Commander Hikaru Sulu peered out at the ocean of white, realizing, rather drearily, that no matter how far they went, it didn't seem to change at all. The wind had died away, but gentle snowflakes still fell, soft and unobtrusive. Sulu pointed his tricorder towards the horizon, fumbling with his large glove as he smeared snow from the tiny screen. Not that it revealed anything interesting, anyway.
Sulu hated snow.
Sulu hated winter.
Sulu even hated being cold.
Growing up in sunny San Fransico had spoiled him some, filling his adolescent mind with sands, colors, movement and sound. Compared to that, snow was a dull, white cage. A blank, untextured canvas that couldn't be touched by an artist's brush. It irritated him, the uncreativity of it. Shoving the sense of foreboding aside, Sulu once again scanned the horizon with little hope.
**********************
Pavel Chekov was humming. Kirk realized this, not without some annoyance, as the young Russian's softly sung dirge invaded the thick quiet.
"Glad to see that SOMEONE is happy, mister Chekov."
There was a slight sarcastic edge to the observation, and Chekov reddened visibly to the shade of his field jacket.
"Oh,.........I, sair...........I em sorry. I guess I vas just reminded a leetle of home........"
Kirk was confused a moment before he realized that Chekov spoke of Russia rather than the "Enterprise." It seemed almost strange that not everyone thought of the starship as their home.
"I em truly sorry, sair, and it vill not heppen again.............I,too, em vorried about our lost contact...................."
He trailed off, the embaressed flare still staining his cheeks, as his young guards listened with amusement.
"That's fine, mister Chekov. After all, we are all human."
Kirk felt a sting of regret as Spock's voice resounded in his ear,
"Please Captain, don't be insulting."
He was worried about his sleek ship, up above him in orbit. About his crew, left in abandonment with no way of communicating with him, down below.
Yet when the security cheif slipped back into his Russian melody, his doleful captain didn't bother to mention it.
***************************
"We canna get through the sheild, Mister Spock,"
Scotty's drawn face was illuminated by a pale wash of red alert light.
"The transporter beam gets scrambled evratime we send it down. There's nae way ye can try to beam up the landing party.......................
.....whole, that is."
"I see, Mr. Scott."
Spock replied, his impassive stare revealing no trace of the engineer's obvious discouragement.
"Have you any ideas on what the sheild is composed of?"
"Nae a thought, Mr. Spock......But it certainly is a powerful beastie!!!! Just pure power!"
Scott shook his head and repeated in a mutter, "Just pure power..."
"Do you think that a shuttlecraft would be sufficient means to get through the screen?"
Scott's brow wrinkled as he thought about the Vulcan's strange question.
"I canna tell ya, Mister Spock........"
"Be that as it may, it is the only valid option that we have. I shall prepare to pilot a shuttle craft
through the screen and to the-"
"To HELL you ARE, Spock!!!!!!!!"
McCoy's angry shout drew little reaction from Spock, except for a raised ebony eyebrow.
"Doctor, there seems to be no other options at this time........"
Spock turned back to Scotty as if McCoy's hovering presence had never interfered.
"Mr. Scott, I shall take a fully-equipped shuttle through the sheild, alone, and attempt to evacuate our landing party."
"Spock, now YOU listen to ME!"
McCoy stood at least three inches shorter than the agile Vulcan, but he still proceeded to block Spock's path. Sapphire eyes flared in the red light, as his voice took on a more formal, practiced tone.
"I have been observing your IRRATIONAL behavior lately. You are NO LONGER fit for duty, sir. I could EASILY force you to release command."
It satisfied McCoy to see that this threat ruffled the Science Officier's feathers, even if only a little bit. He continued, trying to force an inappropriate grin away as he spoke.
"It would be irresponsible of me to let you preform this mission without SOME KIND of supervision. In fact, the ONLY way I will allow you to go on this crazy mission is if you are ACCOMPANIED by a member of medical personnel
Namely, Mr. Spock,.......ME!"
Leonard H. McCoy had never seen a Vulcan this close to choking before. It would have been a most humorous sight, if the circumstances hadn't been so dire.
Spock's skin turned a lovely shade of light olive.
"Doctor,"
He began, after a few moments of restrained silence.
"This is black-mail."
This time the smile spread over the physician's feature's unsupressed. A Southern drawl deepened in the Doctor's voice.
"You're darn right it is, Spock."
"You understand, Doctor, that many lives are at stake at this very moment? I have no time for your human "jokes."
"I am NOT joking." McCoy's temper flew at once to boiling point.
"I am going to go with you. Or you are NOT going at all."
