Title: Shades of Darkness
Characters: AOS Kirk, Spock, McCoy, Spock Prime, AOS Enterprise crew; TOS movie-era Kirk, Spock; TNG Picard, various from all three universes
Rating: T for movie-level language and violence
Final Word Count: TBD, about 3000 per chapter

Warnings/Spoilers: Primary plot spoilers for Star Trek: Into Darkness and Generations. Various other spoilers for various other movies and Trek universe canons, footnoted where needed; no in-depth knowledge necessary to understand story. Could be categorized as a Generations fix-it.

Secondary Warning: this is technically a WIP, though most of it is already in rough draft form, so updates will be slow but consistent. Feedback is not necessary but very much appreciated.

Summary: No one is more surprised than the newly-resurrected James T. Kirk, when he opens his eyes on an unfamiliar Starfleet Medical bay and a crew nearly forty years his junior. Meanwhile, young Jim finds himself trapped in the ghostly spirit-world of the Nexus, trying to find his way home as his crew desperately search for a way to reach him before Captain Picard can convince a confused Enterprise captain to leave that elusive Valhalla to face a premature death on Veridian III. Basically, the AOS version of The Search for Spock, with obvious plot adjustments.

A/N: I suppose this would be the time to reassure everyone that I have no intention of leaving anyone with an unhappy ending in this story? It may not be the perfect ending for everyone, but it won't be unhappy. *evil grin* Also, while there are obvious similarities just due to circumstance, I will not be ripping anything else off of The Voyage Home, just FYI. Sorry to the whale lovers.


Chapter Seven

"You're a hard man to find."

The words hang for a moment in the stillness of the evening before a body drops onto the ledge beside him. They are accompanied by a breathless huff that likely has more to do with the dry desert air than true human annoyance. (The fact that he can now discern this, only after so many weeks in such close daily contact with the man, is thought for another day.)

"You are an equally difficult man to avoid, Doctor."

He stares at the fading light of an unfamiliar sunset, a strange mixture of gray-streaked violets and ochres which would never have been seen through the very different weather patterns and less-oxidized content of Vulcan's upper atmosphere. This planet's rotation is more rapid than Vulcan's and therefore its days are shorter here, though they still operate under the Federation Standard, a twenty-four cycle period; so the sunlight is nearly gone even though it is but 1700 Standard hours. Such a difference would indeed be a drastic change, accustom one's self to – for no amount of heat, can compensate for a lack of light to a sentient life-form.

"Is it very different?" McCoy asks quietly, and for once without any sign of insincerity or levity.

"Completely." He glances sideways at the human, vaguely amused at the man's awkward attempt at comfort. "You are aware that this is not my first visit to this planet since our colonization of it, Doctor?"

McCoy blinks, then scowls at him, folds his arms and glares out across the spreading desert-like plain, dotted with the glow of houses still alive and awake in the heat of the evening. "Should've known better than to try and comfort a Vulcan."

"You should indeed, Doctor."

"Hmph. So tell me, if you're so damn chill, why exactly are you pouting out here instead of having a pow-wow with those two back at the Ambassador's house? Well? Yeah, that's what I thought."

"Your conclusions are based upon an erroneous assumption of my feelings upon the matter. I merely required solitude for my mediation, as well as for my report with the Enterprise."

"A report which probably took all of three minutes, given that they're just sittin' up there in orbit waiting for us to call for beam-up. Try again."

"I do not –"

"Oh, never mind. God, you're impossible." The man pulls his knees up onto the ledge, rests one arm across them. He pinches his forehead with his other hand, slowly massaging the skin around his eyes as if trying to rid himself of a headache. "Spock, look – I've been reading everything I can get my hands on, medical and experimental, and I got nothing that might help us fix this – fix him."

"I unfortunately have had the same amount of success, or rather lack thereof, Doctor." Even what Vulcan lore he had managed to recover, obscure texts and the like which had survived the planet's destruction, held no assistance for them. His optimism has steadily dwindled since they departed Terra, and while he has not given any indication of this to the crew, as is expected of a command officer, he had hoped that the doctor was, as the saying goes, having better luck.

