Title: Proof of Existence: Chapter three

Disclaimer: Nope, still not mine.

Authors note: First, thanks to everyone who's taken the time to review. I'm pleased with the response, considering this is my first effort, and it's an offbeat subject. I noticed people were actually reading my profile, too, which I hadn't expected, so I went and added a little bit, if you're curious about who I am. A historical note, the sergeant's thought about Yanks being overpaid and oversexed comes from the common complaint of British soldiers in World War Two, that Americans stationed in Britain were "overpaid, oversexed, and over here." As a result, they got all the girls, and since they could pay more without complaining, caused prices on luxuries such as a pint of beer to rise. The information on the history of science fiction comes largely from Wikipedia, as well as a few other sites. There was so much information that I could have kept writing for pages, but that would have gotten old really quickly. If you're interested, the info is easy to find, go and read. The information on World War two bomb disposal comes mostly from Danger: UXB itself, which is available in its entirety as a four dvd set, which I highly recommend to anyone. Oh, and "bloaters in blood" is something the officers of the 97th company got served far to often. Bloaters are a type of fish, and I assume the "blood" refers to tomato sauce of some kind.

Thanks to my husband for helping to keep the sergeant from going over the top, and thanks to Paper Parcel for listening even when she didn't want to.

Sergeant James had been trying to divide his attention between the strangers, and keeping his eye on Ash. Of course the captain wanted to do this himself, that went without saying, but James was also aware of how close to the edge of collapse from exhaustion and exertion his commander was. So after the stranger in the yellowish shirt (was that supposed to be some sort of uniform?) had introduced himself and the pointy-eared beastie, in his flat Yank accent (Yanks? Here? Probably still oversexed and overpaid, too), when Ash's cane fell from his hand, and Ash himself started swaying, James had been ready. When the captain collapsed, he was able to grab him as he fell and lower him gently to the ground.

"He needs a doctor." James eyed the strangers, his voice carefully neutral.

"Yes, of course." The yellow-shirted one - Kirk, was the name? - said. "We'll beam up to the ship. Um… this is a bit difficult to explain. We'll be teleporting instantaneously up."

"The same way we got here… aye. So it was you that brought us?" James kept his voice non-committal, but there was anger in his eyes.

"No, it wasn't, but I assume the method was similar. Look, this is all very complicated, let's just get your officer to sickbay and then we can explain everything."

"Aye." James nodded his assent.

Kirk pulled a small object off his belt.

"Mr. Scott. Four to beam up. And have Dr. McCoy report to the transporter room."

The world dissolved into a sparkle of lights.

Afterwards Sergeant James was never able to clearly remember the exact sequence of events, just scattered impressions. The strange room where they appeared. The young blond man standing behind the control panel, with the accent as comfortingly British as Ash's own, who cried out "Sir! I recognize those uniforms!". The older, more burly man who called out "Dr. McCoy to transporter room" in a brogue as thick as James' own, or more so. So it wasn't just Yanks here, wherever this strange place was. That was good to know.

The doctor, middle aged and bossy, another Yank, but with a different accent. The white corridors, seemingly endless, with men and women… women! wearing the same strange colorful uniforms. Finally the bonny blond lass helping the doctor to get Ash onto a bed. James hovered as unobtrusively as possible while the doctor waved strange instruments over the captain, and injected him with what James assumed was some fancy hypodermic.

At last the doctor turned to James. "He's exhausted. I've given him something so he can sleep. Aside from that he's slightly dehydrated, and needs a good meal. How long has it been since he ate?"

"Two days" James told him.

"Hmmm. Not serious then. He can eat when he wakes up. He'll be fine. Now let's look at you." The doctor advanced on James with his instruments. "You're not in much better shape. " He indicated the next bed. "In."

James shook his head. "Nay, Doctor. I'm under orders to keep watch while the captain sleeps."

The doctor frowned. "I'm the only one who gives orders in my sickbay." He turned to the blond. "Nurse. The hypo please." There was a flash of silver, before James could react, and a hissing noise. He had a moment to feel dizzy, and then blackness.

Nurse Chapel helped Dr. McCoy get the sergeant into bed. Then they stepped back and looked at their patients.

"I'll get a couple of orderlies to help undress them. Their uniforms are filthy. They must have had a bad time down there." McCoy said to Chapel. "Captain Kirk wants to know if they have anything on them to tell us who they are."

