Hard to believe we are close to the end. i might revise it in the future, work on structure…but gosh…hard to believe only a few more chapters to the end.

CHAPTER 27

Kirk had ordered the shuttle bay cleared of personnel for two reasons. First, he didn't want Aggie and McCoy put on display, and second, he didn't want a full-blown riot on his hands. The tension among his crew—himself included—was near the breaking point. As word spread of Gray's intent, numerous fights had broken out among the crew and there had been a record number of requests to Sick Bay for anti-anxiety pills. Security Chief Giotto, who had only just returned from an advanced weapons training seminar, had come dangerously close to suggesting an "off-the-record" solution to the situation. Fortunately, Kirk had been able to cut him off before he actually said the words "remote phaser overload."

The conversation had horrified Kirk, and he had placed all weapon compartments on lock down. If Gray was willing to execute Aggie, he had little doubt that the agent would hesitate to shoot a member of his crew. Kirk had also ordered all nonessential crewmembers confined to their quarters or one of the recreation rooms. Rand, in particular, had been ordered to stay in her quarters until he personally came to tell her otherwise. She had stayed by his side, formatting each one of his desperate requests to Star Fleet, until he'd finally broken the news that the deadline had passed. For the first time, Rand's professional exterior had cracked, and Kirk had held her as she'd wept.

Kirk stepped through the doors into the empty shuttle bay. He had arrived well before the deadline to give himself time to prepare emotionally. The bay was as cavernous and as quiet as an empty spaceball stadium. The Galileo and the Columbus shuttles were parked together on the far side of the room as though shunning the sleek newcomer. Kirk stared at the obsidian ship and was reminded of a beautiful yet lethal snake. He tore his eyes away from it and walked to the cryo-unit sitting off to one side.

The locks had been disengaged and the lid had been rolled back on its internal rails. The interior was dark and empty except for the padded sides. Scotty had refused the direct order to repair the seal so Lieutenant Hemsworth had done it, albeit reluctantly. Kirk hadn't documented the Chief Engineer's insubordination—how could he when the man had begun openly weeping at the very mention of the unit? Out of pity, Kirk had ordered Scotty confined to his quarters where he was, without a doubt, working his way through the bottle of whiskey that Kirk had given him, along with any scotch that the engineer might have had on hand.

Kirk inhaled deeply and the freshly recycled air felt cool inside his nose. The breath did nothing to ease his growing agitation. It didn't help either that his guts felt twisted up like someone had tied them in knots. He'd had a similar feeling the moment before the execution squads on Tarsus IV had begun firing into crowds of women and children, and again when one of the survivors, a baby boy, had eventually died in his arms from starvation. He hadn't cried while digging the small grave with his ten-year-old hands but his guts had felt twisted up then too. And he'd been thinking the same thought then that he was now:

This is wrong.

What had happened to the Star Fleet he had pledged his loyalty to? What about the mission statement that he had personally engraved on every moment of his waking consciousness? "To explore strange new worlds, to seek out new life and new civilizations, to boldly go where no man has gone before."

His mission wasn't to box up new life so that it could be evaluated at a later date. He had written as much, and plenty more, in the dozens of communiqués that Uhura had finally managed to send out, twenty-seven minutes after the return-response deadline. A few of those messages, the one to the Admiral Archer in particular, would probably earn him a disciplinary note in his records. But Kirk didn't give a shit—he was a starship captain, not a politician.

At the 5:55 am mark, the black ship's door slid upward to reveal the slim figure of Agent Gray. He shot Kirk a broad smile before descending the ramp to the deck.

"Good morning, Captain. I saw that you arrived early. Eager to get the day started, no doubt."

The idea that he had been watched rankled Kirk, and he smiled tightly. "Oh, it's just the thought of having you off my ship, Agent Gray."

Rather than be insulted, Gray chuckled. "Just as I am eager to be on my way, Captain." He walked up to peer inside the unit. After a few moments, he grew bored and began looking around the bay.

"Where is everyone?" He asked. "Have you given the crew a holiday?"

Kirk's jaw flexed. "They are temporarily busy with other duties."

"Eh, whatever you say," Gray said as he withdrew a device from a pocket and flipped it open. "Two minutes," he muttered to himself.

Kirk felt uneasy; Gray was in no mood for dilly-dallying. Spock had come to his quarters in the small hours of the morning, unable to find comfort in meditation or sleep. Kirk had been awake, miserable, and entirely too sober after giving Scotty his whiskey. They talked softly despite the soundproof walls, looking for some bit of leverage they could use against Gray. In the end, however, all they could hope for was to delay Gray long enough to receive a response from Star Fleet.

Unfortunately, it didn't look like the agent's congenial mood was going to last.

"Captain, I demand to know when the prisoner will arrive," Gray said loudly. "I will not tolerate—"

The shuttle bay doors opened and McCoy entered alone, moving stiffly as though each step caused him pain. Filled with pity, Kirk went to him. McCoy had stopped short of the medical equipment, seemingly hypnotized by their very presence. "Bones," he said quietly, silently pleading with his friend to remain strong. He regretted his decision not to inform McCoy of their plan, but the chance of getting a response from Star Fleet in time was slim. Besides, there was no guarantee that Star Fleet would even issue the emergency halt. He hadn't wanted to offer false hope, but now, seeing McCoy's tortured expression . . . .

