Title: Things that Never Happened I: Blue
Author: Nemo the Everbeing
oOo oOo oOo
Chapter 5: Before I Taste the Earth
Time to go. The words ring through Len's head with each footstep he takes. The surface soldier's uniform is scratchy, makes his fingers twitch. The explosives he got from the angular man waiting in Ny's shack while she was out restocking are hidden in the lining of his jacket, and Spock has the detonators. Not that he's seen Spock.
The Vulcan never came back. He left and stayed gone, and Len spent his last night on this earth lying alone in the dark, staring at the tarp ceiling and wondering at the tears that leaked out his eyes. He didn't cry. Can't admit to crying over something he never had to begin with, but there were tears. No noise, no hitch in his breathing, just a steady stream of salty water slipping from the corners of his eyes.
He didn't sleep at all last night. Now, he's dressed and can't remember when he did that. Can't remember if he ate before he left. If he moved from the hut in the first place. Everything is hazy except the road out of the underground.
He's not going to visit Ny before he leaves. He wants Ny to remember him vital, alive. He doesn't want her to see him like this, tear tracks scrubbed away, but the bags under his eyes a little puffier than they should be. He'll just slip out. Maybe he won't even take Spock with him.
Len likes the idea of Spock staying behind, detonators be damned. The more he thinks about it, the better he thinks the idea might be. Spock could live out his life in the underground, representing a hope that shouldn't just die. A hope in stars.
He squares his shoulders, nods at the guard next to the entrance into the maze, and leaves the town, not looking back to warmth or family. If he looks back, he'll turn back. This is one time when he can't afford to be a coward. This is one time when he has to be bold. The tunnel's torches gutter in the darkness, a few of them gone completely out, leaving pools of black
It's out of one of these pools that Spock steps, falling in next to Len. Len closes his eyes and snorts. "Good to see you again," he says. "Have a nice night?"
Nothing. Not even a flash. Spock's a wall. No, more. He's a black hole, a point of darkness so complete that nothing will ever get out. Len wraps his arms around his middle to keep out the chill.
They walk along in silence, through the twisting maze and the patches of dark that separate the spaces. Len huddles into his clothes. In another time he would have pulled close to Spock and they would have walked together. Now, the gap between them spreads into an abyss and Len walks by himself. He's half convinced Spock's not really there at all. That he's back in Ny's town, safe in their hut. That he'll grow old.
The tunnel widens, and far away there's a pinprick of light not made of fire. Len has to squint to look at it, but keeps on towards it despite the discomfort. The light gets bigger before engulfing them both in brightness. Len steps out into the woods, and the trees do nothing to shield him from the sun, not on a bleak mid-autumn day when all the branches are claws and nothing more. Len realizes he's never seen the trees of this forest when they did have leaves, even when they should. Perhaps the entire world has gone and died on him.
Len pulls himself up to a rigid, military posture. It's been so long, but he remembers this, or at least his body does. His muscle memory is better than his actual memory, and Len thinks that's as it should be. The body keeps going even after the mind quits, so why shouldn't the body retain that which the mind found too painful to recall?
The forest thins and then clears altogether. Len feels exposed on the surface. There are no walls, no corners, just the vast barren expanses. On the horizon, he sees their goal, their target. It looks like a tiny metal box from his perspective. Something he could pick up and put in his pocket if he had a mind to.
He doesn't. He knows the tiny box is a huge warehouse filled with weapons to use against the rebellion. People will die if he and Spock fail. The warehouse gets larger and is no longer situated on the horizon.
Soon, the warehouse seems as tall as Len, then as tall as Spock. Then the warehouse grows even more until it blocks out the rest of the world. There is nothing but them and the warehouse. Spock still hasn't communicated anything to Len.
Spock's hat is pulled low over his eyebrows and ears, and Len matches the attempt, thinking to fool the guards with verisimilitude. The only problem is that there are no guards. There doesn't seem to be anyone at the warehouse.
Len walks up to the large front door and looks around. No one. Every instinct he's got tells him that this is not the place for him. There is something fundamentally wrong with this place. There should be sentries, guards, at least a watchman. Yet, there's nothing. Nobody.
Len wraps his arms around himself for a moment to guard against the desolation of this place. He has a job to do, though, and pushes open the door.
He rocks back on his heels. This is no armory, but a storage area. Row after row of stasis pods containing person after person. Len approaches the fist pod. Starfleet. The next pod too. Other pods contain people of other species. Len recognizes ambassadorial colors when he sees them. These are delegations. Maybe negotiators who vanished without a trace. Perhaps no help has come to earth because earth has become its own black hole: anyone who attempts contact with the new regieme vanishes into the pods.
