He shut his eyes as soon as they met the other Spock's. No! No! God, what the hell…?! His mind raced in circles. Why are they here? This can't be happening. This can't be happening.
He'd been certain that he would never encounter these people again. These grotesque parodies of themselves, with their instruments of torture and slavery, with the blood of billions soaking their hands, wracked with a sickening familiarity. Yes, he was braced for the generic horrors of the Terran Empire. But not for them. Not for their Enterprise. And especially not for their first officer.
He was not Spock. Jim had ascribed much of Spock's character onto the man, but McCoy knew deep in his soul that, in some indescribable measure, they were like night and day. Something was shrouded inside that same cold logic… or perhaps, something was lacking. In any case, their brief eye contact filled him with a paralyzing terror.
(A cold room, every surface lined with unfamiliar tools that glinted like shark's teeth. His back pressed against a wall. A mind perforating his own.)
Someone was speaking now, to him or the others, McCoy didn't know. He was having trouble thinking through the sudden pain in his skull. It wasn't a migraine or a tension headache; those he was plenty familiar with. This was… deeper, somehow.
After staring at the barren ground for an unknowable period of time, McCoy felt voices pointed in his direction. He snapped to attention. He had seen far too much during his time in Starfleet to let every sliver of visceral revulsion bleed through his composure. It was gone; he was fine.
"Doctor?"
"Doc?"
Spock and Roberts spoke simultaneously. The conversation halted awkwardly; they were both giving him that same look, the one that said you are weak, and you can't hide it. McCoy shook his head dismissively, but they didn't take their damned eyes off of him.
"I'm alright," he protested. Dammit. He had been spacing out… now would be a good time to make himself useful. The other landing party was dehydrated and running dangerously low on oxygen. He opened his medical bag, stepping forward in a daze -
—and started at Spock's arm blocking the way.
"Patience, Doctor."
He stared at Spock's hand on his chest until it fell to his side, the gears in his head whirring hopelessly. What…
They finally clicked back into place. "Spock, some of them could be in critical condition!" he whispered loudly. None of them could see beyond a bend in the cave, and only three Terrans had shown themselves. For all anyone knew, the other two were dying in there.
He heard the briefest exhale from inside the suit. "With that in mind, I insist that you remain with security until the survivors have explained their existence in Federation territory. Your counterpart has likely done all you would have done in the event of injury or malnourishment."
McCoy scowled. Like he was going to trust that bastard's medical practice. The things he had seen in that sickbay -
The pain in his head flared. Perhaps it was best to turn his thoughts elsewhere.
Unfortunately, he was forced to admit that Spock was right. His assumption was a reasonable one. And, though McCoy was ashamed to acknowledge his callousness, he didn't need much persuasion to stay as far away from the Terrans as possible.
He then heard Spock… no, no, it wasn't him. The voice was too distant, originating from inside the mouth of the cave. McCoy turned his head to a shining blue helmet, stilled himself as its owner stepped towards them, then carefully averted his eyes. The other Spock's words were confusing, irrelevant without context, and difficult to understand, but he did his best to listen. However, as McCoy felt the distance between them shrink, his consuming anxiety only grew, drowning out his other senses. He only managed to catch a few phrases, which did little to alleviate his ignorance of the situation.
"—first contact with the entity… information critical to the Empire… a rift in spacetime caused—"
The other Spock sounded utterly identical to the one McCoy knew, which did nothing for his headache.
"... it possessed unimaginable power… we were led here... "
Focus. Focus.
"... ship, which remains in orbit—"
He was only a few feet away now. That was more than enough. Despite his morbid curiosity, McCoy fell back behind the others. He knew what was being said was important, but he didn't want to listen. He didn't want to see. He didn't want any reminders that the man was even here. He could be briefed on it later; Spock's eidetic memory would spare him no details.
Another minute slipped by, and the four in front turned to themselves, mercifully shielding him from the eyes of the Terrans. The discussion was over; now it was time to do something else.
