Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all its characters belong to J.K. Rowling, Warner Bros., Bloomsbury, and Scholastic respectively. Star Trek is owned by Gene Roddenberry, CBS, and Paramount Pictures. All canon characters, plots, and situations are not owned by me, and I make no profit from this story.
Many thanks to my beta, amazing Insanity-Red, who finds time in her busy schedule to help me out.
Chapter 21
June 5, 2258 – San Francisco, California, Earth
"So, let me get this straight – you admire him?" Hermione asked incredulously, her face scandalized.
Hermione and Jim were in the library yet again. Somehow their conversation, which had started off with a simple equation, had taken a dramatic turn.
"That's not what I said," defended Jim.
"You said, and I quote: 'It was amazing for one man to rule such a large part of the Earth.' That sounds to me like you admire him, James; and the tone of voice you used suggests that my assumption is correct."
He sighed, slumping back in his chair. "I guess I admire his ability, yes."
That damn quizzical eyebrow went up again – she had definitely been spending too much time with Spock.
"His ability to kill and enslave millions of people?" she queried in an even tone.
"That's not it!" Jim's voice rose slightly in volume.
He glanced around apologetically at a few people nearby and continued in a softer voice, "I wasn't judging the morality of what he did. Just the sheer ability he must have had to accomplish it."
"But weren't his accomplishments as a leader directly related to his own lack of morality?" Hermione pressed on. "A certain mindset of superiority that facilitated the oppression of his subjects?"
"I – I guess so, yes," Jim conceded in exasperation.
"And yet you still admire him," she said, her tone accusing. "James, admiring Khan Noonien Singh is like admiring Hitler, or Voldemort – or even Nero, for Merlin's sake!"
"I admire the railroad of the old American West," he countered. "It was an amazing piece of engineering and planning for such a primitive time, and directly led to the future prosperity of the United States. Yet its construction was only possible through the use of slave labour, and its importance to capitalists led to the near genocide of the Native Americans. But I still admire the railroad."
She gave him a long look and said quietly, "Perhaps you shouldn't. It sounds like the cost was too high."
She leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms – an effort that didn't go unappreciated by Jim. He swallowed, his gaze briefly resting on her chest.
"That type of mentality," Hermione continued, oblivious, "where the ends justify the means is wrong. No one's rights can or should be secured by the violation of the rights of others."
The point she was trying to make was something that Jim wouldn't fully understand until much later.
"Mia, you're being an idealist," Jim shot back. "Life is never black and white. It really depends on the circumstance. Sometimes the ends do justify the means."
"Do they?" she challenged, her cheeks flushing with frustration.
Jim could practically hear the cogs of her brain churning as she came up with new arguments. This could go on forever, he realized, suddenly feeling very tired.
It wasn't rare for Jim and Hermione to have intellectual debates like this one. In fact, they often found themselves completely losing track of time as they discussed various subjects – anything and everything, from the design of warp cores and deflector dishes, to less precise topics like philosophy, ethics, and history. As in this case, one subject often led to another, and they'd go on and on until one of them drove the other into a metaphorical corner.
Jim had come to know Hermione well enough that he could tell she wouldn't cede the point this time – but neither would he.
Knowing full-well that Jim might also have a point, but unwilling to drop her argument due to her past experiences with would-be world-rulers, she continued to speak with some agitation, "Please, James, for the love of Merlin, do not try to tell me that certain atrocities are acceptable if they contribute to 'the greater good.' "
"Okay," Jim conceded, raising a placating hand in hopes of not having to rehash that particular topic. "I'll avoid bringing up 'the greater good' around you."
Hermione huffed and crossed her legs under the table. From his vantage point, Jim could see the hem of her uniform skirt riding up slightly, and the room suddenly felt too hot.
He almost didn't hear her as she continued, "No one is prescient enough to apply this – this utilitarian sort of ethics without creating unintended consequences. Just look at . . ."
Jim's gaze travelled down to her lips. They were a beautiful, deep shade of rose, even without any lipstick. He couldn't help but think – not for the first time – what it would feel like to kiss those lips. How soft and warm would they be? What would she taste like, devoid of anything cosmetic and artificial? What kind of sounds would she make when he'd take his sweet time exploring her mouth, leaving her breathless and trembling –
Stop it! Stop it! Stop it! he mentally kicked himself, feeling his pulse quicken. Get a grip, will you?