Spock could have, at that very instant, allowed one pale hand to snake out and pinch the important nerves so easily accessable at the base of the doctor's neck, and cease all further argument. But it was then he saw the true worry in McCoy's bright blue eyes. Perhaps, it was logical to include Doctor McCoy if his strange behavior was becoming so obviously distressing. Medical aid would quite possibly be helpful.
"Very well."
McCoy's stern expression vanished into a face of pure wonder.
"HUH???"
Seeing the good Doctor caught of guard sent a very human splash of emotion through him. Molified, Spock answered,
"Meet me at 0200 hours in the shuttlebay."
Then, the lean Vulcan passed the open mouthed physician without looking back.
*************************
Little cotton puffs of breath escaped Uhura's lips as she hiked. The sky was stained salmon as Solo's sun set in the North. The small communications officer didn't like the way it colored the snow.......a shade similar to diluted blood, she thought eerily and shivered. She felt someone breifly touch her shoulder and turned to see Sulu's worried eyes.
"Are you cold?'
Yes, she wanted to answer, very cold, but not on the outside........
Something in those dark, onyx eyes told her that the helmsman would probably agree with her.
Instead, she simply shook her head and offered him a slip of a smile. He returned it, some good humor returning to his face.
Worry with Hikaru Sulu tended to be a fleeting thing.
Uhura let her sharp gaze drift over her fellow landing party, vaguely aware of the way they all seemed to share her irrational unease.
Kirk strode with confidence, but the distress was apparent in his pace. He was exhausted, though impatient, each step seemed wearily forced.
Chekov, still keeping up behind his commanding officer, had lost all of his earlier nostalgic reassurance. Now, he looked wary, as if remembering past chills and dangers. Dark eyes flitted over the pine-dotted landscape with such an intense suspision that it even made Uhura feel slightly nervous. His three guards naturally followed the Russian's careful example.
Ensign Laking looked as pale as the snow, his green eyes wide saucers in his round face. His glance darted fearfully over the plains.
Probably looking for a Klingon, waiting for one to pop up from a snow drift, Uhura thought with a mental chuckle. She felt sympathy for the poor paranoid young man. The first mission was often the hardest.
The wind came as a gust and she yanked her burgundy feild jacket tighter, this time shuddering with honest cold. Snow lifted from the dunes in clods, momentarily stinging her eyes . And in that instant of dreadful blindness, Nyota Uhura heard something that sounded like a close relative to phaser fire.
Sulu hated snow.
Sulu hated winter.
Sulu even hated being cold.
Growing up in sunny San Fransico had spoiled him some, filling his adolescent mind with sands, colors, movement and sound. Compared to that, snow was a dull, white cage. A blank, untextured canvas that couldn't be touched by an artist's brush. It irritated him, the uncreativity of it. Shoving the sense of foreboding aside, Sulu once again scanned the horizon with little hope.
**********************
Pavel Chekov was humming. Kirk realized this, not without some annoyance, as the young Russian's softly sung dirge invaded the thick quiet.
"Glad to see that SOMEONE is happy, mister Chekov."
There was a slight sarcastic edge to the observation, and Chekov reddened visibly to the shade of his field jacket.
"Oh,.........I, sair...........I em sorry. I guess I vas just reminded a leetle of home........"
Kirk was confused a moment before he realized that Chekov spoke of Russia rather than the "Enterprise." It seemed almost strange that not everyone thought of the starship as their home.
"I em truly sorry, sair, and it vill not heppen again.............I,too, em vorried about our lost contact...................."
He trailed off, the embaressed flare still staining his cheeks, as his young guards listened with amusement.
"That's fine, mister Chekov. After all, we are all human."
Kirk felt a sting of regret as Spock's voice resounded in his ear,
"Please Captain, don't be insulting."
He was worried about his sleek ship, up above him in orbit. About his crew, left in abandonment with no way of communicating with him, down below.
Yet when the security cheif slipped back into his Russian melody, his doleful captain didn't bother to mention it.
***************************
"We canna get through the sheild, Mister Spock,"
Scotty's drawn face was illuminated by a pale wash of red alert light.
"The transporter beam gets scrambled evratime we send it down. There's nae way ye can try to beam up the landing party.......................
.....whole, that is."
"I see, Mr. Scott."
Spock replied, his impassive stare revealing no trace of the engineer's obvious discouragement.
"Have you any ideas on what the sheild is composed of?"
"Nae a thought, Mr. Spock......But it certainly is a powerful beastie!!!! Just pure power!"
