"You're kidding me." Jim flopped back in his chair, the manila folder he'd been handed landing on the table with a 'plaf' of air.
"I believe I already assured you that I am indeed serious." Sarek replied with a raised eyebrow.
"No no. I got that." Jim replied looking down at the assignment papers with a mix of trepidation and excitement. The job was easy enough but what really rattled him was… "Your son, huh? Do I get to know why you want me abducting your flesh and blood?"
"Certainly. He has always been a rather rebellious child but after his mother's death he became inconsolable. She was human and despite my best efforts it seems he has inherited her mannerisms more than mine."
"So he's acting too human for your tastes?" Jim grinned and Sarek narrowed his eyes.
"Negative. Amanda was more than just a mere human. What you and many outsiders fail to see is that Spock is full Vulcan, whatever his bloodline. He was raised on Vulcan, taught our ways and has been accepted into our society – an impressive accomplishment considering his mixed heritage. However, when Amanda died…" Sarek slightly shook his head at the absurdity of it all, "He declined an all inclusive scholarship to the Vulcan Academy of Science to run away to Earth and earn a two year degree in journalism. My son seems to believe he can uncover the truth behind Amanda's death and will not accept the unfortunate facts; she was caught in a stray phaser fire during the Romulan War. You see Amanda also was a journalist, I met her at a press conference between several other Ambassadors and myself… she simply refused to believe the answers I gave, answers I could not change, and later cornered me in a hallway." Here Sarek's cold, dark eyes took on a far-off look, and for a moment their frigid depths turned to a beautiful melted chocolate. It only lasted a second before the Vulcan pulled himself back, shutting everything out, "She was killed; it was an unfortunate accident not murder. She knew exactly what she was getting into when she chose to unretire and cover the war. My son refuses to believe the logic of this fact and has begun an emotional spiral downwards. I fear if I allow him to coddle his emotions much longer I will lose him. Therefore, I would like you to show him how dangerous his path has become – take him away from the fantasy he has made in the gamma quadrant and return him to Vulcan only once he seems changed by the experience. Make him see that the world is not some rosy Terran drama vid and that there will be no retribution for Amanda's death. Spock cannot retain his self-centered way of thought and I want you to help him change it by any means necessary."
Typical family dispute, Vulcan style. Spock wasn't living up to daddy dearest's expectations, so daddy was going to ground him or whatever. Seemed a little extreme but made sense. Being a parent's a bitch, even for Vulcans it seemed and while Kirk didn't agree with overbearing parents, especially when the kid had moved out, he wasn't about to turn down 500 million smackers. "Ok, that makes sense." He said conversationally "What I want to know is what you mean by the limitations over here." Kirk opened the folder and pointed to a piece of synthetic paper, still disbelieving that Sarek had given him actual paperwork to sign instead of a P.A.D.D, "Right here, it says, 'The contacted party shall in no way cause sustained injuries to the neutral party that are but not limited to; life threatening, causing permanent damage, leaving visible scars when fully clothed in typical attire, or could otherwise permanently damage or kill the neutral party." Kirk looked up at his client, "Are you telling me I have full liberty with your son to use as much force as I want as long as I don't paralyze or kill him?"
"Or leave visible markings, essentially yes. I want Spock to know exactly what he enlisted in when he chose to play detective." Sarek gazed back with impossibly unconcerned eyes. "If possible, I would also like him to believe that he has stumbled upon a gang related dispute and that is why you are taking him."
Jesus Christ! This was the guy's son for crying out loud! And the son of an Ambassador at that – shouldn't he just get a slap on the wrists and a brand new sports hovercraft or something? Jim knew he'd never understand the ritzy type but now he was beginning to wonder if this was just a Vulcan thing, or a Sarek thing, regardless he knew he didn't wanna fuck manipulative bastard sitting calmly in front of him as if he was discussing the food. Kirk grabbed his cup and took a quick swig of his juice, the whole damn restaurant had been vegetarian – not that he really minded – and here they were calmly discussing his job in plain sight at this little restaurant after their meal; a job about abducting and possible brutalizing the Ambassador's son. Clearly Sarek owned the place or at least the people here and his influence was apparent.
Oh yeah. Jim Kirk did not have any plans to fuck with Ambassador Sarek of Vulcan.
Ever.
"Alright fair enough." Jim tried not to let it show how uncomfortable he was becoming with this job. Something wasn't adding up. Instead he said, "Ok, if I want that bonus, what? All I gotta do is make Spock agree to go to the Vulcan Academy of Science?"
"You also must convince him to abandon his journalism career completely and to not leave the planet until he has graduated with high honors. You also cannot reveal that I am involved."