Chapel was studying Captain Ash's face. Asleep, the pain lines had smoothed out, and he looked young and vulnerable. McCoy sighed. "Whoever he is, he's been through some kind of hell in the past, with these injuries. It's a shame about the scars. He must have been a good looking man once."

Chapel brushed an errant lock of hair out of Ash's face. She smiled sadly. "You don't think like a woman, doctor. He's still very beautiful." She paused, then added more thoughtfully, "And he reminds me of someone, though I can't think who."

Captain Kirk had called another briefing, again patching it through to all decks. This time he had included Lieutenant Kyle, due to his recognition of the British uniforms.

"All right people. Our primary question right now is, who are our guests down in sickbay, and what are we going to do about them? Mr. Spock?"

"Based on what they themselves said, and backed up by identification papers which Dr. McCoy obtained from them in sickbay…"

"You don't have to make it sound like I rolled them in an alley, Spock." McCoy grumbled. "I just emptied their pockets so their uniforms could be cleaned."

Spock pointedly ignored the doctor's outburst and continued calmly, "They are Captain Brian Ash, a 25 year old officer in the 97th company of the Royal Engineers, and Sergeant Robert James, 42, also of the 97th company. The most recent dates on their papers seem to indicate that they came from some time in 1944. Historical records from all of the twentieth and twenty-first centuries are, of course, very fragmented, and we have so far been unable to find anything about either man, although we are still searching. However, it seems that Mr. Kyle is something of a military historian and recognized their uniforms when they came on board. Mr. Kyle?"

Kyle cleared his throat nervously, unused to giving reports in the briefing room to the entire crew. "Well sir. Like their papers say, those are World War Two Royal Engineers uniforms. But it's the red patch halfway down the arm that tells what they do. That's special, very few people had the right to wear that. It shows they're in bomb disposal."

"Bomb disposal?" Kirk said blankly.

"Yes sir. You see, during the Blitz, the part of the Second World War when the Germans were bombing British cities almost every night, it turned out that not every bomb exploded on impact. The Germans had found out that a bomb that exploded later, when no one was expecting it, could be more devastating than ones that exploded when people were down in their shelters. They killed more civilians that way, killed the men in the fire brigades when they tried to put out the burning buildings, killed police, and civil defense workers… " Kyle trailed off, then started again. "Well, anyway. The unexploded bombs, when they were found, had to be defused before they could be taken away and disposed of. The royal Engineers were given the job. It was very dangerous. There was no training at first, just trial and error. At the start of the war, the average life expectancy of an officer in bomb disposal was only seven weeks. For enlisted men it was pretty bad, too. By the end of the war, over 50 officers and over 300 enlisted men had been killed in bomb disposal."

Around the table there were shocked expressions. Lieutenant Sulu gave a low whistle.

"So what we have here is…?"

"What we have here, sir, is a pair of heroes! It looked to me like they'd both been decorated as well, though I didn't really get a good look…"

Dr. McCoy harrumphed. "What we have here is a painfully young man who's obviously been through hell, and an older man who's not much better off. The things we humans do to each other. Spock, sometimes I think your people had the right idea after all.." He sat grumpily rubbing his chin, his eyes distant.

"Doctor, do you have a medical report?" Kirk broke in.

McCoy gathered himself. "Well, both of them were exhausted. I have them sleeping now. The sergeant said he was under orders to keep watch, but I put him under before he had a chance to argue. They both need the rest, and I thought you'd be happier knowing they weren't going anywhere. But I don't think the sergeant is goin' to be pleased with us when we wake him up. I suggest we wake Captain Ash first and let him do the honors."

"Good thought, Bones. I'll want to talk to him first anyway." Kirk agreed.

McCoy continued, "As well as exhausted, and suffering superficial cuts and bruising, both men were slightly dehydrated and hadn't eaten for two days. I rehydrated them and gave them a supplement, but when they wake up they'll want a good meal." The doctor sighed. "I wish I could keep the two of them there for a few days and feed them up. The captain especially. That boy is so thin his ribs stick out."

"If they really come from 1944, they've been living with wartime shortages and rationing for five years." Kyle put in. "Even with American aid, the whole population was feeling it."