McCoy's hand drops from his face, revealing the lines of stress around his eyes. "We have to prepare for the fact that we aren't very likely to fix this, Spock." The words are quiet, but they ring with a finality that sounds more chilling than the flatline of a heart monitor – and they might as well be that, for Jim.

Somehow, deep down, he had begun to suspect that same conclusion. Short of a miracle devised by their alternate selves using knowledge he is not privy to, he does not see any solution open to them which will result in their captain being returned to them, in his own body, unharmed and in his right mind.

Jim Kirk, their Jim Kirk, died in the Enterprise's reactor core chamber forty days ago.

"What'll we do, Spock? If that really is him, all we're gonna get of him, what the hell are we supposed to do? What about the crew – or what's left of them – after they court martial us? What have we done?"

"I do not have answers you wish to hear, Doctor." He meets the physician's eyes with what he can only hope looks like sympathy; he cannot afford to lose control now, and so he has carefully locked away any and all emotion for the duration of this mission. The confirmation from this man of what he has already begun to suspect cannot shake that; he will not permit it. "But prior to considering such drastic circumstances we must exhaust every faint possibility of success. I have been informed in the past, that even a point-zero-zero-six percent chance of success is acceptable odds. While I differ in that opinion, I have been proven incorrect."

McCoy's small grin is genuine enough. "That you have, Mr. Spock. By the very man in question, I believe."

"Indeed."

"And did the man in question also ever advise you how to get us out of this black hole we're flyin' deeper into every minute?"

"Your metaphor is slightly mixed, Doctor, but the answer to your question is an affirmative."

This…problem, is beyond them all, beyond all logic and reason and sound judgment. He cannot foresee a scenario in which they are successful, cannot cogitate a plan of action which will ensure their success. In the most painful way possible, he has discovered his own personal no-win scenario.

Jim would no doubt laugh hysterically at the irony.

And in that case, there is obviously only one course of action open to them.

"Well, spit it out, Spock! What do we do?"

"By utilizing every resource available to us, including those which have been classified as too hazardous to the time-space continuum and our own timelines, if necessary."

"And for those of us who only speak plain Standard…?"

"We cheat, Doctor."


It is nearing ship's midnight when they return to his elder counterpart's dwelling. Even he is not so cold as to visit this planet and not so much as detour briefly to at least greet Sarek, especially when in such proximity and when news of the recent Terran events has reached the other Federation members. Besides this, the time and distance from the reunion taking place in the next house is quite welcome.

Sarek naturally does not show either surprise or pleasure at seeing him, though he is cordial, almost welcoming – a shocking departure from the norm – to both his son and to Doctor McCoy, who for reasons known only to him decides to come along. They spend two hours and an evening meal in Sarek's company, and then depart with his blessing, and a surprisingly voluntary offer to assist in whatever capacity the ambassador is capable, should intervention with Starfleet become possible regarding their commissions.

Spock highly doubts intervention will be either possible or helpful, given that his father is no longer an active diplomat due to the duties expected of a senior member of the founding colony, but the offer is appreciated.

Learning that Sarek is contemplating a marriage of reproductive necessity to a local Vulcan woman, one of his former ambassadorial aides who also escaped the battle of Vulcan unscathed, is not as appreciated.

But he will not judge; he knows all too well what grief and loneliness can do to a man, and every being must cope as best he can. It has been sufficient time to mourn, and if this is the path Sarek chooses to walk, then he will not comment.

It does not mean he will be returning here again, however, and Sarek seems to receive that information with more understanding than he had anticipated.

"Well that was a bucket of awkward," McCoy comments as they walk across the intervening desert toward the elder Spock's home.

"Whilst colorfully metaphorical, I do understand that reference, Doctor, and agree with it." He sighs wearily, unable to keep up a pretense for much longer under this strain. The calm of a clear night sky twinkling with unfamiliar stars and constellations does assist somewhat, and he exhales slowly, noting the increasing chill of a desert night. "But my family's personal business is hardly the matter at hand."