"I see." Kirk fiddled with the fork in front of him that the waitress had forgotten to take when she cleared the plates. Clearly Sarek was planning his assumed 'uninvolved' status as a ploy to manipulate his son into believing his father helped him escape the band of 'ruthless' mercenaries who would kidnap him. While Sarek couldn't exactly write it in the paperwork, Kirk got the heavy suspicion that it was his job to do something that made Spock so grateful for his father's 'rescue' that he'd do anything for him – including giving up his career to pursue science at the academy. He ran a hand through his messy blonde hair and licked his lips, preparing to go on as if Sarek's request was nothing unusual, "I also can't help but notice the destination you put is just 'Gamma Quadrant'. You do know there are, like, three solar systems and a couple space stations out there right?"
"Indeed I do. Spock and I have not been in touch recently. I know his last location was somewhere in the Gamma Quadrant but I do not know where or if he remained there. I last spoke to him approximately 3.17 Terran months ago."
Jim stared at Sarek for a second, "You do realize it could take me a month or more just to find him with that type of info right? What, he's missing?"
"In a sense, that is correct. I trust, however, that you will be able to find him in a timely manner. I am willing to fund all expenses necessary for this assignment in addition to your payment." Sarek pulled a small green card from his pocket and handed it to Jim. "The full list of approved expenses can be found in your contract."
"Holy shit, is this?" He looked at the Vulcan who merely nodded. Jim took a second to clear his throat and not appear too eager that Sarek just gave him a fucking green card to use while on contract. He focused on the idea of combing the gamma quadrant. There were several other gangs who worked out of that area but the Black Suns were the ones who ruled it. If possible, he didn't exactly want to mess with another mercenary group. "Anything else I should know? Like is Spock already in deep shit and do I have to contend with the Suns to get him back? Because if I have to do anything not stated in this contract, you do know I'll keep a running tab based on any danger to myself or my crew, right?"
"I am well aware and do not foresee any complications. However, I may remind you that keeping my son alive is in your contract and that any danger incurred protecting him is well within your duties. If you have any specific qualms during the job, you may contact me." Sarek tapped one long, green tinged finger to the top of the page where his contact information was listed. Jim couldn't help but notice his nails were beautifully maintained and his cuticles perfectly cut.
"Alright." Jim stretched his arms, clearly done with this bizarre conversation. Bones would have a field day with this one.
"One more thing Mr. Kirk." Sarek paused and Kirk eyed him warily, "I must remind that keeping my son uninformed of our 'involvement' is of the utmost importance and is your top priority. Do I make my intentions clear?"
"Transparently, sir." Jim let vaguely strained grin as he got to his feet, eager to leave the Vulcan behind. "I'll keep in touch with you Ambassador. Thanks for the lunch."
Sarek nodded but did not rise to escort his guest out. They both knew that an Ambassador couldn't give Jim a lift to his next destination – not that he wanted a lift either way. The whole conversation with Sarek had left him on high guard and he fingered his weapon hoisters nervously, double-checking that he'd indeed picked up his guns before getting in the hover car.
With a mock salute to his client, Kirk turned and waltzed out of the restaurant. He went right and walked down the desolate streets for about a half-mile until he came to transport pod, the city's form of public transportation. Jim looked over the banged up metal tube, it looked like a spherical, sideways phone booth. After he confirmed that it was an older model (no new, up to code pod machine would ever take him where he wanted to go), he pulled out his communicator.
"This has better be good Jim." Came a gruff, irritable voice.
"Hey Bones, just calling to see if you'd like to do some shopping? The usual place." Jim called back cheerfully, not at all put off by his friend.
After a pause Bones' voice came back over the COM, "Be there in 10." And then the line went dead.
Whistling softly to himself, the blonde pulled out his ID card with its mercenary pass chip embedded in the side, and swiped it over the pod unit. Not even a second later a new pod came whizzing up the tube and opened it's side for Jim to climb into it. It was about as large as a hovercraft and could carry four passengers of varying size. Inside the pod Jim swiped his card once more and punched in a number on the panel. With a mechanical processing sound the vehicle accepted his number, shut the doors and chirped, "Destination accepted. Next stop, District 12. Black Market and Freelancers."
Leonard McCoy was a gruff, irritable man at the best of times. At five feet ten inches with dark brown eyes and hair, he wasn't exactly a head turner, even amongst other humans, so in the rainbow slew of the black market the unassuming southern doctor all but vanished. That is, until he opened his mouth. It didn't matter that the cry of outrage wasn't in Terran, Kirk knew that voice anywhere and he began trying to squeeze through the sea of people all the faster. When Kirk finally found him he was amazed to find that not only had the doctor's 'conversation' carried well over two blocks, but he was still holding it. He could barely see his friend's head poking up over the small crowd in gathering in front of the stall. Man, did McCoy know how to make a spectacle of himself.
