"Sir, I found something."
"What is it?"
"An incident report, from the original Enterprise, under the command of Captain James T. Kirk, filed by First Officer Spock; reportedly, around the time of their encounter with mirror universe counterparts of their landing party, an individual identifying himself as John Smith mysteriously boarded the Enterprise before being apprehended."
"What did Kirk do with him?"
"...sorry, sir; the report doesn't seem to elaborate. It just says that there was an encounter. Starfleet never pressed for details."
"What is it with twenty-third century captains and independent streaks? Well, could it be him?"
"It's possible, sir. This Smith isn't recorded as possessing the same equipment, but according to Picard's personal logs, the subject did specify an Enterprise. And Kirk's was one of the most eventful ones..."
"...all right. It's all we have to go on. Prepare an operative. We'll extract the Doctor as soon as the timeline permits."
"I order you, Let me go!" the mirror Kirk spat, all but flailing in the grip of the two burly men as they dragged him down the hall, easily restraining his frenzied struggled. "Traitors! Spock, get these men off me! What is this?"
Suffice to say, the jig was up; when the mirror Kirk had tried to commandeer the bridge and order that the planet below be bombarded into submission from orbit, Spock had quickly relieved him of duty. It had been a quick step to security from there, and the 'captain' had been dragged, screaming and cursing, all the way from the bridge down to the detention level several decks down. The Doctor, who had been waiting for over an hour for this very thing to happen, had made a beeline for the proper section of the ship the moment Spock had announced he was taking command. Now, the Time Lord lurked behind the corner of one of the corridors, watching the little drama unfold.
"What are you doing, Spock?" the alternate McCoy demanded from inside the Enterprise's detention cell, but Kirk's ongoing rant overrode any hope of response.
"You traitorous pig! I'll hang you up by your Vulcan ears. I'll have you all executed!"
"This man does not know how to negotiate," the Doctor muttered under his breath as he watched them all but toss Kirk inside the cell. "Is everyone from his universe that bloody loud?"
"I think not," the First Officer replied calmly, "Your authority on this ship is extremely limited, Captain. The four of you will remain her in the Brig and in custody until I discover how to return you to wherever it is you belong."
"Has the whole galaxy gone crazy?" Obviously Kirk wasn't even trying to pretend he belonged anymore and, looking at his wild behavior, the Doctor marveled that he'd lasted so long without being discovered in the first place. "What kind of a uniform is this? Where's your beard? What's going on? Where's my personal guard?!"
Spock's brow lifted as he replied, quite honestly; "I can answer none of your questions at this time."
"All right, Spock." the fury in Kirk's eyes had faded, replaced with animal cunning; "Whatever your game is, I'll play it. You want credits, I'll give them to you. You'll be a rich man. A command of your own? I can swing that, too."
"Apparently some kind of transposition has taken place," Spock was musing, entirely ignoring the bribe attempt as he focused his full attention on the problem in front of him. "I find it extremely interesting."
As their, er, discussion continued, the Doctor eased back around the corner, drawing in a deep breath as he considered the medical kit he had 'borrowed,' and the tricorder inside. The device was truly ancient by the Enterprise D's standards, and from the Doctor's perspective it might as well have been made of wood... still, it would serve his purpose, to say nothing for being far less noticeable than his sonic screwdriver. Knowing that he wouldn't be able to gain access to the prisoners without being searched, the Doctor tugged his screwdriver from its hiding place, tucked under the waistband of his pants, and considered it for a long moment.
He quickly found a new hiding spot for his sonic screwdriver, tucking it into one of the ship's emergency supply cabinets... given he wasn't anticipating any emergencies in the near future, it seemed as good as place as any. By the time he had finished this, and peered back around the corner, Spock was gone... the quartet of mirror universe counterparts were talking among themselves in hushed tones, and a single security guard stood beside the forcefield, arms crossed over his chest.
"All right," the Doctor murmured, "here goes nothing."
Around the corner he went, moving with quick, impatient steps as he bore down on the guard with an intimidating scowl on his face.
"W-who are you?" the guard stammered when he saw the Doctor bearing down on him, eyes widening a little. "What are you doing here?"
"Who am I?!" the Time Lord snapped, looking every bit like an overworked bureaucrat as he scurried over to the forcefield, completely ignoring the scowling mirror counterparts as they spun around to glare at him. "I'm one of the unlucky sods trying to keep the medical department running now that its head's apparently gone all screwy. What am I DOING here? Nurse Chapel sent me down here to take medical readings; Mister Spock wanted these people scanned, and so I'm here with his express permission. Now if you don't mind, I'd like to get this over with posthaste so I can go back to tearing my hair at trying to catalog the dopamine inhibitor vials, and-"
"Curious. I do not recall authorizing Nurse Chapel to send someone."