"Fair enough. We heading back to Terra in the morning with Jim and the old you, or staying here to try and figure out what to do next?"

"I…do not know, Doctor. I must first learn what the Ambassador is able to divulge, if anything, regarding Captain Kirk's death in his own universe. If there were extenuating circumstances which might assist us in recreating an event which could exchange the two men, then we may have a chance. If there were not…"

"We gotta decide what to do with him, and that's not a conversation I want to have sober," the human mutters, kicking aimlessly at a rock beside the dusty pathway.

The shrill beeping of his communicator cuts off his response, and he removes it from his belt. "Spock here."

"Enterprise, Mr. Spock." Lieutenant-Commander Scott's accent has become nearly indecipherable, a certain indication of unusual stress. "Sir, I think ye'd better beam back up an' listen t'these comms, sir, something awfully weird seems t'be goin' on with Starfleet Command!"

"Mr. Scott, please endeavor to calm yourself and explain from the beginning." McCoy shoots him a worried look, and they quicken their pace toward the lit windows of their destination. "Which communications, precisely, are you referencing?"

"Well, sir. Laddie, kin ye cut any more of that interference? Sir, aboot an hour ago the whole system just went…dark, I guess ye would say. Everything, kaput, all across every channel in use by Starfleet."

"That is statistically impossible, Mr. Scott. Have you run diagnostics on all systems?"

"What kind of engineer d'ye take me for, sir? O'course I did! An' she's runnin' as pretty as the day she launched from Riverside dockyard!"

"But that isn't possible for every channel to go dark, Spock, is it?" McCoy asks, puzzled.

"It is not, Doctor. Mr. Scott, be more explicit, if you please."

"I dunno how explicit I kin be, sir – there isnae so much as electrical interference comin' across on anything, even Priority One. We are sendin' out signal and it seems to just be disappearin' into thin air – no indication it's being received, and no signal at all coming back at us from anywhere, long-range or short-range, on any Starfleet channel. Up until now, we've been monitoring and receiving the usual, but then they all just suddenly…stopped, sir."

"That's a little concerning, given the difficulties they were already having with the satellites being damaged from Khan's attacks," McCoy mutters.

"It is, Doctor. Please alert the captain and my counterpart of what is occurring, and inform them we may be breaking orbit momentarily." The doctor nods and disappears into the house, a beam of light spilling out and then vanishing as the door shuts behind him. "Mr. Scott, have you checked the emergency channels as well?"

"Aye, sir."

"Check Emergency Channel Alpha One-One-Zero-One."

"…That's a channel, sir?"

"Not one which is public knowledge, Mr. Scott. It was created shortly after the Battle of Vulcan, and is the highest security emergency channel, known only to I believe eighteen individuals in Starfleet, many of them captains of exploratory starships. It would be used only in the event of a planet-wide emergency involving imminent and widespread destruction of the planet itself, warning ships to stay away from the planet for their own protection. It is an experimentally high-frequency long-range beacon, able to be played on a loop for twenty-four hours after the signal is cut before the signal pattern begins to degrade."

"Christ. Right, finding it now, sir."

"Access it under my security clearance as acting captain of the Enterprise; in the event of a planetary emergency that clearance alone should activate any messages without necessitating my voice recognition."

"Huh, what d'y'know. Aye, sir, the channel is there – get that cleaned up a bit, Mr. Chekov! And there's something on it, sir. Saints preserve us, Mr. Spock…ye'd better get back up here."

"Understood. Prepare to beam me up on my mark." He turns as the door opens behind him, spilling lamp-light into the evening.

"Well?"

"A planetary emergency has apparently taken place, necessitating the activation of the final emergency broadcast beacon, Doctor."

McCoy's face pales. "What could possibly have happened in eighteen hours?"

"I do not know, Doctor. That is why I am beaming up to the ship to watch the broadcast with Mr. Scott. Our next moves will be taken after I ascertain the facts."

"But what about –"

"Doctor, that channel is only to be activated if Terra is in danger of being completely destroyed, and all hope of salvation is lost – it is a warning beacon, to inform passing starships to remain at a safe distance. Our personal mission must be put aside at the present moment, for the fate of Earth may very possibly rest entirely upon the five of us and the Enterprise, now."