"Nuq 'oH veQ?" McCoy was standing in front of an older Klingon who stood at least a foot taller and probably had two hundred pounds on the doctor, shaking his fist and pointing at something in a rage.
The Klingon, seemingly unaffected by McCoy's heckling calmly crossed his arms and shrugged, "Hergh. QaQ laHlIj."
"Q-QaQ laHlIj?" McCoy spluttered, obviously enraged, his southern accent started to come out with a vengeance, warping the Klingon dialect to the point it made Kirk's skin crawl. He had to get over there fast. "SoH chay' witchdoctors ghaj nuvpu' je? 'oH veQ! Qo'noS Hergh barbarians!"
"Barbarians? nuvpu' ngIl tIch SoH?" Oh great. Now the Klingon had uncrossed his arms and was yelling back at McCoy.
"Mamej latlh ghoS veQ ngev ain't poHlIj!" The doctor spat back with such venom Kirk was certain he could make a sailor blush from tone alone. Definitely time to intervene before he had to clean his friend up off the pavement.
"ToH SoH!" The Klingon slammed his fists upon the table, any lesser man would have backed off then, but Kirk could see McCoy tuning out the Klingon and preparing his own rebuttal. "ghor jIH-"
"Whoooooa! Whoa!" Kirk had finally managed to push back the two Orions blocking his path and jump to McCoy's aid. The doctor looked like he wanted to say something to the blonde but Jim gave his shoulder a friendly, and vaugly painful squeeze, and turned to the large Klingon to smooth things over before he could rip them apart. "LUQ! jIQoS umqu' ghot ghaH 'ach ghaH botlhDaq DaneH'a'? qatlh poH waste? SoH legh vaj HoS be qul SoH laH reH naQmey pagh; neH strongest puq qaSnISbej SIQ mate!" The Klingon seemed to brighten at that compliment but he couldn't think of much else to say. He knew his Klingon needed work, so before he could make a fatal grammatical mistake Kirk quickly bid the vendor good day and began dragging Bones through the crowd with him cursing and grumbling the whole way.
They managed to make it three blocks before the doctor managed to wrestle out of Kirk's grasp, spouting southern curses. The blonde whirled on him immediately, "What was that Bones? You know a lot of people think shopping is fun and relaxing, I'm glad to know it get's you in the mood to take on Klingons!"
"He was selling run of the mill herbs Jim, herbs!" Bones threw his arms into the air in exasperation, as if this fact explained itself and Krik should also be enraged. "He was calling it medicine! The nerve! What is this the dark ages?! He didn't even try and make a salve or anything outta them! Told me I could make tea. I'm a doctor not a goddamn barista!"
"Maybe you shouldn't have tried to get medicine from a Klingon?" Kirk crossed his arms, his anger waning as he became somewhat bemused at the situation, "After all, they are a warlike race that typically leaves their wounded behind."
"Well forgive me for trying." The brunette retorted, his accent coming out a bit thicker, "I'll have you know that no-good Andorian told me the Klingon had better medicine. I just didn't know 'better' meant 'what passes for' down in these slums." He made an irritated noise and glared at Kirk, "Why am I here again?"
"To hold my hand so I don't get scared." Jim grinned, his eyes sparkling with mischief. McCoy just rolled his eyes. "Come on." He turned around and waved at his dubious friend to follow, "I got a job to tell you about."
"Hmph. Better be good." McCoy gripped softly, but fell in step behind Kirk all the same.
They wandered about the twisted remains of old stalls and vendors that had been converted to make the black market. A myriad of colors blurred by in the forms of shouting Andorians, Orions, Klingons and a dozen other species who'd made the Interstellar Space Station their home. Kirk pushed past the colorful wares and the screeching hagglers, and rounded the corner into a tavern adorn in the style of an old Terran Western film. The excitement of bandits of the wild west proved to be hugely popular with the off planet mercenaries and even several Terrans who frequented the Black Market to find their local watering hole.
The Lone Ranger was everything you'd expect from a wild western themed bar located in the 23rd century black market. The bar was slightly run down, the waitresses wore historically inaccurate, more 'exotic' cowgirl and barmaid outfits loosely based on Terran Western expansion and there was a dead animal head hanging off of nearly every available surface. The tables were old, shoddy looking wood, although whether it was done on purpose for décor or to save a buck no one really knew. A gruff older Andorian played 'The Entertainer' over red boots and under a wide, red brimmed hat that clashed with his blue skin so badly it almost distracted from the sour keys his clumsy fingers kept stumbling over.
