"The first breath is the beginning of death." - Thomas Fuller
Chapter 01
Animal Instincts
The hallways of the Enterprise were crowded with the usual parade of Star Fleet business. Kirk, in the dark hours of night, was exhausted from a long day of interstellar shenanigans. He addressed a few of his men and women as he passed them by in the hall but didn't stop to speak with any of them. He had dismissed most of his daytime crew to their quarters already and it was his turn to hit the hay. It would be an early rise in the morning to meet them back on the bridge.
With their usual hiss, the doors of his room slid back to welcome him home. His personal quarters were as dimly lit as the halls, the very mood of the still air calling him to his bed. He didn't even stop for a swig of the rare Romulan ale they had picked up a few days ago, which he was sure he would need to taste before he was satisfied enough for sleep. He was more drained than his age and stature should have permitted. He'd been feeling that way a lot lately.
"Captain," a familiar voice spoke to him. Someone was already there.
For a moment, in a sleepy daze, he thought he might have stumbled into someone else's room by mistake. But there was no mistaking his things all in place nor the permissive unlocking of the door he'd just passed through. The realization came to him swiftly.
"Dr. McCoy," he turned to face his chief medical officer. "I thought you'd gone to bed."
A naughty grin spread across the man's face and he handed his Captain a glass filled to the brim with a blue liquid. He was still in his daily blue doctor's uniform, his brown hair was combed off of his forehead, and despite the hour, his face was awake and alert. "How could I pass up a drink with my good buddy Jim?" he asked. "Come on, it'll be like our Academy days."
Earlier that afternoon Kirk had invited Bones to join him for his drink. They were scheduled to meet over an hour ago. He had just assumed he wouldn't have waited that long and would have left to complain the next day. Then again, Romulan ale seemed to be one of the man's favorite things in the known universe, and he seldom passed it up. He should have seen it coming.
"Bones," a little more awake now he knew he could address his friend by a more casual name. "It's been a hard past couple of hours and I think it might... be best if I just..."
His smile rotted. "Are you meaning to tell me I waited here for you for over an hour and you won't even have one drink with me?"
"I tell you what," Kirk wasn't one to regret or take back anything he said, and he wasn't about to start now. He was always better at finding alternate routes: "Why don't you just take the whole bottle? My treat. I'm sure you'd be able to find some one in the mess hall to drink with you."
His eyes brightened at the prospect of being handed such an expensive drink in such a large quantity. "Well," he said, "as your doctor I recommend getting as much sleep as you can. Staying up is bad for your health."
The Captain nodded his head. "I couldn't agree more."
Bottle in hand, the doctor headed for the door, and had he been standing just inches more to the left, could have run straight into Spock on his way out. Too excited over his bounty to make a smart remark at the Vulcan, he dodged and kept going down the hall. Kirk was terribly disappointed. A large part of him wished the two had run off bickering down the hall and leave him alone.
Just as the day before and every day since that on which they'd met, Spock was spotlessly clean and tidy. The blue shirt of his uniform was unwrinkled and well fitting, his straight-cut black bangs flawless and neat on his forehead. Only the faint green tint of his skin, the point of his ears, and the slant of his eyebrows was out of place. And even then, only to humans.
If it had been anyone else, he would have simply shooed them off so he could get some sleep. But never Spock. Now, for the second time interrupted, Kirk knew, like most of his days, this night wasn't going to go quite as planned.
"What can I do for you, Mr. Spock?" he inquired.
"Captain, I have a report to deliver from Engineering, it would seem that..." He paused a moment, allowing the door to close behind him. "Are you alright, Captain? You do not appear well."
"Just tired," he responded.
"Perhaps you should rest."
He couldn't help but make a face at his close companion. "Thank you, Spock. Your wisdom never ceases to amaze."
"May I speak candidly, Captain?"
He almost laughed at that. "Spock, we're in my personal quarters, speak as candidly as you want."
"I've noticed for the past several days that you've been displaying symptoms of fatigue."
"Maybe that's because no one will let me sleep," he muttered under his breath.
"Perhaps," Spock agreed. As quietly as Kirk had said that, Spock had no trouble hearing it. "But, all in all, your schedule has hardly changed from what it once was, and yet you never have displayed such symptoms before."
"Could you get to the point please, Spock?"
"I am merely suggesting that this might be more than lack of sleep. It is not uncommon for humans to link physical exhaustion with an emotional component. Your exhaustion could be derived from a source other than strain on the body."
"If you were McCoy I might take you seriously," he cut in. "But you're no doctor. What's really on your mind?"
"I think the question is, Jim: What is on your mind?"
Kirk began to remove his golden shirt to ready himself for bed. He did so casually, not at all uncomfortable appearing so plain in front of his good friend and first officer. "If you've only come here to lecture me on the weakness of human emotion-"
He stopped.