"Well, in the case of Captain Ash, I think there's more to it than that that." McCoy said. "Hell, you saw the boy's condition. Facial scaring, his hand. Whatever happened to him was recent, and extensive. He's had a fractured jaw, a minor skull fracture, his right knee is practically useless, kneecap shattered, nerve and ligament damage. He has scars over the rest of his body, too, particularly one under his heart where it looks like a shard of something was removed. And he's still riddled with small fragments of metal. I'd say he's just finished a long hospital stay. I assume one of the bombs he was supposed to be defusing went 'bang' instead." The doctor punctuated his words with an explosive gesture. "The sergeant has been injured too, though less extensively. He's got some superficial facial scaring, and there's signs that his right arm was violently dislocated. But that was a couple of years ago."

Kyle shook his head. "If one of his bombs exploded while he was defusing it, he wouldn't be alive."

"Well something exploded and almost took him with it." McCoy snapped.

"Thank you, doctor." Kirk acknowledged. "Dr Noel, do you have any psychological input for us?"

"About the men themselves, obviously very little. From your and Dr. McCoy's reports, I'd say the sergeant seems quite devoted to his captain. I hope that's the case, and that the captain is worthy of his loyalty and returns it, because it will make their adjustment to being here much easier if each of them has something to depend on."

"How difficult will their adjustment be?"

"Hard to say. Obviously this is quite unlike anything they've ever known. However, the concepts of space travel and even of time travel may not present as much of a problem as you might think. Certainly not as much as if they came from even as little as 50 years earlier."

"Why is that?"

"The ideas of time and space travel are very much 'in the air' in their time. As early as 1865, Jules Verne had written of traveling to the moon, and H. G. Wells wrote The Time Machine in 1895, War of the Worlds in 1898, and First Men in the Moon in 1901. From 1912 onwards, Edgar Rice Burroughs was writing his John Carter on Mars books, and later wrote books set on the moon, and Venus, bringing the ideas of life on other worlds into more popular literature. Einstein's General Theory of Relativity was published in 1915, which made talk of other dimensions and time travel theoretically plausible. The 1930s are considered the start of the Golden Age of science fiction, with many of the greats who are still read today, like Heinlein or Clarke, first being published in pulp magazines. In the movies, Flash Gordon and Buck Rogers serials made space ships and outer space monsters visual and part of popular entertainment. So they have had ample opportunity to be exposed to those ideas."

"Why Dr. Noel! You sound quite the expert." Kirk smiled.

Dr. Noel blushed. "Well actually, it is an interest of mine. However, I also did some other research to see what we could expect from our visitors. It's important to remember that they have no reason to trust us. Reading between the lines of what the sergeant said on the planet's surface, they were snatched without warning from their time and place, they have no idea who's responsible, and they have nothing but your word that we aren't. On the other hand, they will be aware that they are totally dependant on us for their lives at this point. I would expect a certain amount of hostility on those accounts, but most likely they'll be trying to stay on our good sides. It's important that we try to win them over, so to speak, convince them that we're trustworthy. It's also important for us to remember that there are things about our culture that will be totally foreign to them, confusing and even possibly threatening."

"Such as?"

"Well for instance, the presence of women on the ship, serving as equals. In their time women serve only in special auxiliary services, and only in support roles. Also, their standards of discipline and order are much more rigid. We'll seem extremely lax in comparison. And they'll have very strict rules of class and rank. Don't expect to see any outward displays of friendship between them in public. What I'm getting at is that we can't expect their reactions to be what we think they should be. They're from over 300 years in our past, and our ways are not the same as theirs in many respects."

"So can they adjust to our time?"

"Actually, Captain" Spock broke in, "The correct question is, should they? We have to assume that Grylock brought them here in order to disrupt the past. The most obvious assumption is that we must return them to their proper time."

"But the obvious isn't always correct, Spock. Suppose Grylock removed them just before they were to die in an explosion? Then if we return them alive…" He stopped. Pain flashed over his face as he remembered Edith Keeler, the beautiful and gentle woman he'd loved so briefly, and had to allow to die in 1930 in order to protect the proper flow of history. McCoy stared at him bleakly, also remembering Edith.

"At least" McCoy finally said, "If that's the case, they don't have to die. They can live out their lives in this time."

"That may not be much consolation to them, Doctor." Spock said. "They have lives, possibly loved ones they would have to leave behind. Your report lists a photo of a young woman among Captain Ash's papers, presumably a wife or girl friend."

"I didn't say it was a good alternative. Just a better one than dyin' from an exploding bomb." McCoy snarled.