One security officer sighed, air crackling against the filter. "They're Terrans, sir," he asserted, clearly anticipating opposition.
"Ensign, as you are no doubt aware, that fact was determined beforehand," Spock replied, and McCoy tried to record any differences in inflection from his counterpart. "Starfleet policy is to rescue helpless survivors, regardless of origin or nationality."
"They could be lying about their ship being disabled! You can't possibly trust them enough to—"
Spock cut him off. "Despite your personal intuition, the appropriate course of action is obvious," he said, leaving no room for argument. "However, I will contact the Captain shortly to notify him of the developing situation."
The ensign turned away with a huff. Before the pause grew awkward, someone to McCoy's right cleared her throat. Spock turned his attention there, hand reaching for his belt.
"Sir, if I may…"
Spock withdrew his communicator, still looking at her. "Lieutenant Roberts?"
Roberts cleared her throat. "Well, it's just that… I've been incredibly interested in learning more about the physiology of our counterparts, their technology, any differences in either, as well as…" She looked pointedly at the other Lieutenant Roberts, the light of curiosity aflame in her eyes. "So, I was wondering if I could speak to them for a moment."
McCoy felt an inane surge of anger at the woman; he couldn't think of any rational justification for volunteering to spend time with these people.
Spock seemed to share his thoughts. "That would be inadvisable, at least for the time being. Ensign Rivera," he inclined his head towards him, "is correct; despite superficial similarities, Terrans are a notoriously dangerous group, therefore, to voluntarily enter their presence unsupervised is an unnecessary risk."
McCoy scoffed. You can say that again.
"Once our counterparts are beamed aboard, you may conduct examinations and interviews with them, as long as security officers are present," he concluded.
McCoy's brain finally caught up with what was happening, and he nearly missed her disappointed reply. They were beaming up. With the other landing party. Right now. Somehow, he had failed to process that their mirrored selves would be on their Enterprise for an indefinite period of time. It was unreal.
He stopped and listened to his own thoughts. This was… he was being ridiculous . Of course that was what was happening—they were there to rescue the Terran survivors! McCoy was surprised, sure, that his and Spock's mirrors were among the displaced, but it was nothing of terrible concern. In fact, Spock and likely Jim regarded it as a fascinating point of interest.
He needed to get a hold of himself.
(How could he? How could he? The memory followed him between awareness and sleep.)
Spock gave instructions to Roberts and the two security officers, who quickly withdrew their phasers and took position inside the cave. The other Spock had disappeared for the moment.
(Thank God.)
Just when McCoy expected to be led to the beam-up coordinates, Spock turned to him, communicator in hand. They were alone. Clearly, he had something he needed to say.
Spock paused before he spoke, which was unusual for him. "Doctor," he began, "you are the only member of our landing party who has made direct contact with the Terrans, barring myself. Even so, I lack the experience of being present in their universe. Your discomfort has been noted." His tone contained no traces of derision, but McCoy had known Spock long enough to hear it anyway.
His heart sank. He had tried to pull himself together, but apparently Spock was too perceptive of his human irrationality . He let himself be irritated by that. "Get to the point, Spock," said McCoy, more heated than he'd meant to.
Spock was taken aback by his hostility. "I am merely acknowledging that you are better acquainted with the Terran Empire than I," he said, with the barest hint of outrage. "Before I contact the Captain," he raised his communicator, "and before we beam up, I ask for any recommendations on how we should address their presence onboard the ship."
McCoy stared at him. Spock was asking for his advice? An extraordinary occurrence in and of itself. The problem was, he had no idea how to respond. What could he say? "Throw them in the brig"? "Leave them here to die"? Spock would think him paranoid and unreasonable, which would only further encourage him to stick his hands into his psyche. McCoy looked at the black ground beneath his feet, and all he wanted to say was "Don't let them near me."
"Doctor?"
He glanced up. Spock was leveling him with a long, inscrutable look, as if he could read his thoughts if he focused hard enough. It was the very same look he'd been giving him all day.
McCoy was sick of it.
