A/N: Well, here's Chapter Three. Its alternate subtitle was In Which the Crew of the Enterprise Faces Down a Huge-Ass Strand of Galactic DNA -- therefore, it's about the crew.

I usually like sticking with just one POV, but I felt that the whole story couldn't be told if I stayed with the Jims the entire time. I think I like writing Spock's voice even more than Kirk's, since it's a great opportunity for exercising my vocabulary mad skillz. The next chapter, however, will go back to Jim in the Nexus.

Thanks so much to everyone who's commented or added me to story alerts and favorites! I'm not sure what the reception for this chapter will be, since it's about 2% Spock woobie-ishness and 98% Trekkie technobabble. (I'm an English major, so I know jackshit about physics and theoretical mathematics.) Please let me know what you thought, and thanks for reading!

III. Continuum

In Which Commander Spock Discovers that the Laws of Physics Can Indeed Be Changed


"Mr. Chekov, report."

The young navigator was startled by the curt command, fumbling with the controls at his station before he found the correct slide. "Ah, not'ing to report, sir. Sorry."

Spock's hands were concealed behind his back as he stood at the science station, so he allowed himself the luxury of clenching his fingers into fists in reaction to this not-unexpected information. His nails bit sharply into fleshy palms. "It is irrational to express regret, Mr. Chekov, as you clearly have no control over the data you report to me."

"Sor --" Chekov swallowed the apology and turned back to his monitor, worrying his lower lip. "I mean, to find some'ting I will try harder. I try wery hard, sir."

A reply to that declaration was unnecessary. Everyone on the Enterprise had been on prolonged duty, working tirelessly in an attempt to find even the smallest scrap of data. Initially, Spock had difficulty convincing the senior bridge crew to leave their stations for the change of beta shift, and he was finding the task more strenuous as the days wore on. Where there had once been only a united sense of determination, there was now an unpleasant edge of desperation to the endless scans and reports.

Chekov seemed to be awaiting some sort of affirmation, but Spock kept his silence. He would not offer reassurances when he had none to give.

Nyota gave him an uncertain glance, and Spock evaded her perceptive eyes as he returned to the captain's chair. He was aware that his behavior was not controlled at the moment, but no amount of meditation could eliminate the anxiety that had become his constant companion in recent weeks.

He did not like sitting in the captain's chair, providing the final judgment on matters that affected all four hundred and forty-five members of the crew. It left him uneasy and -- if he were inclined to assign an emotion to it -- irritated and not particularly confidence-inspiring.

Considering the amount of training he had received at Starfleet combined with his own natural talents, he was perfectly capable of command; he simply did not care for the sensations it stirred up. Being the figurehead of such a ship meant that the fears and concerns of the crew were directed subconsciously to him. It was a crushing attack on his mental barriers, sufficient to give Surak himself a splitting headache.

He was not the captain. He knew it and the crew certainly knew it, and there was a distinct though unspoken hesitation from those around him when he gave his orders. Any other commander might have seen it as a sign of insubordination, but Spock believed he understood -- Captain Kirk ran his ship with a ridiculous mix of informality and eccentricity, and it worked in a way which Spock had long ago acknowledged was impossible to comprehend.

After two years functioning under a command style which could never succeed for anyone but James Kirk, no other person could take possession of that chair without throwing the entire ship into disarray. The crew functioned perfectly, precisely, as any Federation vessel ought to. Orders were carried out with the usual efficiency, but there was a lack of cohesion. Anyone with a rudimentary grasp of mechanical engineering understood that in a mechanism powered by gears, one single damaged cog could slow or even stop the motion of the entire machine.

Spock allowed himself the brief indulgence of amusement at the thought. The metaphor was apt, but he rather doubted that Jim would appreciate being compared to a cog.

The bridge kept its vigil of silence broken only by the occasional murmur of Nyota's voice as she answered incoming transmissions and the appearance of Yeoman Rand with a data-PADD. Spock read quickly over the morning's compiled reports, and the review served to increase the rising tension within him; by all standards, he should have been focusing the ship's efforts on their unfinished mission.