Jim felt annoyed with himself, and he couldn't quite decide whether it had to do with the fact that he had so little psychological self-restraint or because he'd been fantasizing – again – about a kiss, of all things. If it had been anyone else, his mind would have zeroed in on far less innocent things in a millisecond.
Not that Hermione hadn't been involved in a hypothetical bedroom scenario in the past . . . His thoughts now taking a different turn, Jim took a slow, cooling breath in an attempt to suppress a flare of something hot and wicked. He tried to pay full attention to what she was saying and tune out the inconveniently vocal part of his brain that suggested just dragging her across the table, kissing her senseless, and finally claiming some sort of resolution – the part that he refused to listen to, despite the resounding approval from other parts of his anatomy that certainly did not adhere to logic.
The part that he could not listen to, if he wanted to keep Hermione as his friend.
Cold shower, Jim. Cold. Shower.
Registering a sudden lack of speech, Jim lifted his gaze from Hermione's lips to meet her eyes. She was giving him an inquiring look, an eyebrow slightly raised.
"Erm . . . James? Is there something on my face?" she asked a bit self-consciously.
"Huh?" he asked dumbly, feeling embarrassed. With a flash of realization, he straightened in his seat and added quickly, "No, there's nothing on your face. I'm just . . . I was just –"
"Are you feeling alright?" she asked in concern. "Your face is all . . . red."
She reached up and touched one of his cheeks. Jim closed his eyes and leaned into her touch, chasing away all the inappropriate thoughts to focus simply on the feeling of her cool hand on his cheek.
"Yeah, I'm fine," he said quietly, placing one of his hands over hers.
Then he gave her hand a gentle squeeze and directed it down to rest on the tabletop.
"I just need some air," he said, jumping to his feet and pulling out her bag so he could shove her PADDs and books into it.
Hermione looked confused. "James, what are you doing?"
"Getting out of here," he answered resolutely. "We're done for today."
She stood up, placing both hands on the table and leaning forward towards him, as though to increase the intensity of her words through closer proximity.
"You might be done," she hissed, "but I still have to do the assignment for –"
"Nope," he cut her off, mirroring her stance and grinning. "You're done too."
They stared at each other for a few moments, their faces only inches apart, before Jim slung her bag over his shoulder and proceeded to gather up his own things.
"That assignment of yours can wait till tomorrow. It's not due till the end of the week anyway."
"But James –"
"Nope, no buts. It's getting late. Look at the time."
Hermione glanced at the library's chronometer. It was indeed getting late. Most of the cadets had already left. She and Jim alone must have made up around half of the remaining population in the library.
"Oh," was all she could come up with.
"Yeah, oh. I imagine the librarian will be coming by shortly to kick us out. We lost track of time. Again," he said, though rather than sheepish, he looked pleased with himself for monopolizing her time. "We're leaving, even if I have to carry you out of here."
He stepped closer to her, as though to scoop her up into his arms and fulfill his playful threat.
Hermione blushed, feeling uncomfortable. "Erm – no, James, that won't be necessary. I'll walk," she answered, placing one hand on his chest to keep him from moving to pick her up anyway.
Jim gave her a lopsided grin and nodded, his hand sliding to rest on her lower back as he guided her out of the library.
"I was planning to go to the lab today too . . ." she said wistfully.
"Just forget about your work for one evening – it'll still be there tomorrow. I barely see you these days. Why don't we go and visit our tree together, see how it's faring, and then I'll walk you home?"
Hermione merely offered him a faint nod in response.
"Our tree? Since when is it our tree?" she inquired as they stepped outside.
As often was the case, the weather was chilly and damp. San Francisco's renowned fog, pushed ashore by ocean winds, crept and crawled over the city's famous hills like a living entity. Twirling white tendrils of mist drifted down the streets and alleys.
"Since you helped me plant and care for it." Jim smiled, offering her his free arm. "Think of it as our baby."
Hermione remembered the evening when Jim showed up in her and Harry's flat asking for their help with planting a tree that he'd been able to locate with Spock Prime's assistance. It was a sketia tree – native to Vulcan, with large, drooping branches and orange blossoms. Harry had retired to bed very early that evening after a particularly grueling Occlumency session, and Jim and Hermione had ended up planting the tree alone.
"I – uh – sorta borrowed your friend Neville's idea. About planting a tree," Jim had said a bit nervously. "You don't think he would mind, would he?"