The Doctor froze in place, eyes widening just a little. Then, very slowly, he turned in place... to find Spock standing behind him, hands behind his back, flanked by a pair of security personnel with lifted phasers.
"What the hell is going on here?!" Kirk bellowed from inside his cell.
"Mister Smith, I presume," the First Officer greeted, completely ignoring Kirk. "If you will please hand Ensign Reynolds the tricorder, and step into the spare containment cell."
Sighing, the Doctor did as bidden; if he'd had his sonic screwdriver, he would have sought to disable the guards' phasers, increased power to the gravity plating beneath them to immobilize them, something... but without it, he didn't have much option. At least, nothing confrontational... stepping into the containment cell, an alternate plan began to form, even as the security guard activated the forcefield.
"We have been aware of your presence for an hour and ten minutes," Spock said calmly, standing on the other side of the field. "Considering the timing of your arrival with that of these alternate versions of the landing party, I calculated an eighty-five percent probability that you would, at some point, seek to make contact with these individuals. I must ask, however, for what purpose you have come aboard the Enterprise, and by what means you achieved this; our security systems did not detect any such intrusion."
"That's quite impressive," the Doctor replied grudgingly. "And a bit embarrassing for me... I don't often feel predictable... as for your questions, I can't answer them."
Spock's head tilted, just a little. "And why is that?"
A bit of a smile quirked at the Time Lord's mouth as he replied; "No starship may interfere with the normal development of any alien life or society."
Spock's mouth shifted in the tiniest of frowns... which, for him, might as well have been a brazen threat. "I am afraid I do not understand."
"Yeah, well... there is something I can tell you," the Doctor said. "Twenty-one-hundred and twenty-two."
"And that is?"
"The precise time you should send the lot in that other containment cell back," the Doctor replied. "To the same coordinates you beamed the original landing party up from; you're correct, there has been a transposition. Your Captain, and the rest of the landing party, are currently in a far more hostile reality... but, in approximately seventy-three minutes, they will attempt to reverse the effect. You must be prepared for that, or their attempt may well fail."
Spock's eyes narrowed, just a little. "And how do you know this?"
The Doctor shook his head. "I said, I can't tell you, not just yet... but, once you've brought your Captain back, I ask for a chance to speak with you both, alone. Consider my information a sign of good faith."
He honestly couldn't tell them too much; for one thing, any information they gathered on him would complicate his past self's dealings with the Enterprise D. If they discovered his name, his TARDIS, even his sonic screwdriver... it wouldn't matter if the Doctor succeeded in escaping; he would alter his own timeline, and Picard would greet the Doctor's arrival with considerably more suspicion. So, he was going to have to walk a very fine line...
"Ensign," Spock finally said to one of the security personnel; "Have Nurse Chapel send a medical technician to examine the alternate landing party; see if she can determine what Mister Smith was looking for."
"Yes, sir. Should they examine this Smith as well?"
The Doctor tensed... if they tried that, he'd have to go for an escape attempt, regardless of the risk. His biology would be just as recognizable to the future Starfleet as his TARDIS...
"No," Spock finally decided. "We will wait for the Captain's return before doing anything further with him."
With that, he gave the Time Lord one last, brief glance before striding away, his head down, no doubt already calculating the probability that the Doctor's advice was genuine...
A few hours later, a pair of security guards came to collect the Time Lord, leading him down a series of corridors and down a turbolift until they reached the Enterprise's main conference room. Stepping inside, the Doctor was mildly surprised to see that it was occupied only by Spock...
And Kirk.
One glance was all the Time Lord needed to confirm that this was the real one; no barely repressed scowl, no clenched fists, no unfocused violence. Well, almost none.
"Aaaah, Captain James Tiberius Kirk," the Doctor all but beamed. "I must say, it seemed like every second entry I came across in my research had five references to your ship's exploits, it's quite the pleasure to meet the man for whom a hundred uniform shirts gave their untorn conditions in service of."
"Um, thank you, I think..." Kirk replied, a little taken aback as he nodded to security; "You gentlemen can wait outside. As for you, Mister Smith, please, have a seat."
Choosing one of the conference room chairs, the Doctor plopped onto the seat with a content sigh, stretching his arms wide and stifling a yawn as he tested the rotational capacity of the chair, spinning it first one way, then the other, as he seemed to do every seat he ever took. A moment later, his legs swung up to rest on the table, ankles crossing as his hands folded behind his head. Kirk actually looked like he didn't know whether to be amused by the posture, settling for the former as he smiled just a little, leaning back in his chair.