The Enterprise was under standing orders to investigate an apparent upsurge of Alucanean contraband. The merchandise, including certain components used in engineering for smaller Federation-manufactured vessels, had been tampered with before transport, draining the products' longevity in order, presumably, to increase profits for the sellers. A malfunction in these defective parts had caused a Fleet shuttlecraft ferrying refugees from Ilovur to explode en route, killing the crew and all eleven passengers -- including four Ilovuri children. Pressure from around the quadrant to stop the spread of the black market infestation had resulted in the Enterprise's assignment, and Captain Kirk had led the ship into this quadrant in pursuit of a lead from a Starfleet informant.

This mission's success was of importance to potentially hundreds of innocent beings, yet Spock was shamed by his inability to focus on his orders now. Exactly two point four weeks ago, intergalactic safety and trading regulations paled before the fact that the captain of the Enterprise had vanished.

They had just approached the orbit of an uninhabited ring of asteroids when Captain Kirk disappeared without a single blast of energy or the visible matter particles of a transporter beam. One moment he had been there, the next moment he had not.

The bridge had been catapulted into chaos; it had taken exactly forty-seven seconds for Spock to recover his equilibrium sufficiently enough to call for a ship-wide search for the captain. The search had revealed nothing -- Kirk was not on board. A scan of the nearest asteroids had been similarly unfruitful, and the intervening weeks' scans had offered up no further clue.

The shrill whistle of the inter-ship com provided a welcome distraction; Spock pressed the button. "Commander Spock here."

"Commander, I've good news for ye!" Mr. Scott crowed, his voice distorted by the crackle of the transmission. Nyota made a small sound in her throat and Lieutenant Sulu swiveled around in his chair. Spock steeled himself against the barrage of raw emotion that spiked around the bridge.

"Some of the lassies down in the physics lab think they might have found somethin'. I dunnae quite understand it all meself, but Phhi'w'e is dead-set on it," the engineer continued, speaking so quickly that it was difficult even for Spock's Vulcan ears to pick up every burr and roll.

"Elaborate, Mr. Scott," Spock said, modulating his tone very precisely. "What has Ensign Phhi'w'e found?"

"Why, our missin' laddie, o' course."

A collective intake of breath was the bridge's response, and Spock shifted to his feet before he was aware that he had moved. "The Captain -- where is he?"

There was a pause. "Weel, we haven't pinpointed him exactly yet, but Phhi'we's positive that they have a good theory. . . "

"Commander Spock," Lieutenant Sulu said suddenly, "I'm picking up some strange readings. There's something up ahead ---"

"Onscreen," Spock ordered, gracefully reclaiming his seat. "Mr. Scott, hold for a moment."

A beep, a muted flash, and the front screen filled with a view from the aft sensors. The black expanse of empty space behind them was empty no longer: a massive cloud of white matter twisted across the screen and beyond. It looked vaguely like a twisted satin ribbon, appearing solid rather than gaseous.

"What is that?" Nyota breathed.

Spock stared at it for a moment, fascinated. "I do not know. Lieutenant Jhadav, the readings." He itched to retake his place at the science station and summon up the information, but he forced himself to wait patiently; Jhadav was already typing codes into the monitor, fingers darting over the keys.

"Here it is," the science officer announced as the computer spat out its preliminary report. "It appears . . ." he trailed off, and wide, startled eyes flashed up to meet Spock's.

"The readings, Lieutenant," Spock repeated when Jhadav didn't speak.

The lieutenant swallowed thickly. "I . . . It appears that . . . um, there's nothing out there. Sir."

"Specify."

"Visually something is there," Jhadav said helplessly, turning back to the screen, "but according to our sensors, the energy in a radius of 100 light years is unchanged. That thing that we see -- it has no mass, no energy output, no detectable temperature, no polar particle composition . . . Going by the readings, sir, it doesn't exist."

Spock punched the com button with rather more force than usual, ignoring the tableau of shocked faces around him. "Mr. Scott, collect Ensign Phhi'w'e and meet me in lab station C2."

"Aye, sir."