"He'd be honoured," Hermione had replied, offering him a small, sad smile.
The sketia tree hadn't responded well at first. It was out of its natural environment – Earth had different light, temperature, humidity, and even gravity. They had almost thought it wouldn't survive, but Hermione (who had learned a few things about caring for plants from Neville) had used her magic. It seemed to help, and as time went by, the tree adapted to its new environment, growing stronger in the process. Its typically hanging branches spiraled upward into the air, influenced by Earth's lesser gravity. The rootstock had also changed, as evidenced by its flowers turning blue instead of maintaining their usual orange colour.
Their tree wasn't the only new addition to the Academy grounds, though. Some of the other cadets had taken up Jim's idea and requested permission from the administration to plant some flowers, other vegetation, and a line of shrubs to mark off the area that had become the Memorial Garden. Someone had also thoughtfully arranged for a few simple benches to be placed for those who wanted to spend a little more time in the contemplative atmosphere of the garden.
Hermione came out of her musings and erupted into giggles at Jim's comment, looping one of her arms through his. "For the love of Merlin, James, don't let any of your girlfriends hear you say that."
"I don't have any girlfriends," he muttered.
Eyes glistening with amusement, she pointed out, "Some of the girls at the Academy certainly don't agree with you on that."
"I don't give a damn what they agree and disagree with," Jim shot back fervently.
"You know, you're far too pretty for your own good, James," Hermione teased, shaking her head.
His face softening with a smile, Jim teased back, "And you're far too smart, sweetheart."
Hermione scoffed. "Now I know you're just flattering me, because that's preposterous. One can never be too smart."
Jim chuckled lightly as they reached the sketia tree.
"Well, what d'you think?" he asked, crouching down by the tree. "Will it live?"
"Yes, I believe it will," she replied, lightly running her fingers along the branches with an almost wistful look on her face.
After a few moments of silence, she said, "You know, it's strange . . . Sometimes I feel that Harry and I are like this tree – put in an unfamiliar environment, forced to adapt. To change."
"Well, when your home no longer exists . . . I mean, it's different in your case, because your home does exist, it's just that . . ."
Jim cleared his throat, trying to find the right words.
"It doesn't have to be a bad thing though, does it?" he said thoughtfully, standing up and meeting her gaze. "I mean, think about it: if this tree had been planted where it wanted to be, it would have ended up looking like every other of its kind. But now it's ended up as something . . . extraordinary."
He looked at her intensely and said, "Sometimes the place you were born isn't where you belong.*"
Hermione looked up into his eyes, realizing that his words struck a chord with her. As a child, Hermione had always felt like she didn't belong in the Muggle world – her bookish and authority-respecting personality had made her the target of bullying and ridicule, which had only been worsened by her occasional outbursts of accidental magic. After she'd discovered that she was a witch, she had hoped that the Wizarding World might be the place where she truly belonged. But that had proven a false hope; in the world of her parents, she had been treated badly for being too abnormal, too magical – at Hogwarts, it was because she was too Muggle. Though such old prejudices had begun to slowly die out after the war, and their society as a whole had taken a step in the right direction, Hermione had known that she wouldn't likely live to see the discrimination completely wiped out.
But on this new Earth, words like 'Mudblood' and 'Pureblood' meant nothing. Here, people got over intolerance and prejudice. Here, ideals were more important than someone's heritage, blood, or species. Here, differences weren't frowned upon, but welcomed . . . Well, for the most part. Regardless of which universe, human nature – and indeed, alien nature, as she was discovering – hadn't changed all that much that such negative aspects of society didn't exist at all.
"Mia?" Jim's soft voice brought her out of her musings.
With a start, she realized that she'd been staring off into space for some time. Cheeks colouring red, Hermione dropped her head, using her long, curly hair to shield herself from his questioning gaze.
She hurried to say, "Sorry to zone out on you like that. I've just been thinking . . ."
Hermione gave her head a shake and met his gaze again. Suddenly, she felt an overwhelming desire to leave and escape the awkward feeling that had come over her.
"I should head back," she said. "I'm a little tired."
Suppressing his curiosity and smirking to himself, Jim offered her his arm and said, "I'll walk you back."
"You don't have to do that, you know," she countered, hesitantly accepting his arm. "I could just Apparate back from behind that tree over there," she said, indicating a mature oak tree that was more than large enough to hide the entirety of someone her size.