"So," Kirk began; "Mister Spock tells me that you quoted from Starfleet General Order Number One, when he asked you the reason for your presence. He also told me you started running around my ship at around the same time my landing party went... missing. A paranoid man would think that there's a link there."
"Oh, there is," the Doctor replied matter-of-factly. "Just probably not in the way you're thinking."
"Is that so?" Kirk frowned a little, eyes narrowing. "What do you mean?"
"Well," the Doctor leaned back in his seat, hands spreading. "You more than likely are thinking that your little trip to an alternate universe was in some way caused by my presence, or actions I undertook, and I can understand the reasons. But in fact, my presence here did not cause your misadventure, but is in fact because of it... I wanted to gather information on what had happened to you, some clue as to how it had happened, for... independent purposes."
"But how did you know it was going..." Kirk paused as it clicked, and he leaned forward in his seat, suddenly very interested. "Time travel."
"Very good, Captain," the Doctor praised.
"That would explain his use of General Order One," Spock mused. "If he is indeed from the future, then his very presence runs the risk of contaminating the timeline; as would any information as to his exact origins or purpose. Just as the Enterprise avoids altering the development of a pre-warp civilization, perhaps he has a direction preventing him from directly interfering with us."
"On the other hand," Kirk continued, doubt still clear on his face. "What you're telling us could just be a very clever cover story, a way to avoid making up details... for one, Smith, isn't telling all this running the risk of changing the future? You told Spock how to get me and my people back, for that matter."
"I know a thing or two about timelines," the Doctor replied, shrugging. "And I have a good sense for how to avoid making too large a dent in them. For one, I knew your Mister Spock would successfully retrieve you, regardless of my assistance; my contribution simply would have saved him a lot of tedious calculations, though I'm guessing he made them anyway. I know that telling you I am from the future is in and of itself safe, as long as I reveal nothing of your personal future; I also know, Captain, the sacrifices you have made to preserve your past."
Something in Kirk's eyes flickered at that, his head tilting just a little a his gaze hardened; still, the moment passed, and he drew in a deep breath.
"So," he said, "you know a lot about us. Impressive. But considering the risks, I can't just let you go on your word alone."
"Well, there is a means to confirm what I'm telling you," the Doctor murmured, brow lifted. "I've learned quite a bit about Vulcans, you know, bit of a hobby; if you can't be certain that my words are genuine, then perhaps what we should do is read the intent behind them. A mind-meld could accomplish this quite handily."
Spock's brows lifted in surprise. "You are indeed well-informed on my race, Mister Smith. However, it is quite inappropriate to meld with non-Vulcans, and as such I cannot consider it a valid option.".
"Bullocks," came the response, the Doctor's finger jabbing forward. "You've already done it several times, always with non-humans, always for the purpose of some mission or another, and you're not even halfway through this five-year runabout!"
"He does have a point, Spock," Kirk said wryly. "And if he's telling the truth, turning him over to Starfleet could be more dangerous than letting him go. Melding with him could give us the answers we need to figure out our next step."
Spock considered that, head bowed. "Am I to assume that this is an order, Captain?"
"No, I won't order you to do it," the Captain replied, shaking his head. "I know how your people feel about melding with outsiders... and although you've done it before, I've always considered it above and beyond the call of duty. This isn't something I'm going to force from you."
Spock paused for a moment, before inclining his head. "In which case, I volunteer, Captain. You are correct, there are too many risks to do any less."
"Wonderful!" The Doctor's hands clasped together as he beamed. "This is turning out swimmingly. I'm a bit foggy on the mechanics of this whole melding, though, do we have to butt heads? Because, I'll tell you, I've been looking for a much less painful method of linking between-"
"I will initiate the meld," Spock replied, finally interrupting when he suspected their guest wasn't going to stop talking anytime soon. "Please simply relax... and be silent."
"Right, right, of course..."
Moving with deliberate care, Spock walked around their captive's chair, standing behind him and reaching down with both hands. His fingers quickly found the appropriate blood vessels and nerve points, although the Vulcan noticed they were placed slightly differently than those of most humans... drawing in a steady breath to prepare himself, Spock's eyes closed as he began to concentrate, intoning each word...
"My Mind, To Your Mind... My Thoughts, To Your Thoughts..."
The moment connection was made, Spock was lost.
The man's mind was ancient. Ancient, labyrinthine, and with a discipline that made mockery of centuries of Vulcan self-control; beneath the bumbling, beaming, rambling exterior of this strange man, the mind was sharp as a blade and unyielding as a mountain.
