closer to his surrogate brother Jim said, "I'm staying. I want to help you." He rested his shoulder against Artie's in a supportive gesture. "Let me do that, Artie."

Grabbing the bottle of whiskey, Artemus downed a good third of it. "Go away!" he growled menacingly looking at Jim for the first time. "I came here to be on my own."

Unfazed, Jim noticed the dark circles around Artie's bloodshot eyes and shook his head. "No. And don't try to force me to go. In your state you couldn't hurt a fly, even less me, buddy."

Knowing that Jim wouldn't go away, he took deep breaths to calm his nerves and said, "Okay… only two people know this… Dr. Henderson and President Grant. I didn't say anything to my mom and to Harry… they would have been horrified. It still haunts me sometimes… but after our last mission, that nightmare oppressed me, overwhelmed me." He looked at the horizon, going dark and continued, "I was captured with a platoon of my men while reconnoitering enemy lines… that was before I was a spy, when I was still wearing my Captain's uniform and commanding my own company. Fortunately, because I would have been hanged as a spy from the first tree on the road otherwise. I was sent in Andersonville prison with my men…"

All the blood drained from Jims face and his stomach clenched. "Oh God…"

Swallowing hard, Artie shook his head. "Lucifer was there, not God." He added, "I didn't stay long in that prison, three weeks and five days, but long enough to see what hell on earth is… I was so desperate to leave that hellish place, that I tried to escape, knowing that I had little chance to, and that I would probably end up dead. But I didn't care. One day, there was a massive escape attempt. About a three hundred men rushed the first stockade made of rough-hewn logs about 16 feet high surrounded by stakes driven into the ground…, in an attempt to flatten them to the ground, to escape. I was among them. We wanted to do that with the two other stockades interspaced with no man's land but… we didn't manage to. We were shot like animals by sentries in the pigeon roosts. They all died in a bloodbath… all but me… I was very fortunate."

Placing a compassionate hand on Artie's trembling one, Jim said, "You do not have to tell me all this Artie, it's hurting you."

Lowering the bottle of whiskey to his lap, Artemus responded, "It helps me… I should have told you this a long time ago." He rubbed his stubbled jawline nervously. He took a slow, shaky breath. "It was horrible… I stayed buried under a pile of dead bodies for three days before… before the guards decided to bury everyone in a mass grave. I played dead… and it wasn't difficult, because I was unconscious most of the time due to extreme fatigue, and was buried too. It was the only way to escape the prison."

Horrified, Jim's body went rigid and he croaked, "What? You were buried?"

Eyes glazed, Artie said, "Yeah… I had the first panic attack of my life… I hurried to dig the earth by hand to get me out of there… it was a shallow mass grave, fortunately." Tears rolled down his cheeks and he mopped them with the back of his sleeve. "When I emerged out into the open, it was dark, and I was able to sneak out, without being seen, into the forest around the prison. I then killed a confederate soldier with my bare hands ... I stole his uniform and rifle and managed to reach the front line. I surrendered to the first soldier of the union. I was taken prisoner again, but an officer I knew recognized me and had me freed. A week later, still covered with filth and vermin, and very sick with dysentery, I ended up in Doctor Henderson's hands. He saved my life – again." He raised his bottle of whiskey, holding it by the neck and said, "To my men… and to all the others who died in that hellhole, in misery."

He took a long drink from it, and shook his head, trying to force the images away – but they clung to his mind like ghosts. They would probably haunt his nightmares till the end, he thought. He let out a strangled sob and started to cry… just before passing out and flopping down onto the sand.

It was dark.

WWW

The next morning on the beach

Feeling a hand on his shoulder, Artemus cracked open one eye and looked up at Jim's concerned face staring down at him. "Wha…?" he breathed out.

Shaking his best friend gently, Jim asked, very quietly. "How do you feel, Artie?"

His hangover pounding in his skull Artie closed his eye and tried to ignore his partner, but Jim insisted. He surrendered with a sigh. "Kill me," he rasped, his throat still thick with sleep.

Smiling, Jim said, "Never," and he maneuvred Artemus into a sitting position, slowly, gently, and the older man let out a groan in agony.

Fortunately for him the contents of his stomach stayed where it was.

Rubbing his tired face Artie spotted the two empty bottles of whiskey discarded beside the fire, the third one being almost empty and he winced. Everything ached and hurt and throbbed. "Oh God… did I drink all that whiskey all by myself? I'm never drinking again. Why did I drink so much? I hate hangovers. I'm still a little drunk I think…" He finally noticed he had slept on the beach, covered by his saddle blanket, now pooling on his lap. "I slept here, on the beach?"

Placing the saddle blanket around Artie's shoulders, Jim said, "We did. Let's go back to the Wanderer, Artie. You need to make yourself look human again…"

Nodding Artie frowned, trying desperately to remember what exactly had happened last night. He reached up and rubbed at his temple. "My head's feels like it's ripping in half…" then he buried his face in his hands as his memory started to come back in bits and pieces.