Scott shook his head and repeated in a mutter, "Just pure power..."
"Do you think that a shuttlecraft would be sufficient means to get through the screen?"
Scott's brow wrinkled as he thought about the Vulcan's strange question.
"I canna tell ya, Mister Spock........"
"Be that as it may, it is the only valid option that we have. I shall prepare to pilot a shuttle craft
through the screen and to the-"
"To HELL you ARE, Spock!!!!!!!!"
McCoy's angry shout drew little reaction from Spock, except for a raised ebony eyebrow.
"Doctor, there seems to be no other options at this time........"
Spock turned back to Scotty as if McCoy's hovering presence had never interfered.
"Mr. Scott, I shall take a fully-equipped shuttle through the sheild, alone, and attempt to evacuate our landing party."
"Spock, now YOU listen to ME!"
McCoy stood at least three inches shorter than the agile Vulcan, but he still proceeded to block Spock's path. Sapphire eyes flared in the red light, as his voice took on a more formal, practiced tone.
"I have been observing your IRRATIONAL behavior lately. You are NO LONGER fit for duty, sir. I could EASILY force you to release command."
It satisfied McCoy to see that this threat ruffled the Science Officier's feathers, even if only a little bit. He continued, trying to force an inappropriate grin away as he spoke.
"It would be irresponsible of me to let you preform this mission without SOME KIND of supervision. In fact, the ONLY way I will allow you to go on this crazy mission is if you are ACCOMPANIED by a member of medical personnel
Namely, Mr. Spock,.......ME!"
Leonard H. McCoy had never seen a Vulcan this close to choking before. It would have been a most humorous sight, if the circumstances hadn't been so dire.
Spock's skin turned a lovely shade of light olive.
"Doctor,"
He began, after a few moments of restrained silence.
"This is black-mail."
This time the smile spread over the physician's feature's unsupressed. A Southern drawl deepened in the Doctor's voice.
"You're darn right it is, Spock."
"You understand, Doctor, that many lives are at stake at this very moment? I have no time for your human "jokes."
"I am NOT joking." McCoy's temper flew at once to boiling point.
"I am going to go with you. Or you are NOT going at all."
Spock could have, at that very instant, allowed one pale hand to snake out and pinch the important nerves so easily accessable at the base of the doctor's neck, and cease all further argument. But it was then he saw the true worry in McCoy's bright blue eyes. Perhaps, it was logical to include Doctor McCoy if his strange behavior was becoming so obviously distressing. Medical aid would quite possibly be helpful.
"Very well."
McCoy's stern expression vanished into a face of pure wonder.
"HUH???"
Seeing the good Doctor caught of guard sent a very human splash of emotion through him. Molified, Spock answered,
"Meet me at 0200 hours in the shuttlebay."
Then, the lean Vulcan passed the open mouthed physician without looking back.
*************************
Little cotton puffs of breath escaped Uhura's lips as she hiked. The sky was stained salmon as Solo's sun set in the North. The small communications officer didn't like the way it colored the snow.......a shade similar to diluted blood, she thought eerily and shivered. She felt someone breifly touch her shoulder and turned to see Sulu's worried eyes.
"Are you cold?'
Yes, she wanted to answer, very cold, but not on the outside........
Something in those dark, onyx eyes told her that the helmsman would probably agree with her.
Instead, she simply shook her head and offered him a slip of a smile. He returned it, some good humor returning to his face.
Worry with Hikaru Sulu tended to be a fleeting thing.
Uhura let her sharp gaze drift over her fellow landing party, vaguely aware of the way they all seemed to share her irrational unease.
Kirk strode with confidence, but the distress was apparent in his pace. He was exhausted, though impatient, each step seemed wearily forced.
Chekov, still keeping up behind his commanding officer, had lost all of his earlier nostalgic reassurance. Now, he looked wary, as if remembering past chills and dangers. Dark eyes flitted over the pine-dotted landscape with such an intense suspision that it even made Uhura feel slightly nervous. His three guards naturally followed the Russian's careful example.
Ensign Laking looked as pale as the snow, his green eyes wide saucers in his round face. His glance darted fearfully over the plains.
Probably looking for a Klingon, waiting for one to pop up from a snow drift, Uhura thought with a mental chuckle. She felt sympathy for the poor paranoid young man. The first mission was often the hardest.
The wind came as a gust and she yanked her burgundy feild jacket tighter, this time shuddering with honest cold. Snow lifted from the dunes in clods, momentarily stinging her eyes . And in that instant of dreadful blindness, Nyota Uhura heard something that sounded like a close relative to phaser fire.