Although Spock was the one who had initiated the meld, he suddenly felt as if he were being pulled along, dragged deeper and deeper into flashing lights and swirling colors. Countless worlds flickered past, more than the Enterprise had ever witnessed, more than every ship in Starfleet had ever so much as drawn near to. Species strange and wonderful and terrifying, civilizations whose history could have swallowed that of every race in the Federation ten times over. Even after he had the information he needed, even after he'd confirmed beyond a shadow of a doubt that this man had spoken the truth, Spock couldn't disengage.
But he should have.
Because with every moment that passed, every instant Spock did not pull away, bits of his own mind were chipped away, lost in the nexus of thought and emotion.
At that moment, the Vulcan was more vulnerable than he had ever been. Open and exposed through the meld, Spock could have become little more than clay to me molded into whatever shape the Doctor chose. This stranger could have implanted a thought, any thought, in the Science Officer's mind... or simply crushed his very being like an insect underfoot.
But he did none of these things. And then, mercifully, there was a withdrawal... not by Spock, but by this behemoth of a mind, who pulled away with all the care of a fond father, gathering up the fragments of the Vulcan's tattered psyche and knitting them back together. With practiced skill, the Doctor's mind finally untangled itself from the tendrils of Spock's mind, tendrils that even then reached out in supplication, not wanting to be removed from all that knowledge, all that experience, all that time.
And then, with thunder and ice, reality came crashing down.
Contact broke abruptly as Spock staggered back, hands lifting reflexively to clutch at his head, sweat beading across his skin from the brief, violent telepathic contact.; Kirk's hands snapped out to steady him, but the Vulcan waved him off, drawing on inner reserves, and a slow breath, to regain his inner and outer equilibrium. The Doctor, for his part, remained seated, head tilted, unruffled and clearly none worse for the wear; certainly, their exchange had been a great deal less uncomfortable for him than it'd been the time he'd tried it with one extremely untelepathic human.
Spock's dark eyes flickered back to the Time Lord as he finally uttered the only word that really suited the experience.
"...fascinating."
"Thank you," the Doctor replied.
Spock was silent for a moment as he considered what he had seen, heard, and felt. Already, much of it was fading, becoming less distinct, less specific. But enough detail remained for him to know the danger he had been in... and the consideration this man had shown. It surprised him, to say the least, that someone held captive and facing possible imprisonment wouldn't have used every available weapon. Tilting his head, he moved a few more steps away from the prisoner, and when Kirk naturally followed, the Vulcan lowered his voice to a near-murmur.
"He could have supplanted my will, Captain," Spock noted, "and in doing so, compelled me to convince you to release him. My word would undoubtedly have been sufficient to convince you. And yet he chose instead to help preserve my sense of self. He did not take advantage of my vulnerability."
"You've seen my mind," the Doctor called out from across the room, having heard every word. "You know why I didn't. Why I wouldn't."
"Indeed." Spock's brows lifted as he turned his attention back to Kirk, voice returning to its normal volume. "Captain, I am aware that he is an intruder. However, knowing what I do now, I can see no logical reason to keep him in our brig... and, of course, the risk to the timeline would be considerable."
Kirk, for his part, returned to the conference table, perching on the edge of it instead of taking a seat. Arms crossing over his chest, he mulled the matter over for a moment, glancing from the Doctor to Spock, and then back again; his lips pursed a little in thought, then he finally hopped back to his feet, decision made.
"I don't know who you are," Kirk began, hands spreading, "And my duty as a Starfleet captain won't let me keep this completely secret; I can't order my bridge crew to pretend they didn't see you, or my security staff to deny ever keeping you in custody. I certainly won't turn them against Starfleet Command in that way. But Mister Spock seems to like you well enough, and that sort of commendation doesn't come easily from him. That's enough for me. So if you promise to leave quietly, I'll make sure our report to Starfleet isn't too... specific."
"Really?" the Doctor's brow raised a little, mimicking Spock's typical gesture. "I'm surprised you'd get away with that."
"It would not be the first time the log has been... selectively entered," Spock replied, sounding almost wry.
"There would be questions," Kirk admitted, "but we're a long way from Starfleet Headquarters. Out here, you'll find that starship Captains have the authority to make their own decisions, and defend them."
"Well, I'll leave it to your expertise," the Doctor replied agreeably, then hesitated. "There is, however, one more little thing I'd like to ask for..."
"We're setting you free, and you're still going to ask for more?" Kirk actually grinned at that. "I'm starting to like you myself."