"Would you quit looking at me like that?!" he blurted before his better judgement could stop him. As soon as the words left his mouth, he felt a flush of embarrassment at the outburst.
He expected a raised eyebrow and a cheeky response, and that was what he got. "I was not aware of any disturbance I have caused you," Spock said coolly. "I will now head to the beam-up location; please follow me."
He found himself staring at Spock's retreating back. Asshole.
By the time McCoy had swallowed his anger, Spock had flipped open his communicator and was speaking into it. Jim's voice rang out, and he was following close enough behind to hear his words.
"Your mirror self, involved in an interdimensional exchange gone wrong?" A pause, then a huff of incredulity. "One might just call it fascinating, Mr. Spock. Have them all beamed aboard immediately; I'll be in the transporter room." His tone sounded surprised, pleasantly so, yet appropriately cautious. However, even through the filter of the receiver, the subtle notes of his voice told a different story. McCoy knew all too well how Jim regarded Spock—any version of Spock. He was absolutely delighted.
It made him nauseous.
They were inside the cave now, walls glittering with nameless minerals, and assuming beam-up formation with the others. McCoy took the open position immediately behind Spock. The first party of six had already been taken aboard, seconds before.
Spock acknowledged the Captain's orders, but then, rather than putting his communicator away, he ordered the party to take theirs out and enter a button combination, which they did with some confusion. Just as they finished, McCoy felt a flurry of emotions, accompanied by the overwhelming urge to answer Spock's original query for advice. He had the inexplicable sense that he would not get another chance.
"...Whatever you do, don't trust them," he whispered to Spock's back. "They might look like us, they might be us, but there's something… wrong inside." As the last bit came out, a piece of himself withered and melted away.
Spock was silent. The transporter hummed to life.
McCoy stepped into place, his energy spent, and was afforded a final glimpse of the ocean-hued sky. The transporter's song grew overwhelming.
He closed his eyes, and the beautiful planet vanished.
The first thing Spock noticed upon re-materializing was that the Captain was not, in fact, in the transporter room. The second was the flashing light on the wall beside the door, indicating a yellow alert. He raised an eyebrow. While it was not standard procedure to inform a landing party of such developments, Spock expected to be kept up to date. He strode off the platform and towards the comm console on the wall. "Bridge," he said, and waited.
A pause, during which Ensign Rivera, Lieutenant Kim, Doctor McCoy, and two versions of Lieutenant Roberts exited the transporter platform after him. They crossed over to a separate area, where several ensigns stood by to assist them in removing their suits. Beyond that, Spock paid them little mind.
It took approximately fifteen point five one seconds for the comm to respond, which would be enough time to make him nervous, were he human. But Spock was not, so the computer's voice failed to startle or alarm him in any way whatsoever.
"The response has timed out. Please try again or contact your superior officer."
He blinked. The failure to have his comm requests answered had not occurred in recent memory. Spock knew that trying again had little chance of success, and even if it did, he would have an easier time assisting the Captain if he was present on the bridge. He started moving to the door without another moment's hesitation.
"Sir, your suit…" Kim was on his way to the door when he saw Spock was already leaving.
Spock nodded at him. "Dismissed, Lieutenant." His eyes fell on the other landing party. "The rest of you, return to your posts; have security detail escort the duplicate Lieutenant Roberts to sickbay with the other duplicates."
All responded save for the other Roberts and Doctor McCoy. "Aye sir."
Spock emerged from the turbolift, expecting just short of anything. Though the alert remained yellow for now, the Captain's irregular behavior in failing to answer him was more alarming than any siren. Now that he could directly observe the situation, he saw that the Captain was—
—engaged in a heated debate with the chief engineer.
A frazzled Mr. Scott was entering commands into his station with hopeless urgency. "Decrystallization has increased to six percent a minute, Captain, and I'm afraid we won't even be able to start the warp engines!"
"Is it possible to re-amplify the crystals? Our landing party has arrived safely on board…" The Captain received him with an amused expression and a glance many humans had colloquially dubbed "the once-over" before turning back to Scott. "Can you get us to warp one long enough to send a distress signal?"