"The seven of us," a voice speaks up from the doorway as Jim Kirk steps out, arms folded. "So beam us up and let's get to work."


"That's the last message sent out from Terra, timestamped six hours ago." Sulu hits the pause button, freezing the viewscreen on the image of the aging Federation president, his weathered face ringed in the chaos of what looks like Starfleet Command central lit only by emergency power, and that fading fast. "This was less than an hour after their first distress call on the same channel. Whatever it was, they did see it coming, but they didn't have the power to divert it or time to get help."

"Whatever it, is," Scott interjects, shaking his head. "I dinna know of anything which can just obliterate an entire planetary blockade like that in a matter of seconds, Mr. Spock – I dinna care how the Excelsior described it before she went down, there isnae weapon in the galaxy that has that kind of firepower!"

"That's the thing, though, sir," Sulu interjects, shaking his head. "If it's a weapon, who the hell has that kind of power, why haven't we heard from them before now, and where were they firing from? Is this some renegade faction leftover from the shutdown of Section 31, that we just have never heard of?"

"The culprits themselves are far less concerning to me at the moment than the method by which this was achieved, Lieutenant. The laws of science and matter dictate it is impossible to simply vaporize matter by means currently known to us, without leaving debris or residual energy. To then move on and do the same to a planet in a matter of hours is even less credible. Even the so-called 'doomsday machine' which the Constellation encountered last year left a considerable debris field in its wake and its progress through the L-370 system was markedly slower than this. And the Excelsior described this as…"

"As what?" Kirk's attention swings from the report he has been scanning intently, to the confused features of his crew. "Mr. Sulu?"

"Well, they called it some sort of 'energy ribbon', sir. Never heard any weapon on the books, or off them for that matter, described like that. Mr. Scott?"

"Never, sir. And I've seen a fair sight o'black market weaponry m'self. Nothing I've ever seen could be categorized like that, regulation or no."

But Spock's gaze has not left their unexpected passengers; something in his elder self's expression has suddenly arrested his attention, though there is nothing but corresponding confusion in Kirk's.

"You have encountered this before," he interrupts, causing the Bridge to fall silent, startled.

His elderly counterpart sighs. "I have…heard of it," he hedges, glancing sideways at Kirk.

"Well, spill it, Spock. What is it?"

"You honestly do not remember?" the Ambassador inquires curiously.

"Should I?"

"I find it unusual you should not, considering it played a key role in what we presumed was your death in the year 2293."

"Do what now?" McCoy's exclamation voices all their opinions, as he leans forward eagerly. "You didn't think to mention this the minute you heard that transmission? This could be the answer we're looking for!"

"Or it could be the merest coincidence, or simply a parallel event which must be dealt with as we dealt with the appearance of Khan," Spock points out calmly, though the stirring of hope he feels cannot be denied. "However, Ambassador, what information you can give us will only be of assistance, since obviously this – anomaly or entity, whichever it may be – has either disarmed or destroyed Starfleet Command and possibly the entirety of the Terran population."

Perhaps he could have phrased that less drastically, as it appears to have made the human members of the crew slightly ill. They pull themselves together with a valiant effort, however, and contain their apprehension with a control which does their race credit.

"I don't remember a thing after the hull breach," Kirk says, shaking his head. "Though now that I think of it, the ships we were rescuing were supposed to be trying to escape some kind of energy singularity."

"It was indeed, a very specific singularity which had appeared to be traveling through space with no discernable pattern to its path. In its travels it had trapped objects in its grasp, two of which were small vessels which the Enterprise-B was aiding when the singularity shifted its course to partially cross paths with the ship. It then vanished after raking across the portion of the hull containing the deflector controls which you were attempting to recalibrate."

"Cue the hull breach." Kirk's eyes are distant, and he shakes his head. "I don't remember that, honestly. So I suppose it's not survivable, whatever it is."