"Bones," he said again and McCoy's head jerked upward. He looked at Kirk with hollow eyes.

"Jim," McCoy said in a ragged voice. "I can't . . . I don't think I can do it."

Kirk shifted so that his back was blocking Gray's view. Angry at his own helplessness, his words came somewhat harsher than he intended. "You've got to do it, Bones. If you don't, he'll kill her."

McCoy's lips flattened. "This is a damned nightmare."

"Just do what you have to do," Kirk said firmly then held up his index finger and said in a quieter voice. "But . . .take your time about it."

Taken aback, McCoy just stared at him a moment then nodded slowly.

"Doctor . . . "

Gray's voice held a warning tone, and McCoy shuffled over to the closest unit. It flared to life at his touch, filling the silence with a dreadful hum. The machine closest to the cryo-unit had a cylinder filled with a thick blue liquid; it began to bubble then steam. Kirk had never seen the substance before, but Spock had described it accurately enough that he knew what it was—the initial anesthetizing gas, a derivative of the Vulcan flower Beyor which in Vulcan meant "death sleep." After the patient inhaled the Beyor, the cryo-unit's internal life support system would take over, slowly lowering the occupant's temperature and body functions until stasis was achieved.

Repulsed, Kirk looked away. Twenty-five more minutes, he thought. All he needed to do was delay Gray by twenty-five minutes.

A gap that suddenly felt like twenty-five years as Gray's cold voice echoed throughout the bay. "Where is the pris-on-er, Captain? I believe that I was quite clear about the deadline. And the con-seq-uences."

"Mr. Spock is seeing to the transfer personally," he continued, unable to keep the anger from his voice after watching McCoy recoil at the threat. He spun on a booted heel to face the agent. "Surely you don't mean to imply that a Vulcan can't handle a small woman? Even if she is an augment?" Kirk was acutely aware of the chronometer on the wall and continued to talk. "Perhaps you're not familiar with a Vulcan's strength then. I bet there aren't any of them in Section 31, huh? On account of the whole not lying thing and not being bastards in general, I mean?"

Gray let out a sharp breath that sounded like a hiss. "Captain Kirk, you are seriously mis-in-formed about the purpose of Section 31."

"So enlighten me!" Kirk barked. He narrowed his eyes at the agent and added, "Because I haven't seen anything I've cared for so far."

Gray's jaw worked as though he were chewing on his response. A response that he'd have to swallow or choke on, Kirk realized, since Section 31 in its entirety was considered classified. Kirk smirked and was turning back to McCoy when he heard Gray speak again.

"You are wasting my time, Captain," Gray snarled. "The stasis procedure was to begin promptly at 6:00 am. If the prisoner is not here within five seconds, I will personally—"

The sound of doors sliding open cut Gray off.

The moment the agent had spoke, Kirk knew he'd overplayed his hand and had depressed the button hidden in the rim of his sleeve which alerted Spock to bring Aggie in. He silently cursed his temper, knowing that he could have delayed the agent several more minutes if he'd remained calm, asked questions instead of seeking revenge for the agent's callous words.

Spock entered the bay with one hand wrapped around Aggie's upper arm. It looked as though he was keeping a prisoner from escaping, but it was painfully clear that Aggie was having difficulty coordinating her feet. Her eyes widened in terror as she stared at the cryo-unit.

"Don't look at it, Aggie," McCoy commanded, his voice firm at the sight of her fear. "Just look at me. Everything will be fine." When Aggie tore her gaze away to look at McCoy, Kirk followed suit. Instead of the near-broken man that had been standing there a moment before, McCoy stood straight, his face a smooth mask.

He was being strong for Aggie, Kirk realized. He doubted that he had that type of strength.

Spock guided Aggie passed the unit, shifting his charge into McCoy's waiting arms. "Transfer of prisoner number 147, Captain," he said, approaching Kirk. His dark eyes betrayed nothing of his thoughts.

Kirk nodded at the datapad in the Vulcan's other hand. "Please obtain Agent 544's signature in acceptance of the prisoner transfer under authorization code 90005."

"Yes, Sir."

Kirk glanced at Aggie, saw the silver band on her finger catch the light as she held onto McCoy's arm, and felt a sharp pang in his chest. When Spock had come to his quarters in the middle of the Beta shift, he'd been careful to avoid asking after McCoy. Just to be on the safe side, however, he'd ordered Sick Bay not to contact its chief under any circumstances short of a ship-wide plague.

So he hadn't been overly cautious after all, he mused, then looked away to give them as much privacy as he could. Behind him, Spock was coming to the end of a long list of transfer waivers and authorization requirements. He had to give the Vulcan credit, Spock would have made one hell-of-a bureaucrat: he'd gotten the agent to sign multiple documents in triplicate, even a few ludicrous forms involving the interplanetary transfer of a dangerous animal and one that Kirk was almost positive the Vulcan had made up entirely.

With a last impatient scribble of the stylus, Gray shoved the datapad at Spock.

"Doctor," he said, turning to McCoy. "Please begin the pro-ced-ure."

Thoughts? If you've been joining me on this little adventure, let me know.

~Coop