"You're no fun," Jim whined jovially.
"I know," Hermione responded quietly. "I've been called a boring bookworm before. I have no idea why you hang out with me."
Jim's face dropped at her self-depreciation.
"I didn't mean it like that," he said seriously. "It was a joke. I hang out with you because I don't think you're boring. Besides, being a bookworm isn't a bad thing.
"For the record, I've been called a 'stack of books with legs' before," he said with a quick, lopsided grin.
Glancing up at him sideways, Hermione squeezed his bicep lightly to convey her support. "By Gary," she said, more of a statement than a question – though her tone was slightly hesitant at bringing up Jim's recently deceased friend.
Jim nodded. "Yeah."
After a few moments of silence, he looked down at her, and said, "I'm okay, really . . . Well, more okay, anyway. I think your friend Neville was onto something when he suggested planting a tree. I've found it oddly . . . healing. I think that's why so many other cadets jumped at the chance to do something similar." He paused for a few heartbeats. "I wish I could meet your friend."
"You would have liked him," Hermione responded with a small smile.
They walked in and out of the circles of light cast by the streetlamps in companionable silence, each immersed in their own thoughts. The moon barely lent any of its own light to their walk along the waterfront, its current phase only the tiniest of crescents.
"Can I ask you something?" Jim suddenly inquired.
"Of course."
"Can you read my mind?" he asked the question that had been on the tip of his tongue nearly every time they'd conversed.
"I could, but I won't."
She looked up at him and saw an unspoken question in his gaze.
She sighed. "Just because I have the ability to do something doesn't mean I would abuse it."
Jim nodded and asked, "Then why did you learn it? This . . . skill. I'm assuming that it's something you learned, right?"
"Most of the time Legilimency is learned, yes. But there are people who have a natural talent for it. I learned it because I wanted to see if I could. Just like you, I do enjoy a good challenge. Besides, I thought it might be helpful in a life-or-death situation one day," she explained.
Her expression turned thoughtful.
"Although, I don't know how useful it would be here, in this universe, because some aliens have very different neurophysiology. Spock mentioned at one point that he's unable to meld with some species due to these differences. I haven't actually tried Legilimency on any aliens, and magic is different from Vulcan mind-meld – but it is possible that I won't always be able to use my skills . . . I imagine the same would be true for a Memory Charm, though I most certainly wouldn't go experimenting with the latter . . ." she trailed off, berating herself for slipping up and revealing something she wasn't supposed to.
Hermione trusted Jim – as he'd once put it: enough to jump off a cliff if necessary – but she still thought that certain things were better left unsaid. It was safer. For everyone.
Hermione cautiously looked up at Jim. He was eyeing her curiously, eager to know more, but not wanting to pressure her into doing anything she wasn't comfortable with.
"I wasn't really supposed to tell you that." Hermione hesitated, nervously biting down on her lip. "But I know that you can keep a secret."
"I won't tell a soul," Jim promised.
Hermione took a deep breath and let it out, before answering his unspoken question, "The memory charm is a spell that can be used to erase specific memories from an individual's mind. It's often used on Muggles who witness something magic-related. That's one of the ways our world stays hidden." She paused and added, "Harry used it on Captain Pike on the Narada to help prevent him from divulging the frequencies to Nero."
"That was pretty smart," Jim commented.
"Captain Pike thought that it would be safer for Harry and me if the people of this universe didn't know about this particular ability – it's why he deliberately withheld that information in his reports to Starfleet Command."
Jim nodded. "I agree. You never know when someone of questionable morals might try to take advantage of you guys. The less they know about your abilities, the better. Your secret is safe with me," he finished earnestly.
"I believe you."
Jim smiled in response and a bubble of quiet settled around them once more.
"So," started Jim slowly, "if I were a wizard and went to Hogwarts, which House do you think I'd be sorted into?"
"Gryffindor," Hermione replied immediately. "Without a doubt."
"Where dwell the brave at heart, their daring, nerve, and chivalry set Gryffindors apart," Jim recited.
"You memorized that?" Hermione asked, astonished.
"Why the tone of surprise?" Jim teased her with her own words. "You aren't the only one with a good memory, sweetheart."
"I never said I was, darling. I just didn't think you'd remember that from me saying it only once."
