Title: Catalyst
Disclaimer: These Characters are owned by whoever owns them (Gene Rodenberry or ie: Not Me.) I am writing this story for fun and not profit.
Pairings: Eventual Kirk/ Spock
Warnings: AU
Rating: Probably won't be R
Summary: James T. Kirk is your regular brilliant, teenage trouble maker. Or, at least he was, until circumstances found him shipped off to a frozen wasteland for a summer of field research. And he met Spock.
Author's Notes: This is my first story in a while. I would like to one day be a published author; I figure getting myself to write regularly, no matter the subject, is a good first step. Be patient, as I try to work out a schedule to update and learn new and different writing techniques. I hope you enjoy!
Catalyst
Chapter One – Frozen
James Kirk let his eyes half close, striking half-heartedly at the ice in front of him. The displeasure he had been feeling for what now seemed his whole life showed clearly on his face. Not that there was anyone around to witness it. No, not here on this god-forsaken frozen planet. He couldn't believe something like this existed so close to Vulcan – the universe and paradoxes. Geez.
He supposed it was partly his fault that he was here in the first place. But then, it also wasn't. Was it really his fault he was born a freaking genius? Or that he got bored easily? Or that Riverside, Iowa was a small blip on the map of 'Frighteningly Unexciting Places'? OR that his mother had married a schmuck, and left him with said schmuck, and expected him to get along with said schmuck? No, those things were most definitely not his fault.
James found a bit of pleasure in beating on the ice-rock furiously. At least it could be therapeutic.
He looked to the left, transfixed by the sight of Dr. Greg Simish, taking exacting steps in the wind and ice (James had quickly learned snow could most definitely be absent from a white winter). Greg was weird and old, should-have-retired-20-years-ago old. He was prone to long awkward silences, his eyes fixed firmly on whoever was in front of him, as if he could scare small talk and intelligent conversation out of a person. James didn't like him. But then, he didn't really like anyone.
Greg had an ongoing research project, something about bacteria honest to heck living on asteroids, and was convinced they'd be well-preserved on a frozen wasteland like Delta Vega. He'd been searching for years among the ice fields, and had amassed a little over 400 small meteorites, which he'd proudly shown to James his first day on the planet. They were carefully preserved in pressure caps, and kept in a large unit with no heating (which basically meant they were kept in a freezer - the ambient temperature of an average day on Vega.) James was almost proud of the fact that Greg had yet to find anything definitive to prove his thesis.
As he watched, Greg raised an arm, signaling either the end of the day's search, the beginning of a Monster Storm, or the imminent threat of Animal Attack. James never knew which – the brightness of the ice never seemed to change, and for him, without an enviro-coder to look at, the only way he'd notice a change in weather or biological activity was after it had knocked him flat. Which had happened once – a nasty, bright red drakoulias running after him, it's fur knotted from blood. James had fallen, and it was only due to Greg's quick aim with a phaser that the creature had been stunned for a moment or two.
James let forth a yawn, allowing his mouth to crack uncomfortably wide behind his head cover. He was, oddly enough, actually hungry. He blamed that completely on the cold though. He seemed to be perpetually cold, and again it certainly wasn't his fault his body was craving something warm.
He plodded on toward the snow mobile, an older version that didn't go above 50 km/hr and who's force-field had long since died, letting wind whip uncomfortably around the riders. James had tried to fix it, but the capacitor had been completely burned out. Worse than that – it was clear other, unskilled people had tried to fix it too, and had botched the job. In an irreparable sort of way. Terrible, it was truly terrible. James wondered again, not for the first time, how he had ended up here, where everything was old and worn down, and a ridiculous project was equally poorly funded.
Maybe he shouldn't have broken into that small National Bank, but really, its security was crap. It was practically begging to have some hooligan come and degrade it. James Kirk was nothing, if not the man for the job. He had definitely not counted on Frank trying to clean up his act, and his first step to doing so being to ship Jim out as soon and as fast as possible. He should have known the courts would only offer something as mundane as this. They sure had talked up the whole 'scientific research' bit though. James found he had a renewed disdain for research scientists; they got paid to sit around and to bang on crap with a hammer. Or an ice pick. Same difference, really, except one was pointier. The point was, a four year old could be as effective as he was, and he hated Dr. Simish and his project almost as much as he hated Delta Vega.
Vacation time: when even stodgy old Greg got tired of the cold and the mundane. Where's the closest habitable area? Vulcan. Seriously, after being on Delta Vega for over a month, Vulcan was like the standing on the sun. His body felt too heavy, he was incredibly sweaty, and instead of a numb frozen feeling in his extremities, he felt distinctly roasted. Damn, he really wished he hadn't been a preemie at times like this – sure would be convenient not to be allergic to the one brand of sunscreen Simish had available. So, while Greg was off probably drinking martinis at the restaurant next to the Earth Embassy (the only place on the planet with a license to serve meat, and probably the only place to have a public pool), James was off looking for a large building to explore. Books would be good too. Maybe he could check out a few? Or take a few, it was practically the same thing; books were lost all the time.
James entirely thanked his genius that he had managed to stumble into a library within half an hour. He was beyond delighted to see seven stories all devoted to rows upon rows of books, with the main foyer giving a great view of the pointed steeple above. James felt a bit like a crow inside a dragons den. So many shiny, enticing treasures he wanted to fondle and take! Well, it also wasn't his fault that he liked learning and reading books – he was a freakin' genius. He laughed a bit to himself, before ascending the staircase to his right.