Hey, everybody! I feel so horrible about not updating my story This Is, but I've hit a road block, and I'm not entirely sure that I like it as it is any more. I might be taking the story down for a re-write or putting it up for adoption (though that's very unlikely).
This particular story has been buzzing in the back of my head for almost a month. Be warned, this is my first Star Trek fanfiction, any constructive criticism would be appreciated, any and all flames will be used to burn forests (so don't do it, okay?).
Disclaimer: I do not, nor will I ever, own the genius of Roddenberry's masterpiece. So buzz of!
"Friendship is a sheltering tree." –Samuel Taylor Coleridge
Sheltering Tree
Chapter 1
"Jamie?"
Jim T. Kirk stopped playing with his Optimus Prime toy and looked at his best friend Helen O'Reilly. "What?"
"What do you want to be when you grow up?"
He thought for a moment, what did he want to be? He had never given it much thought in his 7 years of life. "I don't know," he said. "What about you?"
"Well, I think it would be stellar to be the captain of starship!" she exclaimed, practically bouncing where she sat. "Y'know? To fly all around the universe and see those planets Mr. Stannak is teaching us about."
"Yeah, I guess it would be pretty cool," Jim agreed. "That's it then! We'll both become captains!" he jumped to his feet. "We'll be the best captains in the universe! You and me."
"Unstoppable!" Helen agreed. "Now sit down before your mom comes up here."
Jim sat and swiped up his discarded action figure and the two continued the game that had been interrupted. "Do you think Cybertron exists?"
Helen snorted, "Of course it does, silly. It just hasn't been found yet."
Jim transformed Optimus and asked, "How do you know?"
"Because Bumblebee told me," and that was that. Once Helen's toy agreed with something there was no arguing the point. Their game continued in relative silence (apart from their sound effects) for a few more minutes before Helen spoke up again.
"Jamie, will you promise me something?"
"What?"
She smiled and fiddled with her Bumblebee action figure, "Promise we'll always be friends. No matter what."
"Of course we'll always be friends," he said without hesitation.
Helen shook her head, "No, promise me. Pinkie promise."
Jim lifted his hand as she lifted hers and they entwined their pinkies in oath and both stated, "I promise, no matter what, we'll always be friends. Forever."
15 years later, two years after the Narada incident, Captain James T. Kirk sat on the bridge of Starfleet's flagship; The U.S.S Enterprise. He looked at his wrist and fingered the antique Rolex Helen had gotten for his 'ascent into manhood', aka his sixteenth birthday. The thing was over 200 years old and somehow still worked.
He sighed in remembrance. He hadn't seen Helen since they were 17 and she had moved to New York. Last he heard she was First Officer to Captain Williams of the U.S.S Explorer, and would soon be sitting in the Captain's chair as Williams was due to retire.
Two hours later, when alpha shift was over and Captain Kirk was no longer needed on the bridge, he retired to his quarters without dinner. While lying on his bed he couldn't help but reminisce of his old friend. He and Helen had been friends almost since the day they were born, for they were born on the same day and were only an hour apart. Jim stood up from his bed and strode over to the bookcase in the corner of his room. He searched for a moment and found what he was looking on the second shelf; a well worn photo album. He flipped to a random page and gazed at the first picture on the page.
It was their shared 5th birthday. Both were smiling brightly and holding their exchanged gifts. Helen had gotten Jim and antique Optimus Prime action figure and he had gotten her a Bumblebee figure. He smiled at the memory; Transformers had been their favorite show growing up, they had watched it almost every day on his mother's old holo videos. Looking back to the bookshelf he found Helen's Bumblebee toy, they had traded them when she left to make sure they never forgot their promise.
He retrieved the toy and started playing with it, transforming it back and forth, when an alarm blared through the ship. Jim immediately set the toy down and headed for the bridge.
When he got there he made a bee-line for Lieutenant Uhura, who was furiously typing away at her station. "What's the situation?" he asked calmly.
