Chapter Three: Sheep's Clothing

Exotic music filled the air of the Argelian club. Three gorgeous women in beaded tops and sheer flowing skirts danced onstage as if pushed by the music itself. Every table around the stage was full with patrons, many of them Starfleet, all of them male, happily observing the show. The opposite side of the room was almost empty with two exceptions.

Kirk and Scotty sat at the dimly lit bar, surrounded by empty glasses. Kirk was leaning back in his chair with his head turned towards the stage, watching from afar. Scotty hunched over the counter, his stance lopsided and presumably drunk.

"They're creating the same kind of hole in space that brought us the evil future mine ship on purpose. There're time holes in black holes, and black holes and worm holes are one miscalibration away from being the same bloody thing. It's a dumb move by stupid people!" Scotty exclaimed, his words garbled through intoxication.

Kirk turned to face Scotty, seemingly unimpressed. "If I understood what you meant, I'm sure I'd agree with you."

Scotty downed the last sip of his sixth glass with a deep swig and slapped it furiously against the table. "The federation's stuck its head up its arse again, that's what I mean. They've got the science unit saying lets boldly go find the heart of the universe and poke it with a stick! I'm telling you, we're lucky if we make it three weeks without some tosser piercing a hole in a planet's core or waking up space Hitler!" he ranted, his voice raising so high one of the other patrons had turned to look at him.

Kirk continued to watch with mild astonishment. "I need to order what you're drinking."

Scotty gripped his empty glass and raised it triumphantly. "Whiskey. Can't go wrong. Unless it's warm. Or cheap. Or American."

As Scotty moved his glass through the air, he stared towards the dancer at the center of the stage. A smile came over him. "Look at her. Now that's a sight to ease the end of the world."

"You should offer her a drink. Maybe she'd like you."

Kirk raised his hand to Scotty's back and gave him a pat on the shoulder, gradually trying to push Scotty's arm down. He stood up from his stool and walked to the other side of the bar. He could hear the clinks and thuds of moving bottles, so he presumed someone was here. He slapped his hand against the counter, calling for attention "Hey, can I get a whiskey?"

"If you mean the Speyside, we're out. We've got a clan Campbell, or you could go for the Skagaran. Our Skagaran is shit, by the way, so don't," a female voice chimed from beneath the counter, faintly melodic yet unusually blunt.

"Then I'll take the one that isn't awful."

"Good plan."

Bottles clinked beneath the bar as the bartender poured him a half glass of whiskey. Her hand reached over the counter to set the whiskey in front of Kirk. Kirk took the glass in his right hand. He took a sip and stared down in a search for the source of the voice.

Just as he caught a glimpse of a shoulder, the bartender emerged from beneath the bar. A girl with a copper-colored, frizzy inverted bob, almond-shaped eyes and thick, angled eyebrows leaned over the counter-top. The collar of her aviator jacket knocked her hair further astray.

"So how'd you steal the captain's tunic?" she asked with obvious interest. Kirk looked to her, curious and about to say something. Before he could, she spoke again. "Federation comes here all the time. I know the rings." She pointed towards his sleeve.

Amused, Kirk put on his best subtle, smugly endearing smile. "Sorry to crush your observation, but I have the captain's shirt because I am the captain."

"You look good for over forty. Does your race not age or something?" she asked back, blunt and seemingly oblivious.

Kirk set his glass back on the counter. He leaned towards the bar as well, turning his back to Scotty in the process. "Iowa. I'm human, I promise, and thank you. You're quite charming no matter how old you are."

The bartender flicked her wrist, pointing towards the cluster of glasses Kirk had left in his wake. "You drank five Andorians in an hour and a half. If you were human, you'd be flopping on the floor confessing your love to a stool."

Kirk's smile faded slightly. He took a sip from his drink to bide time before responding. "Also what I expected. Not what happened. I must've been asking the wrong bartender," he said flirtatiously.

The bartender set both of her elbows against the counter. She set both hands under her chin and leaned against them, moving closer to Kirk."So what class ship you got, captain human?"