Kirk had never been a huge fan of the place; his love of historic films and their hilariously bad graphics almost made him angry at all the inaccuracies, but he was too embarrassed to point it out to Bones and make much of a fuss. He didn't want to seem like a nerd. Besides, the doctor always seemed to like visiting the place; he loved the mint juleps made here more than any other bar on the Space Dock.
They took a seat in the corner, as far away from the piano player as possible, and flagged down a waitress. As soon as they'd successfully ordered a Julep and a Romulan Ale Kirk turned to McCoy with a smirk on his face and settled his elbows on the table so he could lean forward and cradle his head with a rather mischievous look.
"Alright, I'll bite." McCoy knew that look of Kirk's and he knew he'd save himself a lot of trouble if he asked properly immediately so Kirk get the bragging out of his system and get to the important details. "What marvelous job,no doubt brought upon by sheer luck, have you snagged?"
"Why Bones, I'm wounded. You of all people should know you've got an amazing Captain." He shrugged, still wearing that irritating smile, "It's no wonder we've shot up the ladder given our good reputation."
"And what reputation would that be?" McCoy asked casually, crossing his arms and leaning back into his seat, "Don't tell me there's finally a market for breaking client rules and luck based success."
Kirk frowned, feigning hurt, "You know, half the time I wonder why I keep you around."
"Funny, half the time I wonder the same thing about you." The doctor shrugged and smiled, "But to answer your question, I'd imagine it has something to do with my delightful commentary and first-class ability to keep you alive when you stick your nose down the wrong fox-hole."
"Well, what other reason could there be?" Jim shrugged, also smiling.
It was at this time the waitress returned and Kirk was able to get a good look at her, or more her assets, when she set their drinks down. As soon as the girl walked away, he let loose a coy smile coupled with eyes so lecherous McCoy had to look away with pink cheeks. "No." The man said gruffly, "Keep it in your pants and leave that poor girl out of this conversation with your speculation." He took a sip of his mint Julep and kept his eyes averted.
"Yeah, speculation." Kirk put his hands up an inch in front of his chest and deliberately gave them an imaginary jiggle at the word 'speculation', waggling his eyebrows in a way he knew his friend hated.
McCoy set the drink down and cast a stern look at his friend. "You catch another case of Orian syphilis and you won't be smiling much when your genitals turn to jelly because your only doctor refused to treat it."
"Whu-" Bright, blue eyes widened so comically McCoy was certain he'd be choking on Mint Julep had he taken another sip. Jim leaned in close, obviously embarrassed and hissed, "Below the belt, Bones. It was one time, you promised not to bring it up again."
"Whispering Jim? She's on the other side of the bar, you that worried about your chances?" McCoy cast him a bemused look, "Or you just worried about your rep? Good thing she doesn't have free access to your medical logs like someone I know. Hoo-boy, can't imagine the case of blue balls a tiny slip up of that would give you." He took another sip of Julep, this time a long, satisfied draught.
"You wouldn't."
McCoy just shrugged, bemused. The alarming speed with which Kirk changed subjects gave him a giddy sense of satisfaction, or maybe that was just the alcohol.
"Maybe we should focus on the job."
"Maybe we should." The doctor replied noncommittally, clearly enjoying his drink. Kirk had yet to touch his.
"Well, we'll need to get our warp drives repaired and the hull inspected, it looks like we'll be heading out into deep space for a bit."
"Mhmm… and why would that be?"
Kirk twisted his finger and with a deep breath began to tell McCoy about their new assignment, omitting the exact details of the who and where until he knew the southerner wasn't going to throw a hissy fit – the possibility of running into other mercs, hunting down and kidnapping people and trying to manipulate their lives wasn't exactly his cup of tea. Especially after their last botched assignment. Sometimes Kirk wondered if his friend was too soft for the life they'd chosen.
"Look it's not going to be a big deal or anything, think of the pay off!"
Bones was looking at his second drink with a rather sour expression. They'd been arguing the finer points long enough for him to flag down another waitress and get a top-off. "Look Jim, it sounds great, it does, but I don't know how I feel about it with your record." He shook his head, his eyes taking on a far off look, "You know that girl will never walk again right?"