"Lieutenant Uhura, send standard transmissions in the direction of the anomaly," he continued, rising from his chair and heading for the turbolift. "Lieutenant Jhadav, keep a continuous watch on the sensors and alert me if there is the slightest change in readings. And Mr. Sulu, you have the conn."

Lieutenant Scott and Ensign Phhi'w'e of the Physics Department were already seated at the conference table when Spock walked into the lab. Scott came to his feet but the Hayaltian remained in her chair, blue antennae and six iridescent eyes blinking on their long stalks in a gesture of respect.

There was no reason to waste valuable time on pleasantries -- Spock came directly to the point. "Ensign, Lieutenant. What is it that you have discovered?"

"Ensign Gagliano found it, sir," Phhi'w'e explained, antennae jerking with excitement. "We were reviewing the records of all scans through the database on the day Captain Kirk disappeared, and Marianne noticed that there was the slightest flux in electrical charge at precisely the time that the captain was taken from the bridge. It was so miniscule a change that no one saw it the first time we went through the database, but it's definitely there, sir -- we checked three times."

Spock's mind was already picking through the information before him, sorting through the implications. Moving swiftly to the nearest computer, he entered his personal code and identification.

"Commander Spock, proceed," the computer intoned coolly.

"Computer, collect the data from all port sensors taken within the last half-hour and scan for electrical fluxes matching the data collected on Stardate 2261. 41 at 1302 hours."

"Processing request."

Scott rose and joined Spock at the console. "Ye think this has to do wit' the lad -- I mean, ye don't think it's jest somethin' that can be attributed to normal variation?"

"I do not believe in coincidences, Mr. Scott. If the flux occurred at precisely the instant that the Captain disappeared, then they are indeed related." Spock did not offer up any of the theories that were currently spinning through his mind; he took advantage of the pause to center himself, locking down the irrational hope that was battering against his controls.

The computer beeped. "Match located. Stardate 2261. 57 at 0923 hours. Flux of 0.021 ammeters."

"Exactly the same!" Ensign Phhi'w'e exclaimed, her antennae waving so wildly that they were blurring at the tips. "0.021 ammeters is too small a charge to be attributed to the normal flux that takes place when someone is beamed away, Commander."

Spock was already well-aware of this fact, but he let it pass without comment. "Then it must be attributed to something else." He approached the console again. "Computer, pipe down the image from the bridge holoscreen."

"Processing request."

"Mother Mary's knickers, what the hell is that?" Scott blurted out.

"I believe it may the source of our electrical flux. This appeared just moments ago on our sensors. It is the match to your data, Ensign." Spock stepped graciously to the side as engineer and physicist crowded around the console, studying the image on the little monitor intently.

"I've never seen anything like it," Phhi'w'e murmured with all the awe of a good scientist. "Look at the form of it! Computer, magnify." She pointed at the screen. "See those spirals -- it looks almost like a double helix."

Scott chuckled uneasily. "So we've stumbled across a giant strand o' galactic DNA? Aye, we do find the queerest things out here."

The levity was inappropriate, but then Spock had often observed the phenomena of so-called 'gallows humor' in his human crewmates. "I believe Ensign Phhi'w'e is merely referring to its unique shape, Mr. Scott. It is not deoxyribonucleic acid. Rather, it appears to have no substance at all. Computer, locate bridge science station report 75A34 and send to console 3-C2." He waited until the report was up on the secondary screen alongside the image. "Lieutenant Jhadav took these readings as soon as the anomaly appeared."

"I don't understand," Phhi'w'e said, straightening away from the monitor. "How is this possible? This doesn't exist."

"Of course it does, lassie," Scott corrected gently. "It's right in front of our noses."

"But not according to these numbers." Distress was evident in her quivering eyestalks. "Not according to the laws of physics!"

Scott patted her shoulder. "I've seen a mess of strange things in my life; we may not be able to change the laws 'o physics, lass, but the universe surely can. According to these numbers, it doesnae exist -- but according to our eyes and the electrical pulse, it does."

Illogical, was Spock's instinctive reaction, but the engineer's conclusion resonated with a note of truth. He had no choice but to agree with Mr. Scott; the conclusion was illogically . . . logical.

Perhaps he had spent too much time among humans.

