Osmosis – a STXI S/U fanfic
Chapter 12: Every Closed Eye Ain't Asleep
Disclaimer: I do not own the characters, nor do I profit from depictions of them...unless someone enjoys the fic I write.
Every closed eye ain't asleep and every goodbye ain't gone.
- African American proverb, 19th - 21st centuries
Colorful, changing patterns of light reflected on Lt. Sulu's face as he began the series of navigational maneuvers required to guide the Enterprise into space dock. He breathed in, checked the controls and the viewfinder, and then breathed out.
"Coordinates set. Shift engines to low power."
Scotty's voice sounded over the comm. "Aye, Mr. Sulu."
Nyota heard the Enterprise's familiar ambient engine noise slowing down as the ship approached the massive structure. Like everyone else, she was accustomed to the calming sound; it was odd to hear it change.
A hush fell throughout the ship as the crew and their Vulcan guests watched viewscreens displaying remote shots of the Enterprise, images taken from cameras mounted on the open, cage like sections of the space dock. Spock stood calmly beside the Captain's chair where Jim leaned forward, eyes wide, his attention focused as though he and his crew could guide the ship into dock safely through sheer will.
Her thoughts clear, Nyota relayed a series of responses to the person working in a role similar to her own aboard the space dock linked to Starbase 231. "Greetings, Lieutenant Nyota Uhura here. Confirming contact."
"Greetings, Lieutenant. Lieutenant Latimer here on space dock, all confirmed. Welcome! Our standard and emergency comm channels are open."
Tiny hairs stood up on the back of Nyota's arms as the ship moved forward. The bridge was silent except for occasional remarks from Sulu and her own voice, steadily relaying relevant comments over the ship wide comm. "Docking process begun. All crew, please stand by."
The Enterprise slowed down, gliding to a halt within the space between the embrace of the dock. Airlocks moved into place, securing themselves to entrances on both sides with resonant thudding sounds, and the ship shook ever so slightly.
Sulu smiled. "Enterprise in place; docked. Airlock process begun." Nyota's gaze moved toward a panel concealing tanks of emergency oxygen and breathing apparatus. Spock half-turned in her direction, making sure that he knew exactly where Nyota was, just in case. Distant noises, and then:
"All space dock crew have completed airlock procedure," Lt. Latimer said. "All clear. Begin crew transfer when ready."
Nyota repeated the message over the ship wide comm channel. A whoosh of exhalations rushed through the tense air of the bridge. Cheering voices echoed through the ship. Nyota rose to her feet, exhilarated and relieved. Spock met her gaze from across the room for a long moment before returning his attention to the viewscreen. The Captain and Sulu shook hands, laughing, and then shouting compliments to Scotty and the Engineering crew over the comm. Red-shirted Security officers moved through the halls, relaying crowd control directions.
Fifty-eight minutes later, Spock kissed Nyota in the turbolift and smeared her lipstick. Her feet left the ground as he pulled her against him.
"I'm just as glad as you are that the Enterprise docked safely," she panted when he let her go, "but we'd better wait and disembark with the others. Everyone will notice if the First Officer's missing."
"Mmm," he sighed. "Yeht (true)." Carefully, he set her down on her feet. "I am relieved that all of us are safe and that we are still together."
"Oh, sweetheart." She gently held his face between her hands. "I'm glad too."
The door slid open. Nyota stepped away from him, and they moved into the corridor where officers and crew rushed past, carrying traveling bags and preparing to leave. Spock brushed the back of Nyota's hand with his fingertips and headed for the Vulcans' guest quarters to ask if they had any questions.
McCoy strode through the corridor, shouting at a few crewmembers. "Slow down, people! Y'all know how to do an orderly evacuation, you learned it at Starfleet. The space dock ain't going anywhere and neither is Alpha Cachette. We'll all get there in good time."
"Len, can I talk to you for second?" McCoy stopped and looked at Nyota. Something about the expression on her face made him uneasy, and he pulled her into a quiet area near a bulkhead.
"Everything all right, Uhura?"
"I'm not sure, so I need to schedule an appointment with you in the medical facility on planet, please. I'll need a scan - last night I realized I have two lumps, here -" she gestured toward her left breast. "There wasn't time to deal with it this morning because of the space dock, and anyway it isn't an emergency."
"Aw, Ny." Leonard frowned, concerned. "Well, I'm glad you didn't wait too long. You've delayed and rescheduled your required checkup three times already," he scolded her gently.