Jim chuckled. He really enjoyed their banter and poking fun at each other. It was almost like having a less grumpy, female version of Bones – someone he couldn't help but like, but who could also be incredibly stubborn on occasion.
"So," he spoke up again, "tell me – tell me something I don't know about you yet. I'll reciprocate."
"Where do I even begin?" she replied, rolling her eyes. "Well, I used to play the piano."
"Why did you stop?"
She shrugged her shoulders. "I went to Hogwarts."
Jim nodded. "I used to be this perfect, rule-abiding kid, who always had good grades, was a teacher's pet, did everything right. I did everything I was told . . ."
"You? I can't believe it!" Hermione said, giggling.
Jim grinned. "You should. It's all true."
His grin faded.
"That was, until my brother Sam ran away from home. He left me with Frank." His tone turned serious. "My mom was off-planet, and Frank decided to sell my dad's antique red Corvette convertible – it was a gorgeous piece of work, in great condition and retrofitted with a hydrogen engine. I didn't know what he was planning initially. I thought he was just getting me to wash it. And then Sam told me the truth just before he left. Do you know what I did? I drove the car off the cliff. Nearly killed myself in the process. But that's where any kind of defiance and rebellion began.
"Just before Sam stormed off, he said, 'You can't be a Kirk in this house.' I guess I took his words to heart . . . I just got tired of people always comparing me to my dad, always seeing him in me, always expecting things of me that I knew I could never deliver."
Hermione nodded. "You thought that it would be easier to be the complete opposite," she deduced.
"Yeah, something like that," he admitted, having recently spent more time than usual contemplating the impact his father and his actions had made on him. "I used to get angry every time someone mentioned my dad. I even got upset with Spock during my hearing at the Academy when he said that I of all people" – he grimaced at this – "should know that 'a captain cannot cheat death.' So I went and called him Commander Spork. On purpose. So childish of me . . ."
Hermione didn't say anything in response and kept looking straight ahead with an unreadable expression, but he knew she agreed with him regarding his last comment.
After a brief pause, she said, "I was like that too, you know – stickler for rules, teacher's pet and all that."
Jim burst out laughing. "No way! It's kinda funny, considering that one of the first things you did when you got aboard the Enterprise was break your Wizarding law. My criminal friend," he joked.
"You're one to talk?" Hermione replied, gently nudging him in the ribs. It only made him laugh harder, and she couldn't stop an answering grin from spreading across her face.
"Anyway," she continued, "I was so devoted to order and following rules that it made me very unpopular at school. I also had a limited sense of humour and was a very opinionated, interfering, bossy know-it-all. Ron even called me a 'nightmare' when we were kids."
"I'm sure he was wrong," Jim said, his smile turning into a frown as he noticed her tone changing at the mention of her fiancé.
"No, actually he wasn't. I really was a nightmare sometimes, I admit."
"I wouldn't call you that now."
Hermione shrugged her shoulders. "I suppose we all have to grow up some time, don't we? And becoming best friends with Harry and Ron certainly helped that process. I came to see that truth and justice were more important than following rules at every turn. I started trusting my intuition more, instead of relying solely on my logic and dismissing things because they didn't have any proof."
Silence settled between them again.
Jim was the first to break it, a distant look in his eyes, "When I was nine, I missed a step, fell into a creek, and hit my head on a protruding rock. I would have died if Sam hadn't jumped in and pulled me out. When I came to, I looked up and saw a look of sheer terror in his face." Jim paused, remembering something. "It's the same terror I felt when all the senior cadets of the Academy were getting into shuttles to go to spacedock and then to Vulcan – and I was being left behind because of the academic suspension. I thought I was done with. It felt like my life was over."
"I understand. I had a similar feeling when I thought Harry was dead during the Battle of Hogwarts."
Jim furrowed his brow. For the most part, both Harry and Hermione were rather private people and didn't easily share their past experiences – only bits and pieces here and there.
"What happened?" he asked cautiously. "Was he injured?"
"Well," she started hesitantly, "you might say that. Perhaps you should wait until he decides to share that particular story with you. It's his to tell."
Suppressing his curiosity, Jim nodded, and said, "When I was a kid, we had a couple of horses. I used to love horseback riding."
"I love rain because it reminds me of England."
"I love rock climbing."
Hermione laughed. "I knew that, you adrenaline junkie."