"A logical supposition. But whatever it is, it defied all efforts to locate and study it after the events which nearly destroyed the Enterprise-B."

Blue eyes narrow sharply. "All efforts being yours, my friend?"

"I admit nothing," the elderly Vulcan says primly.

McCoy snorts a laugh. "I'm guessin' the whole hull breach thing is why you were presumed dead, then."

"Apparently. Your guess is as good as mine. So this thing was never seen again, Spock?"

The Ambassador sits wearily at the science station after a questioning look his direction, as if he requires permission; an absurd notion, for surely he of all people fits in that chair far better than Spock himself does the central seat he is carefully not sitting in with that human standing only meters away.

"There were…rumors. I was on Romulus, by the time they began, and so they might possibly have been unsubstantiated."

"You're lying," Kirk says bluntly.

"Jim…" McCoy's warning is cut off by a sharp gesture, a hand slicing commandingly through air.

"We don't have time for Vulcan omission, Doctor. Spock, what are you not telling us?"

A chill runs down Spock's spine as his counterpart's eyes flicker to him in what looks like resignation, and what has to be warning, before he turns back toward the captain's tense figure across the Bridge. "That, I cannot tell you, Jim. Even I cannot so tamper with the timelines of our universes as to tempt fate regarding that which has already happened."

"If it has already occurred in your timeline, there is no logical reason to hide the facts," he counters.

"No, young one. But there is, perhaps, sufficient emotional reason. And that is and will be my final answer. The matter is not up for debate; the knowledge is too dangerous."

"Will your hiding these events in any way affect our ability to render assistance to the people of Terra in regards to this entity?"

"Negative. All which you need know, is that the entity did reappear some seventy-eight years later, in an entirely different area of space, that it appeared to be non-threatening and simply traveling on its way as it had before, and that it disappeared again after the events surrounding its reappearance. It appears to be an entity not bound by the dimensions of time or space."

"What about the ships rescued from it in 2293?" Sulu asks. "Did their passengers and crew remember anything from being trapped inside, if it wasn't really inside the bounds of time?"

"They had no idea regarding the amount of time which had passed in the outside world, if that is what you are asking, Lieutenant. Their perception of the time which had passed inside the energy field was considerably different. And yes, they did remember, some of them."

"If it isn't bound by time and space, it's likely not bound by universal dimensions then, either," Kirk muses, frowning. "So it likely could be bleed-over from whatever weakness in the continuum walls allowed my consciousness to slip through into your captain's body instead of his."

"Well, then can't we just…shove the blasted thing back where it belongs, so t'speak? I mean, if we kin find out how it got here in the first place?"

"I daresay the matter is not so simple, Mr. Scott, and that does not alter the fact that we have yet to ascertain what has occurred to silence the Federation. How quickly can we reach Terra at maximum warp capabilities?"

"I kin give ye warp six for three hours, sir, no more than that with the drive in the condition she is. It'll have t'be warp four for the remainder of the trip if ye want to still have weaponry available when we get there. It'll take a good ten hours to get back, no mistake."

"Make it eight, Mr. Scott."

A grin crosses the man's face. "Aye, sir. Ye'll have it, sir."

"Prepare to break orbit within the next ten minutes, gentlemen." As the turbolift door closes behind their Chief Engineer, he nods toward the communications station, and very carefully does not consider where Nyota might have been when this entity attacked the Earth. "Doctor, you will continue to monitor all frequencies during our journey and if we are hailed upon our approach notify me immediately."

"You got it. Sir." The belated addendum causes him to raise an eyebrow, but he does not comment, nor does he address the helmsman and navigator, who are already busily laying in and plotting the most direct course back to Terra. There is no need to direct where orders are already clear, and he is not in the habit of making idle conversation or reassuring fully competent officers.

"Estimated time of arrival on Terra, Mr. Chekov."

"A suggestion, Spock – we don't want to drop straight out of a warp bubble into any type of unknown energy field, and if that 'ribbon' is traveling we have no way of knowing how quickly or if it intends to just hang around the planet for a while. I'm not so sure it isn't sentient, from what little we've heard. I'd rather see us drop out close to the edge of the Sol system and crawl in, even if it takes a little longer, than chance not seeing what hit us."