"Constitution. The USS Enterprise. My name's Kirk, by the way. James Kirk. There'd be a lot of Captain Humans if that's how we talked about ourselves."

The mention of Kirk's name caused the bartender's eyes to widen with recognition. She practically bounced with excitement. "Oh! Oh, you're that guy! The captain by default. I've heard a lot of people complain about you. I believe the exact words were over-pompous, lucky douchebag!"

"My infamy precedes me. Good to know."

"No. Or yes, sort of, but terrorist-catcher sort of trumps ego jerk and I should not be making you pay for this drink."

"Why don't you let me buy you one and consider it even?"

"Because I already have the booze. I can take it if I needed one. But thanks."

"Can I at least have your name?"

"It's Dray." The bartender paused in contemplation. She ran a hand through her hair and craned her neck in an effort to be coyly sensual which succeeded only at the second part. "I've never seen a constitution class. This port's usually too far for them."

"Do you want to see the ship? I can show you, if you'd like"

"The bridge or the bedroom?"

"Whichever you'd like to see. What time do you get off?"

"Depends on how hard the work is and who's there to help me."

Kirk cast his empty glass to the side. He stared at her with confidence and an alluring smirk. "I've been told I'm very helpful."

Dray set her hand back against the counter. She hunched over just enough that she could stare directly down at Kirk. "You know this is innuendo, right?"

It had been so obvious that it took a second for Kirk to figure out how it could have been anything but. "I was doubtful but optimistic."

Dray turned away from Kirk and began to walk around the counter. "I can show you the cellar in five minutes. Just let me go tell my girlfriend."

Yet again, Kirk's thought process and expression froze with mild bewilderment, this time at his own luck. "Would she want to join us?"

"Not that kind of girlfriend. She's already turned me down. But you could ask her, if you want." Dray gestured towards a black-haired waitress at one of the tables as she rounded the bar. She strode past the empty chairs and into the crowd.

With his eyes still on Dray, Kirk rose from his seat. He walked alongside the otherwise empty bar, back to Scotty. He set his hand on Scotty's shoulder, drawing his attention.

"Stay put. I'll be back in an hour."

Scotty swiveled in his stool to keep his glassy eyes on Kirk. His head flopped down as if considerably heavier than usual. "What are you gonna do, go moisturize?" he slurred. Kirk didn't respond, already walking away.

With no one else there to stop him, Scotty reached across the counter. He grabbed Kirk's half-finished whiskey from the point it had slid to and downed it as well.

A patron at the front of the room turned his head over his shoulder towards the bar. He stared at Scotty in silent scrutiny, lowered his head and stood up. The patron walked towards the back of the room.

It had been hours since the crew had been dismissed for the night, and the science facilities of the USS Enterprise were appropriately deserted. A single set of footsteps tapped across the floor as Spock walked through the corridor. The faint lighting increased automatically as he approached the doors to the medical bay. The doors slid open.

A single light shone from a microscope on the back table, revealing the outline of a person. Bones hunched over the microscope, staring through the viewfinder with increasing exasperation.

The overhead lights flashed on as Spock crossed into the room. He came to a stop just beyond the doorway. Bones lowered his head in an effort to ignore it.

"Have you located the abnormality, doctor?" Spock asked.

Bones lifted his head away from the microscope. He looked back at Spock through an exhausted stare, allowing the context of his being here to explain it for him. Spock continued to cross the room.

"A verbal response would be more effective," Spock suggested, though his tone implied it was more of a statement.

Bones lowered his head while maintaining the same stare. He exhaled deeply. "I've found the what. I don't know why."

Rather than let Spock ask to consult, Bones reached across the counter for the tricorder he'd been using. He turned on the screen and offered it out to Spock.

"There are higher concentrations of endorphins and cytokines in his blood. The cytokines are why his immune response was off. He may not have felt the chance because most of the ox-40 receptors on his t-cells have sealed themselves. There are no pathogens in his blood, and this isn't a match for any known disorder," Bones explained. He watched as Spock scrolled through the screen, reviewing the data for himself.

"Have you found any foreign substances in the hair sample? That may give us a longer record of potential contaminants."