"I am not!" he defended in mock offense. "Why don't you go rock climbing with me this weekend? It's a lot of fun. Besides, we could start working on that fear of heights thing."
"I don't know. Harry and I are working on a project in the lab, and you have exams," she said, letting go of his arm. "Perhaps some other time."
She held out her hand for her bag and said, "Well, we're here. Thank you for walking me back."
"It was my pleasure," he replied, grinning.
She smiled up at him, one hand touching his forearm. "Good night, James."
She turned and walked up the short path towards the entrance to her apartment building.
"Good night, sweetheart," he whispered.
Jim automatically turned and watched her go – the way a compass needle swivels north, pulled and bound by forces unseen and magnetic – and finally realized that there was no longer any use in denying that he really was in serious trouble.
June 7, 2258 – San Francisco, California, Earth
"Anyone sitting here?" asked Harry, standing in front of the table that Nyota was occupying in the Academy Dining Hall.
"Not at all. Please, sit," she replied, looking up from her PADD and waving a hand toward the empty seat across from her.
Harry set down his tray and collapsed into the chair with a sigh, dropping his bag in the empty spot next to him.
"Long day?" Nyota inquired.
"You have no idea. And it's not over yet."
"Speaking of long days – Hermione isn't with you?"
He shook his head. "She's in the lab."
Harry sighed again, propping one elbow on the table and resting his head in his hand. He eyed Nyota's face, noting how preoccupied she seemed.
"What's the matter?" he asked.
"It's that transmission again. You know, the one from the Hercules? I brought it to the attention of Starfleet."
Harry looked at her in bewilderment.
"What? It's a standard procedure," she defended. "We're supposed to notify them if we pick up something important. And I thought this definitely qualified."
"And?"
"And it took them forever to get back to me!" Nyota exclaimed in exasperation, gesturing to her PADD. "They just called the transmission a 'phonic echo' – most likely reflecting from one of a thousand potential origin points."
She threw her arms into the air, nearly flinging her PADD across the cafeteria in her frustration.
"And?" Harry prodded again.
"And nothing. They thanked me for bringing it to their attention and said they'd give the matter 'all due consideration.' "
"But you're still not happy," Harry surmised.
"Of course I'm not. You saw what happened when we tried to dig up anything on Phylos. Kirk was right – it's very suspicious."
"Well, actually, it's probably not that suspicious. Space is full of incomprehensible anomalies. What if that area of space is just restricted because of . . . er – what are they called again – subspace eddies that can disrupt warp fields? Or some other strange thing."
The scowl on Nyota's face expressed just how little that explanation satisfied her.
"Then why not just specify that the system is quarantined?" she pressed on. "Why hide that information? Come on. We pick up a distress call that points directly to a restricted region of space, from a ship that's been missing for nearly a hundred years and that doesn't throw up any red flags?"
"Well, yeah, okay, it should," Harry agreed but continued to play devil's advocate both because he was interested in where Nyota's research had led her, and because he wanted to give her a chance to vent. "But how about the human factor? What if they forgot to specify that the system is quarantined? Could potentially happen. Everyone makes mistakes."
"Highly unlikely," she sniffed. "But anything is possible, I suppose."
Nyota leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms.
"Interestingly, I looked up Phylos in the archives today again." She paused for effect. "It says that the system is now quarantined due to spatial anomalies," she finished, giving him a meaningful look.
"Really?"
"Really."
"And, of course, you wouldn't be able to find anything regarding the nature of these spatial anomalies because as cadets we –"
"– don't have the level of clearance necessary to access those files," Nyota finished swiftly.
Not wanting to stew in her frustration, she continued, "I've discovered something else in the archives – the Hercules' crew manifest. Jack Forrest was the chief engineer on that ship."
Harry, still not quite where a Starfleet student should be in terms of historical knowledge, looked at her in question. "And that's supposed to mean something?"
"Yes. He was Admiral Henry Forrest's son, and the nephew of Admiral Maxwell Forrest – the one who was killed during a terrorist attack at the United Earth Embassy on Vulcan in 2154."
A look of recognition flashed across Harry's face. "Oh yeah, I remember seeing a plaque dedicated to him at Starfleet HQ. The guy who was a close friend of Admiral Archer's, and apparently died saving a Vulcan ambassador, right?"