She answered without looking at him, "It's a Priority One distress signal coming from," she narrowed her eyes at the screen, "the U.S.S Explorer."
Jim felt his heart drop into his stomach, "Any transmissions?"
"Just one."
"Play it," he ordered as he strode to his chair. She pressed a button and a loud hissing static filled the bridge; Spock winced minutely at the volume. Over the static, words could barely be heard, "This is firs…O'Reilly…S.S Explore…sen…priority one…under atta…tain Willi…dead…half the cre…enemy un…dangerous. Reques…backup…" In the background sounds of fighting and screaming could be heard.
"Mr. Sulu," Jim addressed the [pilot], "How long would it take us to reach them at our current speed?"
"One hour, sir." Jim cursed under his breath, that wasn't fast enough! Then Chekov piped up, "If ve increase our speed to varp factor 7 eet should only take a few minutes, sir."
Jim nodded, "See that it's done. Mr. Sulu, Mr. Spock you're coming with me." He spun his heel and stalked to the turbo lift with Sulu and Spock following. Once in the lift Jim addressed his Lieutenants, "I'll need you two to find a few ensigns capable of fighting and get yourselves armed. I'm going to get Dr. McCoy."
"Aye, Captain," was the unanimous response.
STSTSTSTSTSTSTSTST
Jim stalked into sickbay and headed straight to Bones without even giving Chapel a passing glance. McCoy raised a brow, "What's goin' on?"
"That was a Priority One distress signal."
"From?"
A shadow fell over Jim, "The U.S.S Explorer." Bones' eyes conveyed his shock, "Isn't that…?"
"Yeah," Jim answered the unfinished question. "Helen's on that ship…"
"Jim…"
"We'll need you, Bones."
The doctor nodded and grabbed his tricorder and field medical kit. "Let's go."
When they arrived at the transporter room Spock and Sulu, and four redshirts, were armed and waiting with Scotty hovering over the controls. Chekov's voice rang out over the comm., "Vee are vithin transporting deestance, Keptain."
"Thank you, Chekov," Jim responded as they crowded the transport pad. "Prepare to beam down, Scotty."
"Aye, Cap'n." A few buttons were pressed and the transporter room disappeared, only to be replaced with a gruesome sight. They had landed in the Explorer's bridge. The sight of the bridge would haunt them for years to come for it seemed that the entire bridge crew had been mutilated in some way. There was blood everywhere, bodies missing limbs or skin, and half of them seemed to have been eaten, somewhat. The stench was horrible.
The team scattered about the bridge, looking for any survivors (unlikely). Jim walked towards the empty captain's chair and suddenly found himself face-to-face with the ground. He looked behind to see what had tripped him and finding the face of Captain Williams frozen on horror, mouth ajar and eyes wide and unseeing. He was horrified, but couldn't stop staring, and didn't realize that Spock had called his name. He was gently pulled to his feet and spun around to face his First Officer. "Are you alright, Captain?" came the neutral (to any one else) inquiry, but Jim could hear the lining concern.
"Ah, no. No, I'm fine."
The Vulcan raised a disbelieving eyebrow. "I think I just found Captain Williams," said Jim. If Spock had noticed the sudden change in subject he didn't show it. Bones approached slowly from Jim's right, checking the readings on his tricorder. Jim shot him a look and he responded with a relieved shake of his head and Jim visibly relaxed.
"Alright every one, split up and spread out, I want every inch of this vessel searched. Whatever did this can't have gone far. Bones, you're with me," Jim ordered.
Well, there she is. What do you think? And no, this will not be a crossover with Transformers, I just love the series (and movies). Mr. Stannak is an unimportant 3rd grade teacher, by the way.
As I said before, constructive criticism is accepted, but you flamers will be responsible for the lives of thousands of innocent woodland creatures, so I'd review carefully if I were you.
Blitzblast