Spock had tilted his eye arching eyebrow in a curious glare. "Actually, Captain," he said, his deep voice soft and slow, "I came to deliver a report from Engineering."
Kirk remembered and sighed, whatever it was that was eating away at him, it was clouding his judgment even more that he would care to admit. Spock could see it in his face, his tired eyes, his sluggish mannerisms. "Right," he said. He was attempting to put the Vulcan at ease, though deep down knew Spock was too sharp, knew him too well, not to notice. It didn't take a mind meld for them to read one another. "My apologies, Spock. I guess I haven't really been myself these past few days."
"If I were human, I believe I would interpret this moment as an opportunity to discuss my concerns with another," he suggested.
Kirk's round cheek lifted with a smirk. He fell into the depths of his thoughts and allowed that amusement to melt as he came to focus on his discomfort. His arms came to rest on a counter near the wall and placed his hands under his chin to support his drooping head. Distant, his eyes wandered as he spoke.
"I have a..." he knew Spock would only interpret it as 'illogical' but he said it anyway, "bad feeling. It's as though..." he had to search for the words, "I know that something is wrong. It's this deep sense of foreboding; something is going to happen, something terrible is going to happen. I don't know why, but I can't shake it."
The Vulcan shifted with discontentment. "Interesting," he muttered.
"There is a fear in me, a sort of panic, but on an instinctive, animal level," he claimed. "And there's something out there hidden away in the darkness, just out of my line of sight, waiting for me; to condemn me; to be my ending, my doom, and the doom of everyone and everything I hold dear. A storm is on the horizon, and I am as helpless as a rabbit who cannot prevent its ears from twitching and not knowing the reason why." He looked up and his smirk returned with a sincere glow. "Although, I still say it could be my lack of sleep is making me paranoid."
"Yes, that could be the case," Spock agreed. "However, I find it all the more likely that you are merely worried about this mission. The Defiant has been missing for three weeks, simply vanished into space, and surely you must realize that whatever has happened to it must also be a threat toward you and the Enterprise."
"I've been on missions like this before, Spock, and none have so deeply affected me," he returned.
"Well, Captain, as you said, you are tired. I find that logical thought can often be dampened by a need for sleep."
"And yet you're still here preventing me from getting it," he accused with a beam.
"Understood, Captain," he replied. "I will go, but with some parting advice: If this 'sense of foreboding' as you call it worsens, you should seek help from Dr. McCoy rather than deter him away with bribes of alcohol."
"I will." He continued to grin as his first officer turned to go. But his face fell slack when he recalled: "Wait, Spock. Wasn't there something you needed to report?"
"It is nothing that cannot wait until you meet with Mr. Scott in the morning."
"Hold on," Kirk cut him off. "Did you... just come here because you were worried for me? Mr. Spock, I am touched."
"Do not make assumptions about my intentions," the Vulcan, still straight faced and serious, said with a suspicious undercurrent of embarrassment in his voice. "I only happened to be in the room during a period of emotional stress for you. As you might say, I was 'in the wrong place at the wrong time.'"
"Of course." Speechless, tickled, and also somewhat insulted, there was nothing left for Kirk to do but watch him go.
Morning dawned on the ship- revealed in the scheduled lighting throughout the corridors- but the silence of space outside of the windows remained unchanging. A vast ocean of nothingness and mystery, it was a fearful and impressive sight even to the captain who gazed out at it from the comfort of his personal quarters. For years he had studied, trained, and served in space, never to quite understand the feeling that swelled in him as he looked out into the black. He loved it, respected it, and was terrified of it.
"'Captain's log, stardate 5693.2,'" Kirk listened to his own recorded voice repeat back to him. Earlier he had made the recording, and had since sat in wait for a short time of rest before he was forced to continue his mission. As if to remind himself of it, keep his mind sharp and focused, he relayed his own log entry to think on the subject. It went on: "'The Enterprise is approaching the last reported position of the starship Defiant, which vanished without trace three weeks ago. We are in unsurveyed territory.'"
"Captain," the familiar voice of his Vulcan first officer interrupted him. Automatically, his finger silenced his computer and he turned his attention to the hailing.
"Kirk here," he replied.
"Captain," he repeated. Always so formal, everything according to protocol, no hint of recollection of their conversation the night before. "You're needed on the bridge."
Without the slightest thread of irritation at being called from his momentary peace, he bobbed his head affirmatively. "On my way."
He dutifully hurried through the inner passages of the Enterprise to his place by the captain's chair. Chekov, Sulu, Uhura, Scotty, and Spock, were already waiting for him in their rightful places. All of them were busy at work in their usual manner, but something about them was uneasy if not worried or even confused. Kirk, well tuned into his companions' behavior, immediately noticed the tension. It was clear sign of bad, or unexplainable news.