Nyota nodded and continued. "Henry became an admiral five years later – the same year that the Hercules disappeared. Under the belief that his son and the crew had lacked the necessary training to properly prepare them for the job, he proposed the establishment of an Academy to train all future Starfleet officers. Before the Academy, all Starfleet personnel was trained at STC – an institution that trained only Humans. The Academy, better equipped in every way and founded the same year as the Federation, became a place where people of different species could study together."
"So, the Academy's founder lost his son on that ship," said Harry slowly, trying to think up another counterargument for Nyota to tear apart. "I imagine they've searched every corner of that system. As much as these spatial anomalies would allow anyway. If they didn't find anything – which seems to be the case – and the area was too dangerous, they would have quarantined it. But it's possible that someone made a mistake somewhere, and that's why the system didn't immediately show up as such. But now, thanks to your report, they've fixed that mistake. Maybe your transmission really was just a 'phonic echo.' Makes sense?"
"Not to me. I feel like they're just trying to blow me off," she asserted. "Someone's hiding something, Harry. I'm sure of it."
Harry looked thoughtful as he said, "Alright – so what do you want to do about it?"
"I think I need to get around the security wall. And it wouldn't be an easy task . . ."
Harry scoffed. "More like 'impossible.' Hacking into the archives is out of the question, and breaking in physically would likely be very difficult even with magic. That building's a bloody fortress for information with all those levels of security . . . Not to mention the half a dozen passwords you'd need to access a terminal alone."
He paused, smirking at her. "You know, I never took you for someone who likes to break rules."
"I don't," Nyota countered.
"Then why are you doing this? This doesn't seem to be about satisfying your curiosity anymore."
Nyota took a moment to order her thoughts before she met his gaze.
"U.S.S. Essex, Daedalus-class, Registration NCC-173," she recited the information from memory. "Disappeared without a trace in 2167. Last known location is sector 008. Unlike the Hercules, there wasn't even a snippet of a distress call. It's like they just vanished into nothingness. My great-grandfather served as a science officer on that ship."
Nyota paused, visibly collecting herself as the topic suddenly took a turn for the sentimental.
"I grew up hearing stories about him, about some of his trips. He really believed in Starfleet. He was right there with the Federation as it first formed, and stood by everything it meant. My grandfather joined Starfleet, following in his steps, and so did my father. I'm here right now partly because of him."
Harry nodded in understanding, giving her a sympathetic look. "Do you think the Essex also disappeared in the Phylos system? I mean, sector 008 is huge."
"I don't know. Anything is possible. But the not-knowing is why I want to get to the bottom of this. I know you must think I'm crazy, wanting to access classified Starfleet records and risk expulsion over this – right before my graduation, no less. But I feel like I'm not supposed to just let this go . . ."
"Okay," agreed Harry. "Then how about this? Why don't we talk to Pike first? As an instructor and a Captain, he has a different level of access in the archives. Plus, he's your new mentor now, so it wouldn't be that unusual. Maybe if we explained the situation to him, we could at least find out more about these spatial anomalies."
"Of course!" she exclaimed with a dawning grin. "Why didn't I think of that?"
Finishing his meal, Harry pushed his tray aside.
"You've got your first exam tomorrow, right?"
"At 1100 hours," Nyota confirmed.
"I'm meeting Pike tomorrow morning at 0830 for tutoring. Meet me at 0815 in front of the Archer Building and we'll go talk to him. I'm sure he won't mind – he's an understanding sort."
"It's a plan. Thank you," Nyota said sincerely.
Harry nodded. "Well, I'd better get going. Hermione's probably wondering where I am."
"You two sure spend a lot of time in that lab," she noted, a look of curiosity in her eyes. "Would it be too nosey to ask what you're doing in there?"
"Just a project we've been collaborating on," Harry responded vaguely as he gathered up his things to leave. "See you tomorrow morning."
Later on that evening . . .
Hermione stood before the slab of transparent aluminum that had become the centerpiece of their lab-work, giving it one last check for mistakes.
"Alright," she sighed. "Here goes nothing. Ready?"
Harry nodded, standing beside her with his wand at the ready. "Ready."
They'd gone over the plan many times.
Once Hermione had finished with her calculations and engraved all the runes on the transparent aluminum, it hadn't taken very long for her and Harry to invent a spell that would hypothetically activate their means of getting back home. The sheer speed with which they had created it had been almost miraculous – as if some unknown presence was guiding them. Even the counter-spell to turn everything 'off' had come quickly.
