A/N: Hello, darlings. I would like to apologize for the long delay in getting this chapter up. My usual week to write was interrupted as I helped my mother with some relationship stuff, but then, right when I began to write this chapter just following the deadline, I kind of got myself into a teensy plane crash (although some argue with me that it wasn't technically a plane crash, but I don't know what else to call it. A plane-got-blown-into-a-ditch?) Sigh. So there were more delays as I scrambled to shift around finances as this chapter eeked out bit by bit. And then what do you know, last night I just scrapped the whole thing and REWROTE it. Yes, I, Danzinora Switch, actually rewrote a chapter. This like, never happens.

So at long last! Ta-da!


Ma'toi- death


It had taken them another two days to locate the necessary materials. McCoy, operating on the brilliant idea that he could fake dyslexia, had wandered around the plant "lost" locating control rooms and other such labs for underground nuclear missiles. The strange-talking, blue-eyed, round-eared "Vulcan" had to keep getting redirected to the refugee area by the station's personnel. It was a good thing that he could also fake innocence so well- despite being professional nuclear engineers, they were still Vulcans before the Time of Awakening.

Spock, meanwhile, had been diligently working on the necessary calculations and calibrations to get home. In truth, the working plan they had was a long shot, quite literally. One of the biggest kinks was figuring out where to place the missile so that it would not follow them home… and thus actually destroy the Da'Kum'Ulcha they knew. The vast majority of his research was theoretical, but so had been the original cold-start equation, and that proved to be quite concrete. Besides, their plan had to work.

Increasingly, though, the workers grew suspicious of them. Vilar and Surak remained largely out of the way, helping fortify certain exits but not much else. The power had to be maintained, which meant the plant had to be run. Due to the barricades, the workers could not leave. The grouchiness increased proportionally to the stress. Spock wondered if volunteering his services as a scientist would allow he and McCoy to have more time in a control room to enact their escape.

Yes, escape. It… thrilled Spock that should he stay he could watch Vulcan overcome this way of life and follow the path of logic Surak would set. But he could not stay. He was too wrongly influenced by the environment. One worker snapped at him and he almost snapped back, hot anger flooding through his veins as he was reminded of Varteth's men.

Varteth. That was another reason he could not stay. They had to escape.

He knew McCoy was watching him for further signs of mental slipping. Although his physical wounds were healing quickly, the mental imbalance remained just noticeably enough that the doctor had gone so far as to offer him one of his remaining tri-ox compounds. Spock had declined, knowing that the human needed them more. He should, after all, be strong enough to control his own mind.

Except he wasn't… shameful indeed.

Spock gritted his teeth against that traitorous little voice of doubt. He would ignore it, control it, and focus on polishing his calculations. He glanced up to see if Surak had returned, but of course he was not there. Spock had watched his grounding device exit this morning with his mother to assist elsewhere in the plant.

McCoy entered the sleeping room where he was, a worried expression on his face. "Spock, you're gonna want to get out here."

"Why?" he asked, rising. He stuffed his notes in his pocket, watching as the doctor's eyes shifted back and forth.

"I can't tell what exactly's going on. Everyone suddenly started moving like there'd been an alert or something. There's definitely been a change, that's for sure."

They moved out into a large hall where people were running. Another worker jogged by and Spock called out to him. "What is happening?"

"Shaya," he answered curtly. Breach.

McCoy tugged his sleeve as the worker hurried on. "Spock?"

"There has been some sort of breach," he said. "It is not known whether it is some sort of problem within the plant, or an external force."

McCoy raised an incredulous eyebrow. "Spock. The city's been rioting for days. I'm pretty sure 'breach' means some folks have gotten past the barricades."

"Perhaps…" It was indeed most likely. In fact, it was entirely logical. He was sick of constantly second-guessing his own flyaway thoughts.

"We should move now," he decided, barely beating McCoy to the punch. "The workers are distracted- take us to the control room for launching the missiles."

McCoy nodded and immediately set off in the opposite direction the workers were running towards. They wound through a maze of hallways- no wonder the doctor could easily pretend to be lost. By the time they reached the room with the correct Vulcan label beside it, a red alarm had started to blare. The breach to the plant was serious, then.

McCoy opened the door and they rushed inside. The doctor locked it, and turned to where Spock perused the row of computers. "Will this do?" he called.

"Indeed. I can also program many instructions to the missile itself from here. This is fortuitous." Spock flexed his fingers and sat down, getting straight to work.