He showed no indication of a secret fear for his crew and confidently strolled over bridge. He dared not show any signs of weakness, bore no expression of wariness; he stood tall and firm, a hardy post for all others to lean on. Sometimes he felt it was as crucial to control his emotion as Spock controlled his. As their captain, he owed it to his crew to remain a constant in an inconstant galaxy.
"Captain," the Vulcan said to him as he made his way near. He turned in his chair and finished, his voice solid and empty: "We are registering very curious readings from all sensors."
"Specify," Kirk requested.
"I cannot. According to our instruments, space itself is literally breaking up."
No amount of force of willpower could prevent him from sharply turning his head in surprise. He looked his first officer dead in the eye, as though silently demanding an explanation. As he expected and worried, there was none.
"There is no known phenomenon that would account for these readings," the Vulcan said.
His usual first question in times such as these fled his scripted lips: "What about sensor failure?"
"Negative," was the reply he knew was coming, "I have run a complete check on all systems."
"Captain," Scotty was the next to address him. His red shirt was not as impeccably pressed as Spock's and his hair too was slightly out of place, but that did not make what he had to say any less important or professional. "We're losing power on the warp engines."
"How bad is it?" He remained entirely calm. Troubling though it may have been, was not a problem he'd never dealt with before.
"I can barely read it," he replied. "But, I don't like the looks of it and I cannot find out the cause."
"Captain," Chekov took his turn to voice his concerns. Kirk walked toward him to get a better look at what he had to contribute to their problems. The Russian man, practically still a boy, directed his attention toward the view screen. "Visual detection of an object dead ahead," he informed.
Knowing what he saw there could be the cause of all the before mentioned, Kirk stepped even nearer to the screen to gaze upon the small dot steadily approaching his beloved ship. From a distance, it was difficult to tell what exactly it was, but there was no mistaking it for a star or a planet.
Something in him twisted as he looked at it. Before its shape even became clear to his eyes, there was something about it his instincts could not ignore. His blood ran cold and his heart quickened as if to warn him of some unknown danger. It was a fear even more powerful than that which overtook him when too long he spent gazing out into the nothingness of space itself. Whatever they had stumbled upon, he didn't like it. That much was clear within his pounding breast.
"How about it, Spock?" he questioned. If any information on this thing could be had, he wanted it, and as soon as he could get it.
"Fascinating," was his inquisitive remark.
That wasn't good enough. "Explain."
"There is virtually no sensor contact," he went on as ordered, "no mass analysis, no trace of radiation. We see it, but our sensors indicate it is not there."
Everything went silent in that moment. Though he was sure the sounds of the Enterprise moving about, living, breathing, gadgets whirring and bleeping, he could not hear them. All of him was focused on the window to outside space and the object moving slowly closer to where he stood.
It was a corpse, an empty, eerie shell floating in the black. Its pale, almost ivory coloring became clear as it emerged slowly from the darkness. Its skin was broken, black, burned, and hollow, its face scarred and unclear.
A Federation ship, quiet, and dead in the water.
"The Defiant!" he was sure. The world around him came to life again and he moved on with his orders. "Mr. Sulu, impulse engines only. Close to transporter range."
"Aye-aye, sir," their pilot, sitting boldly beside Chekov, sounded his understanding.
"Lieutenant," he addressed the lovely dark skinned Uhura next, "open up a hailing frequency."
"I've been trying to raise them, sir," she said. "There's no response."
That news made his heart sink, but he was distracted by Sulu.
"Just within transporter range, sir," he informed.
"Good," Kirk nodded to him. "Maintain position. Mr. Spock, Mr. Chekov, come with me." He moved to the Captain's chair and pressed in a rehearsed button. "Dr. McCoy, report to the transporter room immediately," and then turned to his Engineer, "Scotty, you have the con."
"Aye, sir," he acknowledged.
McCoy and the rest of the landing party met up in the hall on their way to the transporter room. Once there, Kirk was halted by his all-knowing Vulcan. "Captain," he said. "Might I suggest the use of spacesuits for this investigation?"
"You think we'll need them?" he inquired.
"It would appear that the Defiant has sustained a dangerous amount of damage to its hull," he replied. "If there are any fractures, the hazards of space could have leaked through and we would be exposed to it if we beam over without them."
"For once," the doctor spoke up with a sour tone, "I agree with Spock."
"Better safe than sorry," he agreed. "Alright, everyone suit up."
"But, Captain," Chekov interjected, "if the Defiant has been exposed to outside space, then the crew..." He trailed off, not wanting to speak the words all of them were thinking.