"Communications was busy these past two months. This probably isn't a big deal. I know that all cancers - if that's even what this is - are treatable now." Some worry about resistance to treatment lingered in her mind. Nyota's Cousin Rose had made many inpatient and outpatient visits for various treatments, only to see her cancer return, more than once. Treatable or not, Nyota did not look forward to the prospect of intensive medical treatment.
"Nyota, if I recall correctly you've got a relevant family history of it, possibility of resistance to some treatments," Len said, echoing her thoughts and surprising her with his memory of her situation. "If it is indeed cancer there's an ultrasound pulse treatment used to inhibit division of problematic cells, among other options. I'll arrange for you to have a scan done as soon as we're settled in the spaceport town. Whatever the results are, I want you to take better care of yourself from now on, y'hear?"
"Of course I will. Thank you, Len. I've just been busy and a little stressed lately."
"Not as stressed as I'll be when that Vulcan finds out that I let you delay your checkup. C'mon, let's get off this ship. Don't you worry, sugar, I'll do all I can to help."
…
Captain James T. Kirk was his most professional self, impressing the space dock personnel with his encyclopedic knowledge of the structure and condition of the Enterprise and his concern for his crew. Space dock crew members listened and watched him admiringly, enraptured by the modified, non-flirtatious version of the Kirk Smile. Kirk expressed both gratitude and interest in the work of the space dock crew.
By the time the Enterprise crew members entered the space dock's large transporter room and prepared to beam down to the surface of Alpha Cachette, dozens of voices whispered that his popularity in Starfleet circles was utterly justified. What a Captain! He's got it all - smarts - looks - tech knowledge - people skills. I'd love to work for him.
People had underestimated Kirk at one time, Charles Steap had heard. His own experience had been the opposite - good grades, star athlete, good looks, early entry to Starfleet. It was only when he found himself assigned to missions that he had to deal with the frustration of not being taken seriously enough. Why couldn't they see that he, himself, would make as good a ship Captain - hell, a better ship Captain - than a smooth-talking farm boy like Kirk? He managed to keep the scowl off his face as the tingling swirl of the beaming process began.
After beaming down to the transporter room of Starbase 231, the crew passed through a security corridor lined with sensors. Steap held his breath, wondering if the metal disk in his arm might set off some alarm, but he emerged into the sunlight without hearing so much as a beep. Perhaps the disk was made from some amalgam as yet unknown to Federation security.
Another round of greetings, this time from Starfleet members stationed at Starbase 231 on Alpha Cachette. Jim Kirk's enthusiasm and charm were real. He couldn't have imagined feeling so engaged with life years ago, as a restless, sometimes angry adolescent. Now he was fully involved with people and starships every day, and as long as he was busy or under pressure the loneliness and homesickness couldn't creep in. Starbase 231 crew also fell under the spell of the Kirk Smile. Before the Enterprise crew boarded transportation to their temporary residences, they were informed of recreational activities facilitated by the Starbase crew: a beach visit and a late afternoon party organized by Mayor Aurelia Tutto in the Town Hall gardens.
"The Mayor? Guess I gotta wear that damned tight dress jacket to the festivities," McCoy grumbled.
"I got my dress uniform tailored. Makes it a mite more tolerable," Jim smiled. The warm air of Alpha Cachette put him in a relaxed mood as he waited outdoors to board transport along with the bridge crew, and a bit of Midwestern colloquial ease slipped into his speech. As Jim said, he had taken the time and expense to have his dress uniform tailored to flatter his broad shoulders, chest, firm backside, and strong legs. The expense paid for itself in flattering attention from various delegates and diplomats. It also made Jim feel good about himself. So what if his stepfather hated him for looking like his dead father? Somebody liked the way he looked, though it was for quite different reasons. He hoped that Mayor Tutto would like him, too.
The Enterprise crew broke up into groups for transportation to guest residences in town. Some boarded the cars of a small train. Others climbed into large, bus-like, vibrantly painted vehicles, their blue, yellow, and green colors softened by weather. Alpha Cachette did not lack for financial resources, but the planetary cultures leaned towards simplicity and thrift in many ways.
"Are those rusty crates safe to ride in?" growled Dr. McCoy.
"According to the information given to us by the Starbase, yes," relied Spock. "Despite their appearance, these vehicles are safe to use. All are outfitted with safety devices, are roadworthy and are suitable for crew transport."
Len rolled his eyes. "They look rustic and that's being charitable. I figure it's too far to walk, so I'll go. I hope those 'beach cabins' mentioned in the dossier don't turn out to be cardboard shacks." Clutching his tricorder and a medical kit, the doctor helped other crewmates aboard before finding a seat and firmly strapping himself in.