"No, but I did see both ends seal themselves after I broke the strand," Bones answered frankly.

Spock looked up from the screen. "A dead substance cannot change, doctor."

"Yes, that's why I know it's not dead."

"You must have observed incorrectly."

Bones set one hand atop the microscope's viewing head and shifted it towards Spock. He shifted his stance so he was directly facing him, countering his skepticism with an equally serious stare. "Look at it yourself."

Nowhere near convinced, but not in a clear enough position to refute it, either, Spock approached the microscope. He adjusted both of the focus knobs to fit his eyes and leaned in to see.

The ordinary composition of a piece of human hair was simple. A single strand would be covered in the outer sheath of the cuticle, which bore some resemblance to a tree, with numerous layers of other structures inside. The follicle, which contained the living fiber, would form a distinct end, and the cuticle would form the closure on the other side. However, the strand of hair under the microscope had no follicle, as if it had grown from itself.

Bones stood a few feet away, watching for Spock's reaction, if there was any he could see. "The strand's identical the entire way through. The core shows traces of blood. If I hadn't pulled it out myself, I'd say it wasn't his."

Sufficiently convinced that something was wrong, Spock turned off the microscope. "Have you cross-referenced your findings with our database of known life forms?"

The words themselves weren't that threatening, but their implications sent a wave of discomfort through Bones. Those databases were meant to identify species, not diseases.

"I was hoping you wouldn't ask that."

Reluctantly, Bones grabbed the tricorder off of the counter. He flipped through various screens to enter the previous readings through the database.

The thick, tense silence filled the empty space between Bones and Spock. Bones gripped both sides of the tricorder as he waited for the results to come through. Within the first ten seconds, an overview of human biology had appeared on screen. Bones let out a deep breath, a wave of relief flowing through him. He began to set the tricorder down.

Just as Bones' hand had brushed against the counter, an entry that Bones himself had written appeared over the first result. It was an auxiliary page on augmented humans; specifically the readings they had taken on Khan. Kirk's sample had been flagged as an eighty two percent match.

As the text came into view and his understanding followed, Bones slammed the tricorder against the counter. He pressed his hand against his face and slumped against the wall beside him. "Damnit, how…!"

Spock stood by, observing through a forcibly detached calm. He closed his eyes for a moment to collect himself before breaking the silence.

"We should notify command of his condition at once. He may be compromised."

Bones snapped his head upright, temporarily displacing his anger onto Spock. "Are you insane? You can't report this before he knows. You may as well hit him with a semi-and run him back over to make sure you got him!"

Spock held the exact same expression while speaking in a slightly slower way. "Do you wish to inform him or shall I?"

Bones started to speak, but stopped himself before the sound could form. He shrunk upon himself as his the reality of the situation sank further in, and the fury in his eyes faded to hollow resignation.

"I'll do it."

Bones pushed up his sleeve, revealing his communicator. He pressed the corresponding button and spoke into the receiver with a distinct, unnerving lack of inflection. "Jim, pick up. You need to get back to the ship. Jim—"

A bare light bulb hung from the ceiling in the back corner of the storage room, its pull chain was still swaying. The impressions of two bodies pressed against each other were obscured by shelves of bottles and plates. Even from the entrance, a close observer could catch a glimpse of Kirk's face through the rounded glasses. He leaned against the back wall and into the girl who was passionately kissing his neck. A knock pounded at the door, shaking the bottles with the impact.

"Dray! I need you out here! Preferably now!" a voice Kirk didn't recognize called into the room.

Dray's expression contorted with a mix of panic and discomfort. She pulled away from Kirk. "Shit of crap."

Dray pressed both of her hands against Kirk, nudging him back towards the wall. She craned her head around the side of the shelf, peeking towards the door. "Three seconds!"

Kirk leaned against the wall in a moment of uncertainty. He watched as Dray grabbed her blouse off a stray table and wriggled back into it. He looked to his right, where Dray's jacket was dangling from a picture frame. Kirk picked the jacket off of the corner. He held it out to her.