One pod draws his attention because of the light. It's flickering on and off in a steady rhythm. The man in the pod is Vulcan. Len stares at the device and his heart starts to pound. Clutched in the Vulcan's hand is a communicator. A direct relay to Vulcan for anyone capable of using it.
"Spock," Len whispers, "I think I found something better than a way to blow this bunker sky high."
Spock stands next to him and palms the release on the stasis unit. Stasis flickers off. The Vulcan remains unconscious, and in this place, surrounded by so many uniforms, Len feels the lack of a medical tricorder more keenly than he has in years.
He reaches out and takes the communicator in trembling hands. After so long at the bottom of the technological ladder, it feels to his skin that he has never handled and instrument so fragile or intricate. He thumbs the calling device and waits, his heart pounding.
He hears nothing. There is no communication. He opens a channel and, in a voice hoarse with something which could almost be called hope, he asks, "Is anybody there?"
Silence so long that it breaks what little is left of Len's heart. Silence so pervasive Len feels like he's drowning in it. He tries again, his desperation clear in each word: "Please, somebody pick up."
"You are not Savel," a voice says.
Len's on his knees and he doesn't know how. Tears are streaming down his face, but he doesn't know why. He dredges up words, words from a past that rips him up to remember, and he can't tell if the pain comes from loss or hope, or if there's any difference. "This is Lieutenant Commander Leonard McCoy of the Starship Enterprise. I have Commander Spock with me, but he can't talk. Please, God, please move on Earth."
"We have been waiting to hear from our delegation for months," the Vulcan says. "Please confirm what has happened."
McCoy looks around in a haze. "I don't know what happened," he says, feeling wooden. "They're all in stasis right now, but how or why isn't something I've been privy to. Please, a rebellion exists. Starfleet-" God, that word, that glorious, painful word, "-Starfleet still exists, but there aren't a lot of us. They hunt us down and we've been living in an underground tunnel system. Please, please help us. We'll fight if you can help."
Deafening silence. "I am unsure as to the correct course of action."
Leonard McCoy gasps like he's been stabbed. "For the love of God, our planet is tearing itself apart. Now, we are a technologically advanced society. There is no Prime Directive that applies to this situation. The government was not elected. It's an occupying force holding our entire world hostage. What you need to do is clear, if the Federation exists at all. If a member world is attacked, you help restore the peace. Please . . ."
Another long silence. "The delegation has been harmed?"
"Yes."
Suddenly, another voice is heard, achingly familiar. "My son is there?" Sarek of Vulcan, Ambassador to Earth asks, hope and terror lacing his words in an undertow.
"Oh, God, Sarek," McCoy says. "He's here, but . . . things aren't good."
"We are beaming everyone within a meter of you into our cargo bay, is that acceptable?" Sarek asks. McCoy thinks he hears a calm protest in the background, but Sarek is in charge now. Something like peace is working its way into McCoy's soul.
"Sarek, that's just fine," he says.
McCoy hears the door to the warehouse tear itself off its hinges, but doesn't have time to do anything more than straighten. The Pacifists use old-style projectile weapons. The Pacifists believe they instill more terror than the cleanliness of a phaser. Phaser wounds cauterize. Projectile wounds bleed.
The blast comes from a shotgun and it lifts McCoy off his feet. When he lands, he stares at the ceiling and tastes copper. Everything from his clavicles to his hips is on fire. He opens his mouth, but no sound comes out. He hears a rushing in his ears.
Then he hears the voice, rusty and horrified. "Leonard!" it cries out, and McCoy is shaking and Len is crying because he's heard the voice. It's like seeing the face of God.
Spock falls to his knees next to Len McCoy and says again, "Leonard."
McCoy's feet are numb, which is strange. He focuses his eyes on the man he loves and he smiles. "Hello, Mister Spock," he says. "It's been a long time."
Spock nods. His hands frame Len's face and he stares at him. Len stares back. In the periphery, he hears the Pacifists coming. He knows in his gut that Sarek will not reach them in time, but all he wants is to be staring at Spock the second everything goes dark.
The Pacifists are shooting at them, and Len feels the impact of a bullet in his shoulder. It doesn't hurt, but it's hot. Spock gets hit in the back and falls across Len. Red and green blood begins to mix and turn a deep, rich black. One of Len's arms still works and he touches the back of Spock's head where it lays on his shoulder. The Pacifists stand over them now, and they train their guns on McCoy's face. Len doesn't look at them. He keeps his eyes on Spock.
The world dissolves into light and Len hears a high-pitched mechanical whine.