"Bones. We've been over this. It wasn't our fault and we needed the money." He was trying to be sympathetic, really he was, but Jim was tired of needing to convince the doctor of nearly every assignment they took on. He knew Bones would come regardless, but the doctor had a knack for making feel guilty about the jobs he took. It was just business. "I know this isn't your thing, you'd rather do some package delivery or guard work – I get that, I do. But think of the payment, Bones. Five hundred million. Even if we can't convince this kid to change his career do you know what we could do with that kind of money?"
"Yeah. I've been meaning to ask. Who the hell throws down that kind of cash just to get junior home? Who exactly is our client?" McCoy asked suspiciously.
"That's not important right now." Kirk was suddenly very interested in his ale. He then stared up at the doctor through long lashes, cobalt eyes suddenly devoid of humor. "I need to know if you're in this or not."
"Hmph. You know it makes me more nervous when you say crap like that." McCoy growled, taking another swig of his drink. "Almost like I can't walk away if I agree to this – make me wonder what you've gotten yourself into…"
"Bones, come on." Kirk was suddenly on the edge of his seat, "What if I gave you my word that this job is only a pick up and drop off? That, if everything goes according to plan, not only will we have completed the easiest, safest job of our careers but we'd be able to retire if we wanted after it?"
"'If everything goes according to plan…'" The brunette shook his head humorlessly, "When you're the one saying that crap it makes my skin itch. Makes me think the exact opposite is gunna happen – hell sounds like you're propositioning me for goddamn war."
"Come on Bones. Don't be like that! You in or out?"
McCoy looked at his friend, the stupid amount of excitement there and he caved. No amount of cynicism in the world could protect him when Jim looked at him like that with those baby blues.
"Ok, ok, fine. I'm in." Bones sighed and ran a hand through his hair, almost immediately regretting his decision. "I suppose someone has to cover your ass." He griped.
"You won't regret this Bones!" Jim crowed gleefully, clinking their glasses and downing half his drink in celebration.
"Ok, you've successfully coerced me into this madness. Now tell me the details." He looked at his friend and sat back again, crossing his arms. "So all we've got to do is hunt down this guy's son and take him back home? Nothing unusual I suppose, hell it's a lot tamer than a couple of relocation's we've done." He mused.
'Relocations' was the word Bones liked to use for kidnappings. He wasn't fond of the more dangerous jobs they had and never liked to believe they were hurting anyone, which for the most part was true. No one who was uninvolved or otherwise accidentally caught up in their jobs ever got seriously hurt, it was their on-going policy to only open up a can of whoop-ass on other mercs or people who could defend themselves. Still, kidnappings always left a sort of foul taste in Bones' mouth, and for good reason. The doctor glared at Kirk, almost daring him to make this job any less tasteful now that he was honor bound to follow through, "So who's the kid?"
Kirk licked his lips rather nervously; knowing no amount of sugar-coating was going to make this any better. "His name's Spock."
"Spock, huh? Odd name, only heard it once before, but it can't be the guy I'm thinking of. Like you could swing a celebrity client like that." McCoy chuckled and went to take another sip of his drink when he paused, the drink an inch from his mouth as he took in the incredibly guilty expression on his companion's face. This was probably the first time Jim had ever made him agree to a mission before telling him about the clients. He thought it might've been because the job was worth 500 million credits, but what if it was because of the people involved? "Kirk…" He said very carefully, eyes hooded with a mixed emotion.
Kirk tried his best not to recoil and failed. "Um… yeah?"
"Please, please, please tell me that the name 'Spock' is just a coincidence. Tell me you didn't agree to relocate the goddamn Vulcan Ambassador's kid."
They stared at each other for a long moment and Kirk could feel his poker face slipping. When Bones said it like that it made the whole thing feel a million times worse. Suddenly no amount of promised credits could make Kirk willing to face his friend's wrath.
He offered a weak, pathetic smile, "And what would you say if I did?"
Kirk and Bones supposedly know bits and pieces of Vulcan and other Federation languages so I figured it makes sense if they were mercenaries they'd know Klingon. So yeah :P Also I find the idea of Bones' southern accent while making those guttural sounds all over the place hilarious XD I dunno but ill placed southern in any alien language cracks me up – in fact McCoy ruining Vulcan is prob one of my favorite scenes in 'Spock's World' lol Anyway, hope y'all enjoyed! Please R&R if you liked or have suggestions! :D
Klingon:
What is this garbage?
Medicine. It's good quality.
Good quality? What do you people still have witchdoctors too? It's garbage! Medicine for barbarians!
Barbarians? You dare insult my people?!
You ain't got much else going for you selling this garbage!
Why you! I snap your skinny-
Whoooooa! Whoa! Sorry about him but do you want to fight him? Why waste your time? You look so strong I'm sure no one could ever match you; your mate must bear only the strongest children!