McCoy put a chair against the door and narrowed his eyes at the remote room. "They must really be spread thin, huh?" he remarked, walking towards the large viewing glass near the front. "Not a soul in sight."

"Doctor, please, I am trying to work," Spock said earnestly.

The doctor nodded and peeked out the viewing glass. He whistled. "Found our missile."

Spock hardly looked up. There was no telling how long the unexpected chaos would last, or if it would find its way to their location. The alarm kept ringing, only slightly muted by the door.

He hit a wrong button and got a scan of the control room instead of the missile. His eyebrows went up. This was an unexpected find. The scan had picked up some sort of tachyonic residue… on them.

"Doctor, your thoughts, please."

McCoy balked, then quickly smoothed down his countenance as his brain corrected for his initial assumption. He bent down and looked at the screen.

"Tachyon… isn't that the little particle thingy that's connected to time stuff?"

Spock visibly winced at the doctor's description. "Very crudely, yes."

"And it's all over us," McCoy mused, gears turning. "Like a film, I reckon. That may be why we didn't fall sick from radiation when we first arrived here… it would've been much stronger and possibly protected us. Of course, this is more quantum physics than medical biology, as seen by the scan… you're the astrophysicist-"

"Doctor, it may be possible to guide the missile to the correct point in time based off of this residue," Spock interrupted. "I can hack into the targeting systems and tell it to locate this specific arrangement based on our residue, but it will take some more time."

McCoy winced as the alarm suddenly cut off. "Then you'd better hurry up."

The doctor moved to pile more chairs against the door. Spock furiously worked on incorporating the new variable into their plan. A dangerous new emotion fluttered in his side. Hope, it was hope… but he needed to remain focused on the task at hand.

There was a large bang and McCoy jumped, startled. "I think somebody knows we're in here," he gulped nervously.

"They may have noticed the unauthorized computer activity."

There was some muted cursing followed by intense shaking of the handle. Built for Vulcans, however, the lock held.

"Spooock," McCoy inched closer to him.

"Almost completed, Doctor. I am programming changes in the missile's nuclear containment system to alter the energy into the form we need."

"How long will that take?"

Spock tapped the last button. "7 minutes."

McCoy nodded sharply. "Then let's get out of-"

The door suddenly sparked and blasted open, scattering chairs. Spock grabbed the back of McCoy's collar and hauled them both over a bank of computers and out of the line of fire. Smoke and shouting filled the room. Spock's eyes widened. There was a lot of shouting, with voices overlapping each other. It wasn't the workers coming to drag them from the room.

He glanced around the table and saw troops shoving a few workers into the control room. His heart stopped. He knew those boots, those uniforms. These were Varteth's men.


McCoy heard the strangled noise Spock made in his throat. He glanced at the players in the field and immediately picked out the distinctions. The workers shouted at the military troops who simply shouted back, waving their guns. They hunkered down lower, knowing their hiding spot wouldn't last as everyone pressed further into the room.

Spying something, McCoy poked Spock's arm. It shook the Vulcan out of his temporary freeze to see where McCoy was pointing. An emergency door stood by the viewing glass, leading into the chamber with the missile. It was the only way out.

Spock nodded, and shifted to move when a shot rang out. Someone cried out and fell, perilously close to their location. It was Turek.

The gunshot was the tipping point as the workers roared, only to be outdone by the volley of bullets coming from behind the troops. More workers, armed, poured in, led by a screaming Vilar. She fired unmercifully into the crowd, hardly caring who she was hitting.

McCoy and Spock seized each other and bolted for the emergency door. One soldier saw them and gasped. "You!" he shouted, shocked. He trembled with anger when his eyes fell on Spock, quickly putting two and two together. It must be. "Murderer!"

Spock whirled and clenched his fists. "No!" he shouted back, suddenly shaking.

McCoy skidded to a halt and grabbed his arm. He didn't know what they were yelling at each other, but they couldn't afford the delay. "Spock, we don't have time for this!" He yanked him through the door, setting off yet another alarm, just as the soldier moved for his weapon.

They crashed onto a rickety platform, tumbling the first few steps down a grated staircase. It reminded McCoy a bit of vintage fire escapes. Spock had gotten to his feet and was surging downwards, shaking the entire stairwell as he recklessly tore through. McCoy followed quickly, his heart beating fast from the sudden firefight upstairs. The thump, thump almost fell in time with his boots, providing the soundtrack of urgency.