While she was still adjusting the shirt, Dray snatched the jacket from Kirk's grasp. She took Kirk by both shoulders and pushed him towards the back of the room. The gesture was so soft that Kirk could barely feel it, but he followed along as if she was guiding him towards the door at the back. Another knock rocked the door.

Kirk started to speak. "I can—"

Dray gave Kirk what she meant to be a final shove towards the door. It was so sudden that Kirk didn't step back. Dray reached under Kirk's arm and pushed the door open. "Come back through the front. Good, thank you."

Before Kirk could argue, Dray gave Kirk another shove outside the room. Kirk tried to cooperate by stepping through the door. He raised both hands in a gesture of surrender. "It's—"

With a forceful yet silent click, Dray closed the door. Its edges vanished seamlessly into the gray brick wall, leaving nothing but a solid line. The slam of a second door's impact echoed from the other side.

Kirk stood alone in the empty alleyway. A heavy cloud of fog concealed the ground below. An equally impermeable mist hung over the sky, and the walls around him seemed to twist in a maze between buildings. He turned towards his right and looked out of the alleyway. Barely two people were outside, mulling around the other buildings for reasons he couldn't guess or tell.

"Jim, this is urgent. We need you back on the ship," Bones' voice sounded through the communicator, breaking the silence around him.

Kirk turned his back to the exit. He raised the communicator to his mouth and picked up the call. "Soon as I can convince Scotty what direction straight is, I'll be there."

Before Bones could say anything else, Kirk hung up the communicator. He took another step towards the street. As his foot brushed the pavement, he heard a sound behind him.

"Captain," a strained voice with a distinctly Scottish accent echoed through the way. The last syllables faded with the pain of speaking.

Kirk stopped in place. He looked back into the alleyway. "Scotty? Are you ok? …Scotty?" he called with increasing concern. There was no reply.

Kirk set one hand to his side, his fingers hovering over his phaser's holster. His senses sharpened with rising tension as he listened for anything at all. The muffled sounds of conversation crept through the brick wall as he walked past the door, deeper into the alleyway. He could see an intersection in the path ahead as he approached the back of the building.

A pained moan sounded from Kirk's right. He turned towards the noise. "Scotty?" Again, silence. Kirk rounded the corner, following the noise.

A blurry, human shaped figure stood at the center of the alley, submerged in the shadows and fog. The second that Kirk was standing in its range, the figure lunged towards Kirk with a butcher's knife and plunged the blade directly into Kirk's stomach.

For a second, everything around Kirk seemed to freeze in overwhelming pain as the blade pulled him down. He could see his blood trickling down his leg, and the familiar hands of the man who'd assaulted him. Their already red sleeves were stained with splatter marks.

Barely standing and struggling to breathe, Kirk tried to grab his phaser. The figure pushed the blade in deeper, twisted the knife and started to pull away from Kirk. Before it could, Kirk clutched his left hand in a fist and aimed a punch under the creature's nose.

For the first second, Kirk had felt his hand brush solid mass, but as he drew closer in, the nose he meant to be hitting seemed to retract into the creature's face, forcing the punch to miss and knocking him off-balance.

The creature dodged to the left and thrust the knife towards Kirk's neck. Kirk pulled back. He raised his right hand in front of himself, grabbed the knife blade-first and yanked the creature towards him. Only then did Kirk lift his head enough to see the entirety of who was there. It looked like Scotty.

Kirk paused, his mind reeling. That second of hesitation was all the opportunity the lookalike had needed. A phaser blast fired from the other side of the alley and struck Kirk in the back of the neck. The knife's blade slipped from Kirk's hands. He collapsed face-first across the cobblestone, paralyzed.

The fake Scotty planted his foot atop Kirk's head. He stabbed the knife twice into Kirk's body and pulled back with the knife no longer in hand. The figure's footsteps tapped against the stone. His shirt, hair and body began to morph, his engineering uniform shifting into the captain's yellow as he left the scene and Kirk behind.

Kirk lay across the cobblestone, eyes open, staring at a plain brick wall. He stopped breathing.

A/N: Please don't stop reading because of those last two sentences. This will make sense, I promise.