Ch-1: Lost
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Disclaimer--Telephone Transcript (picked up by lieutenant Uhura)
GENE: Lost? Are you there? Are you listening?
LOSTOYANNAYA: Yes?
GENE: We've reviewed your contract. Apparently, you don't own Star Trek. You do, however, own a character called "Kestra", and a planet called "Dyana Prime".
LOSTOYANNAYA: I'll trade you Dyana Prime for Star Trek.
GENE: No.
LOSTOYANNAYA: Rats.
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A/N: This 'fic was mainly inspired by the line in "Who Mourns For Adonais?", where Chekov asks to help with Palamas and Kirk turns him down on the preface that he's too young. How is he too young? Was this an excuse? Am I just paranoid? Will we ever find out? Oh, and it's not a one-chapter-shot.
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It was starting to rain, the soft flicks of water swirling around the leaves on the trees, making them droop and drip, sag under the weight of the drizzle. The soil, blue, unusually soft, was starting to run like a small brook down the man-made footpath, gurgling and hissing like a badly draining sewer. The tree trunks were an unruly bright pink and made of a rubbery substance that made them bend in the wind, which whipped around the waist-high razor sharp bushes, making them thrash at the assorted away team members stood in them.
The women, in their short miniskirts and knee-high boots, had already been transported back up to the ship for fear of being hurt and stung by the poison all of the plants seemed to carry. The transporter room was on stand-by for the men. But one was missing.
'Ensign Chekov!' Kirk cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted into the oncoming storm, but the wind cruelly through the words right back at him and he winced as though they physically stung him. 'It's no good!' He shouted to McCoy, who was stood just to his left but was nearly deaf to his yell. 'We're going to have to go back to the ship! We can locate him using the sensors!'
'Possibly not, Captain!' Spock's ears were sharper than the doctor's, but he leant towards the Captain when he realised Kirk couldn't hear him. 'The sensors will not be able to function during this storm! It's throwing up too much magnetic disturbance!'
'Damn systems.' Grumbled McCoy, to himself at that volume. 'They hardly ever seem to work.'
Kirk looked between his two first officers, then shook his head, pulling out his communicator once more. 'Scotty - three to beam up.'
A second later, they dissolved into flecks smaller than the raindrops.
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A quarter of a smile east from where the remaining landing party had beamed up, Chekov's eyes flickered open and his stomach lurched sickeningly in no particular direction. He sat up, closing his eyes once more, white stars dancing before them as his head screamed with pain, then looked at the branch beside him, frowning. He must have been knocked out when it snapped off the tree - he felt the side of his face and his hand came away bloody. He sighed, the slight sound carried away into the storm, and hugged up under the tree.
His hand went to his belt, and he looked down, peering through the rain, when he discovered his communicator was not there. He groaned and sat back against the tree, wincing when his head connected with the soft bark, and pulled his knees up to his chest. It would be impossible to find his communicator in this storm - and, besides, it was quite dry under the tree's wide, sweeping branches.
'Typical.' He said, the noise also carried away by the wind, 'The one night in weeks I have a date and I get lost.' He peered along the horizon-line, just in case he could spot the away team, but the horizon was about three feet in front of his nose and he soon gave up hope. He remembered the advice given to every cadet in their security training - if you get lost, separated from the team, stay where you are. You'll not do any good going further away from them and getting lost.
Who had told him that? He couldn't remember; Starfleet Academy seemed a light year and a half away, along with textbooks, exams and Irina. His chest tightened and he sighed again to let out the pain - he'd never known a memory of someone inflict physical pain, but you learn something new every day. His mind wondered back to her, though - it always did - and he found himself remembering the way she'd sit in front of the mirror for hours, running those damn hair tongs through the ends of her hair to make it bounce, then further hours picking the make-up, the clothes, those flowers that smelt of cinnamon to thread into her hair, then hours out with that hippie group, unofficial seminars given by that damn Sevrin -
Thunder clapped overheard and startled him out of his bitter reverie. He looked around, relieved to see that the rain was letting up and he could now see about three hundred metres now, and he got to his feet to stretch his cold legs, stop them from going numb.
Over the next half hour or so, the rain slowed to a drip and then stopped completely, and the wind slowed to a low moan. He was stood underneath a large rubbery tree in the middle of a large field, forest to the left and right, and the landing party was nowhere in sight. He looked down at the ground, searching the immediate area for his communicator, then gave up and put a hand up to shield his eyes from the newly emerging green sun. He knew now that it was only a matter of time before the Enterprise was able to get her sensors back online and Spock would find him with that creepy precision of his, and soon he'd be standing high and dry on the transporter pad, glad to be home.
When another hour passed, and this didn't happen, Chekov started to worry. Not panic - that was two steps up from worry - but worry. The days on Dyana Prime were notoriously short and this shortness was uneven - there could be three hours of sunlight one day, and seven the next. No-one could account for it - not even the Vulcan scientists - and it made him uneasy. He liked routine, almost to such a point that it drove those around him insane, and the total disorder of his predicament as making him nervous.
Snap.
A twig snapped somewhere to his left, in the forest, and he backed away towards the right, suddenly very, very anxious. He felt for his phaser but found this missing as well, and continued backing away.
Then a twig snapped behind him, and he turned, and screamed at what he saw.
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'Anything?' Asked Kirk, agitatedly, distractedly, looking over Spock's shoulder at the scanner. The Vulcan tolerated this for a few seconds before moving discreetly to one side and shaking his head.
'No.' He said bluntly. 'The storm has lifted from the eastern continent but the magnetic disturbance is still there.'
'Analysis?'
'Unknown. It is an unusual occurrence.'
'Jim.' McCoy put a hand on the Captain's shoulder as he started rubbing his face with both hands. 'Get some sleep. Lie down. Sit down. Take some headache tablets. But most of all - stop worrying.'
Kirk pulled away - almost in the manor of a schoolboy - and stalked to his chair, sat. 'Bones, I don't rest whilst a crewman is missing.' He said snappishly, crossing his legs, uncrossing them, standing up and pacing. 'Especially not such a new crewman as Chekov. He's young, inexperienced. Anything could happen to him and -'
'- The responsibility is on your shoulders. We got it, Jim.' McCoy nodded patiently. 'But we'll find him. We always find them. And you ripping yourself apart up here isn't going to speed that up in any way.'
'I know.' Kirk snapped. 'I know,' He continued, calmer. 'I'll have a prescription for a bowl of soup.'
McCoy raised his eyebrows. 'Soup?' He repeated. 'Soup?'
'Romulan soup.' Kirk corrected himself.
'Ah.' Smirked McCoy. 'Romulan"soup".'
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How many hours had it been? Surely it had been a day? Why had it been a day? Why hadn't they saved him yet?
He was still running - faster than he ever had done before - through the sharp-leafed bushes, the trees, those sharp branches that tore at his shirt, arms, hips, legs. The only things that were safe from them were his feet, but the pain in them was pounding in unison with his heart. He had to stop for another break - had to - he was going to faint soon. But he could hear that...that thing behind him, and if he stopped it would catch him, and then -
Well, then he didn't know. And he didn't want to know. He didn't want to know like he didn't want to keep running, but he had to...he had to...
He tripped. Whether it was a root or a branch he didn't know, but one minute he was upright and running, and the next moment he was floored and screaming. He tried to get to his feet again but his leg screeched at him in pain and he fell back down, into the mud. He turned onto his back, saw the sky first, and then that...thing loomed over him and the next thing he saw was blackness.
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A/N: R and R...or else.
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