Now that everything was ready, they'd decided to test things out. Harry would be the one to cast the initial spell, and Hermione would be ready with the counter-spell.
"Okay. Let's do this," said Hermione determinedly, raising her wand.
Harry drew a deep breath and let it out slowly. Then he launched into the spell.
Initially, nothing happened. Then, the transparent aluminum began to lose its solidity – it appeared almost liquid, shimmering and flowing, glowing with the colours of the rainbow. Feathery curls of light swirled about its periphery. The view was mesmerizing.
"Well, something's happened," noted Harry, somewhat in a daze.
Hermione, equally dazed, commented, "This is . . . not entirely expected. I mean, I'm not really sure exactly what I was expecting, but this is not it."
"Do you think we've done it?" Harry asked hopefully.
"There's only one way to find out. Let's proceed to Step Two. Be ready with the counter-spell," she instructed, taking her engagement ring off its chain.
Hermione turned the diamond three times counterclockwise. When nothing happened, she held out the ring on the palm of her hand. The wings sprang forth from it with a clank, and the ring fluttered in front of her. She swallowed hard and cast a spell that she and Harry had come up with for increasing the 'magnetic flux density' of their 'magnet,' so to speak – that is, it would strengthen the pull between the ring and their home.
A tiny ball of light appeared from the ring and floated in front of them.
"Sweet Merlin," Hermione breathed, watching the scene unfold in fascination.
The ball of light moved towards what had once been a simple slab of transparent aluminum and made contact with the surface. Instantaneously, the whole thing started buzzing with energy. A low thrum resounded through the lab, intensifying in pitch as the colours swirled, eventually shaping into a vortex of sorts.
"Er . . . Hermione? What's it doing?" Harry asked, watching the movements warily. It almost resembled kaleidoscope shapes spinning round and round.
"I'm not sure," she replied, taking an uncertain step forward. "Perhaps it's doing what it's supposed to and looking for our universe?"
As if on cue, the shimmering field of bright colours suddenly turned pale blue and the ball of light from Hermione's ring that had been floating on the surface disappeared inside. The engagement ring promptly followed suit.
Hermione reflexively reached after it, but managed to stop her hand from making contact with the energy at the last second.
"Oh no! Harry, it's gone – without the ring we won't be able to do this again!"
Harry nodded and stepped closer to the vortex, his face resolute. "It's now or never then."
"But Harry, we haven't tested things properly! What if we find some other unknown universe on the other side?"
The low thrum began to decrease in pitch, even as the swirls of pale blue light slowed in their rotation.
They were running out of time.
"What's life without a little risk?" Harry said with a small smile, remembering the words that Sirius had once used.
Hermione knew Harry was fully prepared to jump into that vortex. But she also knew he wouldn't go without her – he would remain true to his earlier words, 'Together or not at all.'
Hermione hesitated. "This was supposed to be a simple test. We haven't even said goodbyes –"
"Hermione," Harry cut her off firmly, "make up your mind. I reckon we only have a few more seconds before this thing stops working."
'I'm scared,' she told him with her look.
'Me too,' he replied.
Taking a shuddering breath to calm herself, Hermione reached out and grabbed Harry's hand. If there was even the smallest chance that they'd find their home on the other side of the vortex – and the fact that her ring had produced that ball of light and had gone through indicated that the chances were rather high – it was worth the risk.
Besides, she had Harry with her; and she would follow him into the depths of hell if necessary.
Together they stepped into the vortex, and in a flash, they were gone.
A/N. *Sometimes the place you were born isn't where you belong – this is paraphrase of a quote from a movie "Queen of Katwe" ("Sometimes the place you are used to is not the place you belong"). It's a great film based on a true story.
Tragic death of Admiral Maxwell Forrest is a reference to ST:ENT S4E7 ("The Forge"); STC (Starfleet Training Command) was mentioned in ST:ENT S4E11 ("Observer Effect"); and the U.S.S. Essex was borrowed from ST:TNG S5E15 ("Power Play"). Please, keep in mind that I like to play with canon.
Also, I'm pretty sure you've all picked up on a few references to TOS Kirk (being called 'a stack of books with legs' by Gary Mitchell, horseback riding, rock climbing). While I understand that this Kirk is different, I'd like to think that some things would still be the same. One small example: he's a ladies' man in both :)
Thank you for reading!
Kind regards,
V