Scott gave a frustrated sigh. "My people are trying their best down there, sir, but we've already re-amplified most o' the crystals twice and I don't think we're lucky enough to get a third go. If we can't even get out of orbit, let alone the system… "
"Subspace communications are still blocked, sir," Uhura chimed in. "The energy field, if that's what it is, causes any attempts on any frequency to be reflected right back at us."
Spock found an avenue on which to enter the conversation. "Mr. Decker, could the blockage have anything to do with ion interference?"
Decker, who had taken over the science station in his absence, looked up from his monitor. "Negative, sir. The ion storm is a completely local phenomenon, which, while odd, is unrelated to the communications blackout. Also, the sensors aren't working either. They've stopped updating automatically."
Spock turned to the Captain. "Sir, I recall that all systems were functioning normally prior to the departure of the landing party. Now, it appears that warp drive has been rendered inoperative…"
Scott grumbled from his station.
"... as well as communications and our sensors. When did this occur?"
The Captain angled his body towards Spock. "It was the strangest thing. We started experiencing technical difficulties right after you left."
"Aye, you could say that!" Scott spoke up again. "The dilithium started draining at exponential rates with no explanation, and it's only gettin' worse! I told the Captain we needed to leave immediate- "
"Thank you, Scotty." The Captain turned to him, and lowered his voice. "I couldn't just leave you all down there. Despite what we told Bones," a grin flitted across his face, "the risk of beaming you up through the ion disturbance without that communicator lock-on trick was too great."
Spock nodded once. "True. Our transport signals would likely have been corrupted before we reached the weak point of the ion field. But Captain, may I point out, stranding the Enterprise for the sake of only a few is not the logica- "
The Captain continued whispering, but it took on an aggravated tone. "I am aware of the consequences of my actions, Mr. Spock, and frankly, I've had enough reminders from Scotty." He leaned back in his chair and sighed.
Spock didn't wish to argue with him, and stepped back. He raised his voice to a more communal volume. "Recommendations, Mr. Scott?"
Scott spun to face him. "Aye, I have a recommendation: Get the hell out of here before - "
The engineering console let out a whine. He threw up his hands.
"Well, that's it, Captain! The dilithium's completely drained, and we have zero replacements! No amount of engineering sorcery's gonna bail us out o' this one."
Spock straightened. Without warp drive or the ability to contact Starfleet for assistance, the future appeared grim.
The Captain covered his mouth with one hand, deep in thought. "Communications blackout, malfunctioning sensors, all dilithium drained, no explanation for any of it." He struck his fist on the armrest of his chair. "Mr. Spock, I want a team of scientists investigating that energy field. Our priority is getting communications back online at any cost - we need to let people know we're stuck out here. Decker, you and Scotty need to determine the cause of the dilithium drainage, see if you can get even one crystal re-amplified."
Both responded, Scott with lingering frustration. "Aye, sir."
"Scotty," the Captain added, "how long can the Enterprise remain in orbit on impulse power?"
He hesitated for a split second. "No more than a week, sir. The planet's gravity is extreme enough that we've got to give her a lot more than usual."
The Captain lost some of his vigor, and said nothing as he turned his back on the bridge.
Spock had arrived at his station when he spoke again. "Oh—Spock. Before you begin your assignment, there is… another matter that both of us need to attend to."
Ah. Of course. "Captain, are you referring to our 'guests'?"
He smiled at him; it was a remarkable gift of his optimism, to be able to smile in dire times. "Precisely." He stood. "Let's give them all a proper Starfleet greeting, from our universe to theirs. Mr. Sulu, you have the conn."
As the both of them strode to the turbolift, with Spock launching into a retelling of the mission's events, he took a puzzling satisfaction in his Captain's good mood. Despite everything, the Captain still appeared to enjoy the inversion of his previous visit to the mirror world - a favorite English idiom of his came to mind.
"The tables have turned"