While the words are couched as a suggestion, the command edge in the tone is clear – it is a warning. A gentle one, but still a warning. Hurt my ship and you die.

That, at least, is quite familiar, and for the first time he actually recognizes the man in front of him.

For a moment their eyes lock, a silent battle of wills that eventually draws the fascinated attention of the rest of the Bridge crew. But finally, he nods; for in this, they are both agreed – the safety of Jim's crew is paramount.

"Implement Mr. Kirk's strategy, Mr. Chekov."

"Aye, Keptin. Keptins. Sirs. Aie, bez raznitsy."

Kirk's amused smile fades slightly when they both automatically move toward the command dais. But Spock sees his elder self discreetly hold out a restraining hand before Kirk can move more than a few inches, sharing a pointed look with the man which speaks volumes, and he is well aware of the effort it takes the human to resume his place standing at the back of the Bridge near the library station.

But succeed or fail, it is he who will shoulder the command burden of this mission, and so it is he who takes the chair, he hopes – that strange human emotion, hope! – for the last time.

"Update, Mr. Chekov."

"Estimated time of arrival at the Jupiter checkpoint station in nine hours, six minutes, sir; from there we should be able to do the quick recon, so to speak – see if the blockade is indeed destroyed as said."

"A sound suggestion, Mr. Chekov. Lay in that course and engage warp drive when ready, Mr. Sulu."

"Aye, sir."

A moment later, the sandy sphere of New Vulcan recedes in their viewer, and then disappears in a streak of star-blur as they make an unusually bone-jarring jump to warp.

He raises an eyebrow, and depresses the communications switch in the armrest. "Mr. Scott?"

"I know, sir! 'Tis under control! Ye worry about the Bridge an' let me worry about these blasted, temperamental – " Something explodes, cutting off the man's voice, though no alerts have yet to flash up on his arm control panel; short of an alert malfunction, nothing is yet at the critical stage. "Uh. One moment, sir."

"Mr. Chekov, if the course has been laid in to your satisfaction, I believe you would be of most assistance in Engineering," he says dryly. "Please endeavor to keep us on-course and Mr. Scott out of Sickbay for the remainder of the voyage home."

Sulu's grin is carefully hidden under his re-checking of the piloting controls as his seat-mate scrambles out of his chair and into the turbolift, eyes wide with alarm.

"Doctor, I would suggest you utilize the next six hours as your rest period, as I will require you on the Bridge upon our approach to the Jupiter checkpoint."

McCoy casts a doubtful look around, but has the common sense to know he cannot go for longer than twenty-four hours without a sleep cycle. "You call me if you need me, any of you," he says, poking a bony finger into Spock's shoulder as he passes the command chair. Spock tolerates the gesture as he has far too many these past six weeks – by ignoring it entirely.

"Mr. Sulu, am I to presume you have remained in command of the Bridge for the duration of the time we were planetside?"

"Yes, sir. Not going to deny I could use a break, sir, but I'm good if you need me up here."

He raises an eyebrow. "While commendable, such over-application is unnecessary, Lieutenant. Engage the auto-pilot and report back to the Bridge in six hours."

"With pleasure, sir." The young man's gratitude is evident, as is his weariness. Spock had noted the difference in the two humans' energies when he came on the Bridge; obviously, Sulu had pulled rank and forced Ensign Chekov to at least take a rest period over the hours they were planetside.

The crew now cared for, the burden of command lessens somewhat, and he feels the immediate strain ease slightly. He turns to his elder counterpart, who has watched these exchanges in silence, just the hint of a what looks like a proud smile gracing his aging features.

"If you do not mind the intrusion, Ambassador, I would have a few moments of your time for…personal inquiries."

The dark eyes glint at him in amusement. "I anticipated as much, young one. Shall we adjourn to a more private setting?"

"What about me?" Kirk's plaintive interjection follows them as they move in sync toward the turbolift.

"You have the conn. Sir," Spock says dryly, and the doors shut behind them.