Author's note: If you find my attempts at writing Chekov's accent annoying in the first couple of chapters, tell me and I'll probably drop it for later chapters. I'm not very sure how to do it yet.
Fifteen minutes later, the team assembled in the transporter chamber. Mr Scott wished them luck as usual as he activated the transporter.
They materialised about twenty yards from a dome that was the approximate size of the enterprise bridge, if a bit taller. The lush vegetation of the planet surrounded them on all sides, and Sulu almost immediately crouched down to take a sample of a small fern-like plant whilst he had the opportunity. "Ve are on security duty, Mr Sulu." Chekov reminded him sternly.
"Relax a little. We scanned this area for life before we set down. Besides, this looks quite similar to Rumohra Gladia, the one that fetches the big money in interstellar floristry."
"Ah. Suddenly everything becomes clear." said Chekov, somewhat sarcastically.
"It could be important if the planet is ever up for settlement, that's all." Sulu defended himself.
"If you two had been paying attention," Uhura broke in. "You would have noticed that everyone else is over at the dome." So they were. The Captain and Mr Spock appeared to be searching for an entrance, watched from a few yards further back by Nurse Chapel.
Suitably abashed, the two security men hurried over to join the two officers. "It's completely smooth on all surfaces." The Captain commented. "Nothing that looks like an entrance anywhere. I- Spock, what are you doing?"
"Scanning for variations on the molecular level, Captain." Mr Spock had his tricorder out and was crouched next to the dome, moving the device about close to the metallic surface. "It is entirely possible that, given a suitably advanced culture, entrances could be extremely close fitting and virtually undetectable to limited sensory apparatus such as your human eyes and fingers."
"Aren't they undetectable to your Vulcan eyes and fingers too, Mr Spock?" Kirk challenged.
"Of course, Captain, or I would not find it necessary to test for one in this manner." The Vulcan didn't even look up, seeming not to notice anything unusually antagonising in his Captain's tone. Kirk didn't press the point.
After about five minutes of slow scanning, Spock looked up from his tricorder. "I believe I have it, Captain." Slowly, he reached out to the surface of the dome, using his tricorder readings to guide his fingertips. "There appear to be three distinct points of molecular abnormality. I shall attempt to…" Spock's voice trailed off as he closed his eyes in concentration, three long fingers resting gently on the dome. For several moments the group stood motionless, no-one wishing to disturb their science officer during the heightened sensitivity he experienced when he used his Vulcan techniques. Then, with a silence that seemed almost anticlimactic, a section of the dome, perhaps seven feet in height, and no more than two feet wide, slid gently forwards from its (previously indistinguishable) surroundings and moved aside, leaving an opening onto a gently lit space within.
Fighting a strong urge to applaud, Kirk stepped forwards. "Well done Mr Spock! Gentlemen?" He gestured briskly to the rest of the landing party, and led the way inside.
Kirk wasn't quite sure what he had been expecting, but he had somehow assumed that there would be something. Not just the inside walls of the dome, as smooth and featureless as the exterior, and a yellow/white floor that glowed faintly, as though lit from below. It gave no obvious hints as to any purpose that it might have. Spock came to stand beside him, already busy with the tricorder. "I suppose that it is logical that the culture responsible for the door mechanism would feel little need for decorative or functional furnishings of the human type," he commented. "However, there does seem to be some form of energy present here. I am attempting to ascertain-" but the Vulcan's next words went unheard, as a strong white light blazed around the landing party, dazzling them all.
Kirk was aware only of a strong jerking sensation beneath his navel before his feet struck rough, uneven ground and he stumbled to his knees. Flinging out a hand to support himself, he was surprised to feel a cool, fuzzy substance beneath him. He paused, blinking away the afterimages of the light, and then looked down. Moss. Or what appeared to be moss, at any rate. Green, fuzzy, had small roots… moss was as good a word as any at this moment in time. Clambering cautiously to his feet, Kirk gazed around him. Soft, golden sunlight streamed silently down on him through the leaves of trees he would swear to be mature earth-oaks if he didn't know better. The dappled light made the small woodland clearing that Kirk was currently occupying glow, dancing dust-motes settling silently against a many- textured tapestry of soothing greens.
Idyllic though the scene was, the Captain was far from relaxed by its appearance. Most of his tension was due to the simple fact that, in the midst of this display of natural beauty, he was quite, quite alone.
His communicator whistled.