"Gentlemen, please." Kirk admonished. "Our first problem is to determine if they should go back or not. The second problem, assuming the answer is yes, is how do we do it while we're trapped here?" He summarized. "We'll adjourn until our guests can join us. McCoy, how long will that be?"

"I'd like to let them get at least a full nights sleep. And they'll need to get cleaned up, eat… Maybe at 0900 hours tomorrow?"

"Agreed. Spock, keep searching the historical records. Let me know if anything turns up. We'll meet again at 0900 hours. Mr. Kyle, you seem to be the closest thing we have to an authority here, please fill Dr. McCoy in on anything our guests might need when they wake up."

"Yes sir." Kyle nodded.

And at that point there was a rasping, sniggering burst of laughter over the speakers.

"Well done, little predators." chortled the hatefully familiar voice of Grylock. There was almost a touch of respect. "You found my present much faster than I expected. But now, the quandary… what to do, what to do? This is so much fun, watching you scurry around all over."

"Grylock!" Kirk cried out. "I'm the one you should be angry at, no one else. I'm the one who got Trelane in trouble with his parents. Send my ship and crew home, put Captain Ash and the sergeant back, and just keep me…"

"No way, Little Predator." Grylock giggled. "I'm having to much fun watching. Besides, I told you. You made me lose my friend so you're going to lose friends too." There was a final burst of chuckles, then silence.

"A worthy try, Captain. But doomed to failure." Spock said gravely.

"But it still had to be tried." Kirk sighed. "All right everyone. We all have jobs to do, let's do them. Until 0990 tomorrow, dismissed."

Captain Ash opened his eyes to find himself in an unfamiliar room. For a moment he was confused, then memory rushed back. The strange landscape, the terrible journey with Sergeant James… he sat up. "Sergeant James!"

"He's right over there, Captain Ash, still asleep." a voice said. "He wanted to stand watch while you were out, but I'm afraid my doctor decided he needed sleep too, and didn't give him a choice."

It was the man who had introduced himself just before… "Kirk, isn't it?" Ash asked.

"Yes. Dr. McCoy thought we should let you wake up the sergeant yourself. I think he's afraid to face him after knocking him out."

The thought of an angry Sergeant James confronting a doctor who had dared to drug him forced a small chuckle from Ash, but he quickly suppressed his humor.

"Where are we?"

"Well right now you're in the sickbay of my ship, the starship Enterprise."

"Starship? You mean some kind of space ship? Like in that 'Buck Rogers' stuff? But you sound American."

"Like that 'Buck Rogers' stuff, yes. This is difficult to explain. Somehow you and your sergeant have ended up about 500 light-years from Earth, and over 300 years in your future."

A cold sickness rushed over Ash. "We'd figured we were pretty damn far from home. But… 300 years in the future? How? Can you put us back?"

"We aren't entirely sure, but it may be possible. I'm having a briefing with my officers in two hours time, I want you and your sergeant there. We'll tell you what we know then. For now, we've had your uniforms cleaned." He pointed across the room, where the two uniform were neatly laid out on chairs, along with Ash's coat and coveralls. "The contents of your pockets are all there in those two boxes on the table. And there's a bathroom where you can get cleaned up." He indicated a door. "When you and Sergeant James are ready, Dr McCoy has breakfast ready for you." Kirk grinned in a conspiratorial manner. "He thinks you need feeding up."

"I don't remember the doctor. Only the green one with the ears…" Ash trailed off.

"My first officer, Mr. Spock. I promise he isn't as intimidating as he looks. You don't remember the doctor because you were unconscious from the time we came on board, so you haven't met him." He raised his voice. "Doctor, your patient is awake."

An older man with a blue uniform top bustled in. "Good. How are you feelin' this morning?" Ash thought the accent was from the American south but he wasn't sure.

"Better, thank you doctor." Ash found a certain surrealism in having this conversation undressed in bed. "If you both could excuse me, I'd like to get dressed. Could we continue this later?"

"Of course, Captain. McCoy?"

"I'll want to do a through exam later, but for now, just try and take it easy on that leg. I've already given you something while you were asleep to bring the swelling down. Oh, and I saw a case with cigarettes among your possessions. I'm afraid there's no smoking allowed anywhere on the ship, but if you have a problem with nicotine addiction, I can fix you up a shot or a patch to keep you from having withdrawal symptoms."