"So what does this all mean?" Scott asked, tactfully letting Phhi'w'e have a moment to compose herself. "What does it mean for the cap'n?"

"I can offer nothing concrete at this stage, but I believe the captain's disappearance was the result of this electrical surge within the . . ." Spock paused, unsure of what to term the anomaly.

"Ribbon," Phhi'w'e supplied helpfully.

". . . within the ribbon," Spock finished, with a nod of acknowledgement for the ensign. "The spike of energy we experienced on the bridge may be due to the displacement of matter from the loss of the captain's mass."

"Which means?"

"Bear in mind that this is still purely theoretical, but it may be reasonably assumed that the spike was the exact displacement of the captain. The mass we lost on the bridge was replaced by energy from the ribbon. In order for that to happen, there would have to be an exchange equal to that displacement within ---"

"Within the ribbon," Scott interrupted, appalled. "Are you saying that the laddie's been sucked into open space?"

"I am saying that it is possible that there was an exchange of matter between the Enterprise and the ribbon, and Captain Kirk was replaced by the electrical spike."

"So where is Captain Kirk?" Phhi'w'e ventured.

Spock felt the sharp tingle of fear that had been mercilessly contained behind the locks of his control, creeping tendrils of panic that tugged at him persistently. The full implications of this exchange were only now beginning to occur to him: if his theory was correct, then Jim, stripped of even a simple environmental suit, had been pulled into a mass-less, temperature-barren, atmospherically-inhospitable anomaly crackling with electrical impulses . . .

"Would it possible to conduct a more specific matter scan?" Spock said, ruthlessly shoving the fear into the deepest reaches of his consciousness. "Perhaps by scanning each individual section for electrical charge we may be able to detect ---" A body. ''--- the captain."

"Yes, of course!" Phhi'w'e straightened up with renewed purpose. "If we scan one ammeter at a time, we should be able to pick him up quickly. Let me put in some calculations." She made a beeline for the computer, typing in a series of formulas. "Let's see . . . one ammeter . . ." She paused. "The ribbon has no mass, sir."

"Och, that's easy enough to get around, lassie." Scott joined her at the console and added in his own formula.

"Processing request." The computer offered up the results in a scant thirty seconds.

Ensign Phhi'w'e's antennae drooped. "Oh. Oh, my, I . . . " She looked up at the two men, eyelids blinking rapidly. "If the calculations are accurate, Commander, it would take exactly fifty-two years, two months, three weeks, and four days to comb through the ribbon."

Spock tamped down violently on his impulse to slam a fist through the computer's blinking screen. "Very well. Return to the lab, Ensign, and pass along my commendations to Ensign Gagliano for her work."

"Yes, sir."

Scott waited until the doors slid shut again. "Shall I start runnin' the scans, Commander? I'll have my lads on it in five minutes."

"That is not necessary, Lieutenant," Spock said quietly, flicking off the screen with a calm he did not feel. "We will not run any scans." He did not need to look at Scott to know that the engineer was staring at him with disbelief.

"What? Commander, ye cannae be thinking of letting go now. If he's in that ribbon ---"

"Speculation, Mr. Scott," Spock interrupted coolly. "With our current technology, it is impossible to determine where Captain Kirk may be located, if he is there at all. Beyond that, the Enterprise has lingered in this area for over two weeks in defiance of Starfleet protocol."

"With all due respect, bugger protocol. Ye know the Cap'n would nae care for protocol if it were any o' us floatin' about in space."

"That is most likely an accurate assessment, but I am not Captain Kirk, and therefore his decisions cannot be transposed onto my own."

Scott's face flushed. "Chrissakes, man, if there's even a possibility that the laddie might be there . . . "

"You are dismissed, Mr. Scott."

The engineer's color deepened as he stepped back. "I beg yer pardon."

Spock had already pardoned the outburst of temper; it was illogical to expect proper restraint from his shipmates, and the occasional lapse could be forgiven. "Report to me immediately if you discover anything else that may be helpful to us."

"Aye, sir." Gathering up his injured dignity, the engineer left Spock alone in the silent room to contemplate the peculiar human emotion called 'despair.'