Looking at Jim sitting beside him on his own saddle blanket, Artie heaved a sigh and said, "Don't tell what happened there to my mom and Harry, promise me."

Placing a soothing hand on his companion's shoulder Jim said, "I promise. I won't tell that to anyone." He smiled and added, "Let's go back to the Wanderer."

He heard a loud "meow".

He frowned and turned around to see AG sitting on his hind legs on the sand. He opened his eyes wide in surprise. "AG? What are you doing here?" …

San Francisco railroad yard, July 21, 1875

The Wanderer

Jim woke up hearing a loud "meow."

Blinking, James West looked around him, surprised to be on his bed and not on the beach and heard a second meow as his young cat padded across his chest.

He heaved a long sigh of relief. He had had a nightmare, nothing had actually happened, he thought while AG started to lick his face, purring loudly.

He chuckled. "Mini cat, but big meow."

Holding the small cat against his chest, he left his bed and headed toward the galley remembering what had happened last night. Nothing special: he had settled in the armchair with a good book, a glass of French Cognac and a fine cigar while Artie had left for his lab with Marmalade and AG in tow to test a new invention of his: a cat tree, an artificial structure for a the cats to play, exercise and relax on.

He had gone to bed before Artie… who wasn't in the galley, by the way, he noticed. But breakfast was ready. The coffee pot was on the stove, a big steaming omelet was in a dish on the table, the toast was ready, beside opened pots of jams ... "Artie? Where are you?" He felt his throat close as his intuition signaled him a feeling of imminent danger. "ARTIE!"

He placed AG in his basket, next to the stove and entered the parlor suite a couple of seconds later… and froze on the spot as he discovered Artemus dressed in his pajamas and robe, framed between two hulking men, blood oozing from a cuton his left eyebrow. His partner was on his knees, hands on his head and one of the thugs had the end of his revolver touching his temple.

Jim frowned in concern. "Artie!"

Artemus nodded. "It's nothing, I'm okay," he said.

He looked at another man sitting on a golden embroidered sofa… Colonel Noel Bartley Vautrain. "Colonel Vautrain, I was wondering when you would show up. I can see that you recovered your legs, again."

The ex-Confederate officer smiled. "Actually, I have new 'artificial' legs, Mr. West… They can do wonders in the future." He tapped his right leg and added,. "Doctors equipped me with two 'bionic prostheses' resembling real legs that allow me to walk like anyone else… and enhance their strength. I can even run faster than anyone else and without tiring. The future was fascinating… and I will go back there – after I have avenged myself, by killing you and your partner."

Unfazed, crossing his arms on his chest, Jim said, "May I know how?"

Colonel Vautrain stood. "During my stay in the future, in 2057, I met people who helped me to develop my power and I'm now capable of…" He paused, preparing his effect, savoring it. "I'm now capable of sending anything or anyone, anywhere, anytime… and I mean not necessarily on this planet."

Both Jim and Artie exchanged a stunned gaze.

Colonel Vautrain continued, "I studied astronomy when I was in the future… and I'm so powerful now, that I'm going to exile you in the future, on a distant planet lost in a galaxy far, far, away… called Altair 9-B-2118. Altair from the Arabic al-nasr al-ṭā'ir which means "the eagle in flight" is one of the brightest stars in the Aquilae constellation, the constellation of the Eagle. Hence its Latin name which means eagle. I think it's appropriate for your last destination …" And he looked down at Artie. "As Mr. Gordon here has an eagle tattooed on his back..." He paused again in order to enjoy the incredulous looks from the two agents and continued, "I don't even need to find a place to open a portal between this dimension and the fourth… I just need to concentrate and… you vanish." He took his place in the armchair and smiled broadly. "I control space and time travel."

Deeply worried and a bit anxious, but not showing it, because it would have pleased Vautrain, Jim said, "And of course that planet doesn't support life… Artie and I will die instantly."

Colonel Vautrain smiled like a predator. "As far as the scientists from 2057 know, only Earth supports life. But there's always a possibility they're wrong, as they didn't go there to verify that. but one day, they will… using starships. Let's say that you have a 99, 99 % chance of dying. And… if you manage to survive, somehow, you won't be able to come back." He headed toward the Louis XV work table and sat down at it. "It feels so good to be able to walk again… Before you go, I'd like to ask you something that intrigues me: how did you manage to come back from your stay in the past, 10,000 years ago? It should have been impossible, as I didn't use my power to bring you back."

Leaning against the dresser, Jim replied, "Actually, Artemus has an interesting theory on that. It was Fate with a capital F which brought us back to our own time. We had a "mission' to accomplish there, and when it was done, Time, with capital T brought us back here."

Raising a surprised eyebrow, Vautrain said, "Fate and Time? Really?" Then he smiled. "It's an interesting theory, but I don't believe it." He touched his temple. "All the power of the universe is here… unknown to most people, dormant, unexploited – and I don't believe in God anymore, even less in archaic gods and goddesses like Fate and Time." He stood. "In that case you don't know what happened… but I do know something. That the two of you are going to die soon, like now."

He closed his eyes… and the two special agents vanished.

Tbc.