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Diclaimer: I don't own Trek


Chapter 2

"Sulu, how long until we get there?" Kirk asked impatiently.

"Another hour, yet, Captain," Sulu replied.

Kirk stopped pacing the bridge. He realised he was probably making his crew nervous. He cleared his throat to address them, "Right, now that we are nearly there, I think I should explain the situation in more detail."

He looked over at his first officer and wondered if he should have confided in Spock earlier. Too late for thoughts like that now though, he thought.

"Admiral Mayer and I stayed up most of last night discussing the plans for the rescue of the Vulcan civilians. The problem is that the site of the attack is across the border in Romulan space," Kirk paused for dramatic impact. No one fainted or screamed – his bridge crew had no sense of drama, obviously. He like overacting though.

Kirk continued, only slightly deflated, "Now, the plan we came up with to bypass this problem has not exactly been sanctioned by Starfleet command. That is, we will of course let them know what we are doing as soon as we can, but we are currently experiencing interferences in subspace communications with them. Aren't we, Lieutenant Uhura?" he said looking at his communications officer.

A look of confusion flashed across her face briefly, before she collected herself and answered, "Yes, of course, Captain. Lots of interference. I cannot pick up any signals through this 'interference' we are experiencing."

Kirk grinned and nodded, "Good! We have an admiral on our side anyway, but we don't really want to risk getting headquarters involved just right now. They might misunderstand our intentions."

"Captain," Spock interrupted, "what are we intending to do exactly?"

"Ah, good question, Spock!" Kirk said and gave him a companionable slap on the back while walking across to the other side of the bridge. He didn't want the crew to think this was some kind of game that he was enjoying, but he couldn't hide his excitement at finally being able to do something useful and challenging.

"The Enterprise will create a diversion so that Deep Space 7's rescue ships, as well as a few of our own, won't be detected by the Romulans. As first officer, Spock, you will be heading the away mission to rescue the Vulcans and bring them back to the starbase. Then we will accompany them all to the new Vulcan home-world. The distraction," and there he leant down on the helm between Sulu and Checkov, "should of course be a large one, though as innocent as possible. We don't want to cause any major border incidents here."

He spun round and looked at Spock, "What are you still doing here, Spock? We arrive at the starbase in one hour! Start organising the away team!"

Kirk watched him leave the bridge. Ah, no point in divulging all the details to Spock's logical mind. All he'd do would be to systematically work out their probably minuscule chances of success and worry. He needed Spock to fully concentrate on the difficult task ahead without having to worry about whether the distraction the Enterprise would provide would work or not. Of course Spock would never admit to worrying, but Kirk suspected that he might not be immune to it what ever the half-Vulcan might claim.


McCoy was not happy. He had barely had an hour to gather a team and brief them quickly on Vulcan physiology and gather his equipment. He couldn't blame Spock though, he'd only found out an hour ago too, by the sound of things. But that did nothing to improve his mood and he realised he was starting to stress. How could he not, though? Of all the medical personnel on board, he was the only one who knew anything about Vulcans at all. If only he'd had more time. Damn it, Jim could have told him earlier!

There was nothing to be done about it all now. He sighed and made his way to the transporter room. Next to his three medical officers were four further security officers. In the midst of them all was Spock handing out last minute orders.

"So, are we ready to go?" he asked Spock.

"I believe so, doctor," Spock replied and the whole team stepped onto the transporter pads.

They had beamed straight into the docking ring of the station. An admiral, presumably Mayer, McCoy thought, was there to greet them.

"Gentlemen, welcome to Deep Space 7. Commander Sellik, who is in charge of the spacestation is sorry he couldn't be here to greet you in person, but he is currently busy co-ordinating with the Enterprise. I'm sure you understand," the admiral said.

"Certainly," Spock said, "Admiral, may I introduce Doctor McCoy, our chief medical officer. He will be joining me on the away mission."

"Wise choice," Mayer said gravely and held out his hand in greeting towards McCoy, "Admiral Mayer."

"Pleased to meet you, Admiral," McCoy answered, "May I ask how we are going to be travelling?"

The admiral nodded and turned round, indicating that they should follow him. They finally reached what appeared to be a shuttle bay of sorts. The ships all looked like a load of junk to McCoy. His day was not getting any better.

"They are old Andorian trading ships. We hope they will look innocent enough to the Romulans," Mayer said as he presented two small, old ships to them.

"And how did you acquire this antique junk at such short notice?" McCoy asked in mock cheerfulness.

"We have far more of the sort. Our rescue crews are already underway in a few more of these. They are smugglers' vessels that we have impounded over the years. Believe me, in this part of the galaxy it's wise not to throw away anything that may prove to be useful one day. And as luck has it, they are coming in pretty handy right now," Mayer answered.

"You don't say?" the doctor said, still eyeing the ships suspiciously.

"Are these the ones with the largest transport capacity?" Spock asked.

"They are roomier than they look from the outside. Not much point in a smuggling vessel that can't hold a lot of cargo, see? The smugglers are a pretty ingenious bunch, you have to give them that much credit. All the old Andorian engines have been replaced with a custom-made, more streamlined propulsion system that saves a lot of room and weight for quick getaways from planets. There are also some old Starfleet transporter pads in there. Very ingenious," the admiral said, shaking his head, as if lost in some memory.

Once he had left McCoy walked over to Spock.

"You think if one of these things broke, you could fix it?" he asked.

"I am not an engineer, doctor. However, the technology seems primitive enough to make any repairs we may require fairly straightforward. I have taken a quick look at the computer systems too, and I feel I can handle them well enough," Spock replied.

While not exactly what the doctor had wanted to hear, at least he could trust that Spock wasn't lying.

"Right, I'm on your ship then. And don't try to object, because no ten horses are going to get me onto the other ship," he said. He didn't trust any of the security officers who'd be on the other ship to be as competent as Spock at flying and repairing the ship. And he had no doubt it would need repairing at some point. It would be a miracle if it even made it out of the shuttle bay without disintegrating, as far as he was concerned.

"As you wish, doctor," Spock replied and proceeded to climb up a metal ladder to enter the Andorian vessel in front of him.

He didn't even comment on the fact that there were no horses in the shuttle bay, McCoy thought sadly. It worried him a little to see Spock so demure and reserved. It wasn't like Spock to not give a task his full attention, but McCoy suspected that Vulcan blood or not, everyone seemed very emotionally affected by this rescue mission. Kirk and the admiral were willing to go ahead with some risky plan that might cause a war with the Romulans and not even let Starfleet know what they were doing in case they objected. And the worst thing was that he understood them very well, on an emotional level at least. He didn't want to think about this plan too much though, or he might have to protest that it was ludicrous and he found himself wanting to help those pointy eared bastards who had lost their home-world.

He'd taken a look at the proposals Starfleet had come up with for the new medical facilities that would be needed on the new Vulcan home-world (he wished the Vulcans would hurry up and give it a damned name). It had been like a punch in the stomach when he had read the specs for the paediatric ward. There had been a detailed list of the number of survivors from each age range attached, so that the wards would be fully equipped to handle the numbers. However, only ninety four-year-old Vulcans had survived. At one hundred and thirty two, the nine-year-olds had fared best it seemed,... but for an average of only about one hundred and twenty children in each age range to have survived... it chilled him to the bone. That figure was high considering there were only fifteen thousand Vulcans left and that they had a very long life span, so in comparison to a group of humans that size, a far higher percentage was expected to be older. That knowledge wasn't much comfort, though.

These chilling thoughts and numbers would not leave his mind, even as Spock started up the engines in the former smuggling vessel and guided their small crew of four out through the large shuttle bay hatch and into space.


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