"Ah, thank you, Doctor. I'll… consider it. Oh, my cane?"

"Right here." Kirk handed it to Ash, and the two left.

"Sergeant James?" The sergeant blearily opened his eyes to find Captain Ash bending over him.

"Sir!" He sat up. "I'm sorry sir, I wanted to keep watch like you ordered, but that bloody doctor…"

"That's all right, Sergeant. It was explained to me that it wasn't your fault. And I'm not sure what good it would have done anyway. There's not much we could do to keep them from doing anything they wanted."

"Do you know where we are, sir?"

Ash sighed. "Brace yourself, Sergeant, this is something of a shock. They say we're 300 years in the future."

The sergeant stared at Ash in shock. "In the future? You mean like in Buck Rogers?" His voice was dubious.

Ash laughed. "You know Sergeant, I said almost exactly the same thing when Captain Kirk told me. And he said 'Buck Rogers, yes.'"

"Do you believe them, sir?" An important question, James trusted the captain's ability to judge people. Of course, he trusted his own ability more, but he hadn't had a chance to talk to Kirk.

Ash looked thoughtful. "All things considered, yes, Sergeant, I think I do. It's the only thing that I can think of to explain what we've been through. The men I've spoken to have all been Americans, by their voices. I can't think of any other way they could have all this."

"It's not just Yanks, though, sir. When we came on board, there was one man who sounded just like you or Captain Pringle. And another, if he wasn't from Aberdeen, than I've never heard anyone who was."

"That's good to know. And it makes me more inclined to believe them, too."

"Aye" The sergeant agreed. "But how did we get here? Captain Kirk said they didn't bring us here, so who did? And can they get us home?"

Ash shook his head. "Kirk was less than forthcoming about how we got here, and rather non-committal about getting us back. I gather it's not impossible, though. He wants us both in a briefing in an hour. You can clean up in the lav. over there." He chuckled. "Don't let the door startle you, it slides automatically. There's no tub, but there's a shower bath, and there's a razor. They cleaned our uniforms, too. They emptied our pockets, but everything's there in the boxes on the table. I checked, it's all there, even your ticket from the flicks. I used your comb again, I'm afraid." James was just getting himself up, when Ash added "Oh, and Sergeant, do make it fast. We've been promised breakfast when you're ready." He grinned.

"Aye sir. That's an incentive, right enough." He smiled in return. "Even some of Corporal Wilkins's cooking would taste good about now."

Cleaned, dressed, and shaved, with his hair neatly combed, the sergeant felt more himself. The only thing lacking was something to slick his hair down properly, but he did the best he could with water. Breakfast had been brought in by the blond nurse. James found Ash chatting with her in a friendly manner when he came out. Ash looked up as the strange sliding door closed behind James.

"Nurse Chapel, have you met my sergeant yet? Sergeant James, Nurse Chapel."

"We've met." The nurse smiled at James. "I hope you aren't too angry at the doctor and me. You really did need the sleep, you know."

"Aye m'am. The captain's said it's all right, so it's done."

He sat down at the table, where there was a covered plate.

"I hope this is adequate. Mr. Kyle said this was something like a breakfast you'd be used to."

There were eggs, sausages, broiled kidney's broiled tomatoes, toast, and orange marmalade. "Aye, m'am" James said enthusiastically.

"Better than Wilkins's slop anyway, eh, Sergeant? And even better than Corporal Mould's bloaters in blood in the officers mess."

"Oh, there's something else, too." The nurse hurried out, then came back with a teapot on a tray.

"Good lord, you have done us up proper.." Ash said. "I'll pour, Sergeant. One lump or two? And do you like cream or… is that actually lemon juice?"

"I'm afraid the replicators aren't very good at recreating fresh fruit." Chapel apologized.

"Replicators? Never mind, don't explain. But don't apologize for not having fruit. It's been so long since I've seen a lemon I've almost forgotten what one looks like. Citrus fruit has to be saved for children and people with vitamin deficiencies, you know."

"Oh! Rationing! Yes, of course." Chapel looked flustered. "Look, I'll leave you two to eat now." With a final smile she left again.

The two men dug into their meal. "Well" Ash said eventually, "If they can't get us home, at least we won't starve. That's better than things were looking before."

"Aye, sir. After that place down there, anything's an improvement, right enough."

Neither of them spoke what they were both thinking… "But I hope they can get us home."