"That's a possibility we have to take into consideration," Kirk did not console him. He wasn't in the mood. In his own heart ,a fear was growing, a fear no amount of white lies could comfort. He and his crew had felt it for days and it was strongest now, but he could not give into gut instinct to turn tail and run. He was a fighter, and more than that, he was an explorer, and he had to know what it was that was pricking at his thoughts and tempting him to take his final step.
Just as he had ordered and his first officer had deemed necessary, they each donned a heavy suit of metal and equipment. Over a hundred pounds of material weighing them down, if not for their Star Fleet training they would have been exhausted just getting them on. The tubing and otherwise important components that each performed a specific function made the outer-workings of their bodies appear almost as complex as the inside. The brown-gray cloth it was made from could have resembled the metal parts that scattered it back when the suits were new, but after a time of use, they had become somewhat worn and off-color.
Each one personalized, their last names were engraved on a small black piece of metal just under the neck of their helmets and the symbol of their home was sewn upon the right arm. But that was not the only identifying patch that marked them. On the other arm was a patch representing the United Federation of Planets. If their cold, hard bodies were discovered years into the future, floating into space the way the Defiant now did, it would be no mystery as to who they were and where their loyalties lay.
Once the glass over his face was clamped down shut, Kirk could hear his every breath echoing softly in his ears. He felt as though he had a fish bowl over his head.
"Locked in on the Defiant bridge, sir," a crewman in his red shirt said to them as they stepped onto the transporter in all their geared-up glory.
Kirk allowed himself one final moment of unease. After that moment, he couldn't afford it any longer. He swallowed his bad feelings, his doubt, and his concern. He'd done this uncountable times in the past and he would return, just as he had all of those times.
"Energize," he instructed.
For a moment, he thought his eyes had closed as it suddenly became quite dark. A blinding spark of light gave him a scare and assured him his eyes were very open. Chekov and McCoy jumped on either side of him, equally taken aback by the abrupt zap. After it, there was a long pause of complete nothingness. If not that his feet were firmly planted on the ground, Kirk would have wondered if they'd been beamed directly into space. It took several seconds for their sight to adjust to the black, and when it did, they wished it hadn't.
Blood soaked the floor and was splattered on the walls like spray paint. Kirk felt his eyes widen even more and he had to step back. His heel touched a human hand, white, and severed from its human component. Its fingers curled under the pressure of his booted foot and his blood ran cold to see the undead movement. The breathing in his helmet became rapid and deep; his pulse quickened tenfold.
It was still too dark to make out anything that lay in the shadows of chairs about the room, but subtle lumps in the foreboding black made him glad for it. Dr. McCoy, worried for the well-being of the Defiant's crew, slowly made his way over to what could have only once been a human on the floor. As he grew near to it, the light from the top of his helmet illuminated its clawed away face. Bone, white and eerie as a ghost, was plan to see through torn open skin, and his expression was forever locked in painful, agonizing horror.
While examining it and what may have caused it, Chekov was the first to make a sound. "Has there ever been a mutiny on a starship before?" His voice was trembling.
"Absolutely no record of such an occurrence, ensign," Spock replied.
"You're assuming this is the captain," McCoy accused.
The Vulcan made his way over to a terminal and looked over its blinking screen with intense eyes. "The ship is still functioning, Captain," he said. "It's logical to assume the mutineers are somewhere aboard."
"Use the ship's sensors to locate them," he replied. Only in the face of true mystery and danger could he release his uncalled for fear, and he displayed such a trait plainly as he stood confident and powerful in the uncertain presence of his companions. He sank his finger into the communicator button on his suit and spoke directly to his ship: "Kirk to Enterprise," he said.
"Scott here, sir."
"Prepare to beam over a full security squad on my orders."
"Aye, Captain."
"Captain," his first officer spoke again. This time, even he sounded put off. "I cannot pinpoint the location of the suspected men who committed this crime."
"Why not?" he questioned.
"Because sensors are indicating inconsistent life patterns. It would appear that there is someone aboard, but this terminal cannot specify where they are or even if they are human."
He fell into thought and then: "Odd, Mr. Spock, very odd."
"And Captain," he hesitated, unsure of himself and what he was reporting.
"Yes, Mr. Spock?" he prompted.
He didn't want to go on, but forced out the words: "I am not sure if this equipment is functioning correctly but it would seem that this ship is not the Defiant."
The beating of his heart, for a single instant in time, went still. "Not the Defiant?" he repeated. "Then where are we?"
"Jim!" McCoy barked from his place beside his corpse. "Jim, you're not going to believe this!"
"What is it, Bones?" he demanded.
"This man," he stood, his panic clear on his face, "it's Sulu!"
The skin above his eye violently twitched. "That's impossible!" burst out of him.
"No, Captain," Spock confirmed. "According to this database- or what's left of it after the damage to the ship- we are standing on the bridge of, not the Defiant, but the Enterprise."