"How much time do we have?" he called to Spock. Thump, thump, thump, thump.

"5 minutes," he answered curtly. "If the computer running the program is not destroyed."

It made McCoy waver and glance back up towards the viewing screen. Green blood was splashed on the window as muted gunshots still rang out. He hurried farther down the stairs into the earth, noticing the coolness of the missile chamber drying the sweat on his back. The cables hooked up to the missile steamed and hissed, echoing around the rock to underscoring his heart thumping thump, thump, thump. They clanged further down the stairs.

"What about launching it?" he asked.

"Already preprogrammed!" Spock snarled, striking his palm against the railing. The sound bounced off the walls of the chamber as the stairwell swayed with the motion, mixing with the doomed heartbeats.

McCoy regarded Spock carefully. "Okay," he mollified cautiously. He didn't dare step closer. Thump, thump. "You good?"

"I am not a riyeht-staya-su," Spock growled, gripping the railing.

That was the word the soldier had said that got Spock all riled. It had certainly sounded like something more than an insult, and were he to guess… He narrowed his eyes, then caught Spock's look and held it.

"Whether you are or aren't," he said brusquely. "Does that have anything to do with what we're doing right now?"

Spock blinked, breathing raggedly. Thump, thump. "No," he finally ground out.

McCoy nodded once, sharply. "Then drop it."

Spock obeyed the command and they clambered the rest of the way down. Above, the shouting vanished behind the hiss of the missile.


"We have two minutes," Spock said crisply, striding up to the missile. "The reaction when the tied-in, converted, nuclear power hits the main thrusters should be similar to a cold start with a forward thrust. It is set to launch immediately after the conversion is complete." As he spoke they could hear the slow drone of the engines powering up and an automated voice coming over some speakers.

"Where should we be?" McCoy asked, hurrying up beside him at the base of the missile. He craned his neck up to locate the top, occasionally glancing at the distant, bloodied viewing screen. No one had followed them out, but whether that was good news or bad news…

Spock didn't look at McCoy as he answered. "Right here."

There was a brief pause before an ominous rumble in the chamber shook McCoy and he barked out a laugh. "Not the time for jokes, Spock," he gasped. "I'm too jazzed up for games."

"I am not joking," he said quietly.

McCoy's laughter ceased abruptly, though a desperate smile remained frozen on his face. "But, but we'll be incinerated."

"Not if the recalibrations work."

"If they work…" He was no longer smiling, and the blood had drained from his face. "Spock, we can't- we can't!"

"We must."

"We'll die!"

"Perhaps. Or we will return home."

"Or we- we need to make sure! What were all those calculations for?" A klaxon blared once through the chamber, making them cringe. "Spock!" McCoy begged, on the verge of panic.

"The control room is in chaos. We will see this through as it is. One minute."

"Spock, I don't care what you did while we were separated, but I am not going to be a part of your guilty suicide!"

Yes, you will, Spock thought. You're too loyal, and you most certainly never leave a friend. Even now, though shaking and convinced of death as the machinery above came to life, McCoy didn't move from Spock's side.

Where did such trust come from? Spock wondered. He couldn't grasp how he deserved it. Despite all his control, despite all of his rigid upbringing, he caved to the passions of Pre-Awakened Vulcans. Deep down, that animal still remained, jumping out as soon as he was weak enough to let it. He did not deserve such devotion. The only thing that tamed the beast was the presence of Surak-

-whom he would never see again. How strange, he realized, as the seconds ticked down and the room groaned mightily. There was no proper good-bye to the philosopher. He last saw the boy leaving the sleeping room at Vilar's side, walking off to help the plant workers. It was a ridiculously normal moment, no grand farewell, and yet it would be his last memory of Surak. The human value of not taking things for granted suddenly became very, very clear.

He glanced over at McCoy as the ceiling split open, illuminating a growing streak of light on them below. His eyes were blown wide with adrenaline, terrified, yet somehow simultaneously seeking and giving reassurance.

The deadly machine above them rumbled mightily, almost drowning everything out. Maybe McCoy was right. Maybe he didn't care whether the plan worked or failed. The growing vibrations shook him through his bones.

"I killed a man," Spock confessed, straining to be heard over the roar.

"I know," McCoy answered. He gripped his hand as the engines started.

Whiteness.