"As I said," the Doctor replied, "I came here for information related to the transporter accident that left you stranded in that alternate reality. The data could be quite useful, and I would be most grateful if I could take it with me when I departed."
Kirk hesitated, then glanced at his first officer; "Mister Spock?"
"The information is quite harmless, Captain," Spock replied.
"All right." Kirk nodded to himself, then smiled at the Doctor. "Promise not to make my day any more eventful, and Mister Spock will set you up with what you need."
Less than ten minutes later, the Doctor had returned to the cargo bay, having retrieved his sonic screwdriver from its hiding place. He had also acquired a set of data chips from Spock, containing all the information that he'd been looking for, and even some files on other magnetic storms that Federation starships had encountered, for comparative purposes.
"Good day," he murmured, drawing in a deep breath and smiling. "Very good day. Now, where'd I park?"
He'd sort of forgotten just how bloody huge the cargo bay was, and although he had a most excellent memory for finding things, the dim lighting wasn't helping any. Still, now that he didn't have to deal with impending capture, he was more than happy to wander about until he found it, and as he worked his way through the rows and rows of supply crates, he began to whistle a jaunty tune, an old Earth song about riding a donkey... legitimately riding, not the less savory interpretations.
Then came the next snag in his plan.
"Hold it right there." Before the Doctor could so much as twitch, a man stepped from the shadows of the cargo bay; dressed in the red tunic of a security guard, he leveled one of those old-style phasers in the Time Lord's direction. "This cargo bay is off-limits to all but supply technicians. What are you doing down here?"
"I think there's been a misunderstanding," the Doctor replied slowly, being very certain not to make any sudden movements- he wasn't looking to end this day by getting stunned. "I am down here with the permission of your Captain, and Mister Spock no less, legitimately this time, just use your little flip-thing and give him a call, he'd be more than happy to vouch for me, old chums we are, Academy buddies, grew up together, share blankets when we were tots, stole each other's toys- wait, do Vulcans have toys?"
"So," the man replied, eyes narrowed. "You're a friend of the Commander's."
"I just said that, didn't I?" the Doctor replied haughtily. "And don't think I won't report you!"
"Prove it," the man replied, tossing something small to the Time Lord with a flick of his wrist.
Reflexively, the Doctor caught it and opened his hand, curious. A small, cylindrical beacon with a flashing light on the very tip rested on his palm. It took him all of two seconds, and the sight of the grin on the human's face, to realize what this was probably for.
"Oh, damn."
He wanted nothing more than to drop the device, if not throw it away with all the force he could muster, but it was too late; he could already feel a tingle start in his chest, and a low hum fill the air. As the feeling of crawling ants spread across the Doctor's body, his rapidly disintegrating mouth twisted into a scowl, muttering even as he faded away in a shimmer of transporter energy.
"I can't believe-"
"-I fell for that."
When the transporter stream faded, the Doctor found himself facing no less than four security personnel, all dressed in unfamiliar uniforms, equally unfamiliar phasers pointed in the Time Lord's direction. Behind them, a bustling control room, complete with blinking lights, touchscreen controls... considerably more flashy than those of the ship he'd just left.
"Wonderful," the Doctor said a bit wryly, nonetheless lifting his hands very slowly. "Humans with weapons, there's a novelty."
Even as he spoke, his eyes flitted back and forth, considering his surroundings. This place was considerably more advanced than the original Enterprise... in fact, given it didn't match any Federation designs he recalled, the Doctor suspected that even Picard's ship would be considered an antique by comparison. He considered the possibility that there was another ship out there, perhaps hiding with stealth technology, but if that was the case, he couldn't imagine why they'd needed to 'tag' him to bring him aboard... how many other two-hearted lifeforms could have been on the Enterprise?
Licking his lips, he considered the pad he had was standing on... like a transporter in design, of course, but something about it tugged at him... a quick glance around the room, at the displays on various screens, confirmed it.
"Temporal transporter," he announced to one of the guards beside him, fingers crossing a little as he peered about the bridge, weight shifting from his heels to his toes, and back again. "What a dull way to get around. To say nothing for dangerous, how many times d'you lot get away with using that before the brain starts to go all knotted?"
"Captain," one of the security personnel said, trying not to look annoyed by their chattering guest... failing rather abysmally, at that. "Our... guest... has arrived."
One of the other crewmen, who was seated at a broad console halfway across the room. climbed to his feet, approaching the group with his hands folded behind his back. He was of average height and slim build, surprisingly young in appearance, with dark hair and a surprisingly friendly demeanor, given the circumstances.
"Doctor," the man said quietly, smiling. "I'm Captain Charles Ducane. Welcome to the Relativity."