Nyota didn't usually complain about travel conditions, preferring to see them as informative experiences instead. She did stifle a laugh as the vehicle's engine made coughing sounds before it kicked into action. Soon the long vehicle was on its way, passing colorful trees, flowering plants, and small farms. Solar panels shone from every roof they passed. She noticed a curved decoration, perhaps the shell of some local marine animal, hung over the door of some of the closer houses. The few people she saw in the early morning light were neatly dressed and looked healthy; they waved at the Enterprise crew, who waved back. The Vulcan apprentices, initially confused by this behavior, watched the crew and then imitated them in returning greetings to strangers.
The roads were in fairly good condition and water gleamed from an inlet leading to the sea. Pleasant enough. Maybe she and Spock could finally relax together when they weren't processing reports from the security search. The diagnosis wouldn't matter; whatever the news, she knew she needed to let go of the stress and uncertainty she'd felt recently.
Steady rumbling shook the seat she'd chosen, close to one of the vehicle's massive wheels. Their drive took them over a partially resurfaced stretch of road, and Nyota's seat began to vibrate steadily. The sensation was far from unpleasant. She shifted in her seat, but the buzz moved up between her thighs and between her legs, making her feel aroused and slightly wet. Why this, and why now?
Spock, who had chosen to sit a few seats away near Kirk to discuss logistical matters related to reboarding the Enterprise, half turned in her direction. He handed Kirk his padd and took advantage of Kirk's distraction to make eye contact with Nyota.
Holding her gaze, he lifted his thumb to his lower lip, opened his mouth slightly, and stroked his thumb along the edge of his lip, left to right corner. She recognized the movement. It was something he often did while pleasing her with his mouth. When she was particularly excited and wet, he paused to wipe his lips during and after the act.
Nyota's pulse seemed to throb in time with the vibrations from the wheel.
Spock, you...
Yes, Nyota?
Tease!
Amusement flowed across the mental bond. I do not tease; I promise. The next time you are wet, machinery will not be involved.
Nyota took a deep breath and closed her eyes. When she opened them, Spock had turned away. Nyota looked at the neatly trimmed hair on the nape of his neck, imagining herself running her fingers and tongue along his clipped hairline, pressing her lips against his skin, biting the side of his neck until he moaned.
Spock's fingers trembled, making him hold the padd awkwardly before he regained his usual attitude of firm command.
Nyota smiled.
…
Steap sat alone near the back, pretending to be drowsy. He furtively checked the screen of the non-Starfleet communicator in his hand; it was a forbidden device he'd hacked to send and receive encrypted and difficult to trace messages. A message from his alien contact appeared, making his heart pound. He'd be free of Starfleet soon. Steap saw an address on the screen, a small image of a nondescript house similar to others he'd already glimpsed on this backwater planet. He wrote, Where money ? , only to receive the reply Slight delay. You come tomorrow and all will be shown to you.
Not again! He had to threaten them, force them to take him seriously. Hurry up or I tell Starfleet all abt you
A long pause, then:
What do you know of us?
Scowling, Steap replied: More than u told me
Slowly, the metal disk in his arm grew warm. Do as we say and you get what we promise and more. Tomorrow.
Steap's fingers stabbed at the communicator. No. U do as I say I have info u need I can blow yr cover u will see wht I can do -
"Charles, you're missing all of this beautiful scenery. There's the Town Hall. Our crew is invited to a welcoming party there tonight." Charlene Masters from Engineering interrupted his thoughts, indicating some sight through the window. A big fancy building, a sort of long, oval dome surrounded by curving garden paths. Hiding the communicator under his bag, Steap nodded back at Masters and made a noncommittal remark. Charlene realized he wasn't listening to her. Oh, well, she'd tried; Steap hardly spoke to her anyway if he could help it. When she turned around to talk to Scotty Steap looked down at his communicator.
The screen was blank, and the metal disk in his arm felt cool again. Steap grit his teeth angrily. Until he could pry the damn thing out of his skin or disable it, he'd have to do as the aliens said. He looked toward McCoy; he'd overheard the Enterprise doctor tell Uhura about a Starfleet clinic in town near the cabins where bridge crew were to be housed here on Alpha Cachette. All he needed to do was sneak in and find the right tools, maybe an anesthetic hypospray, disinfectant, and a scalpel. He was tough enough, and by tomorrow he just might be desperate enough. It couldn't be much worse than removing a splinter.
Stelen and Serran exchanged a confused look with Donstelralth. Ensign Steap seemed to have little interest in the powerful aesthetic appeal of a temperate Earth-like planet. It was unusual to repeatedly check one's communication device for messages when surrounded by water, plants, attractive buildings, and the potential for new experiences and learning. The human also kept rubbing his arm.
"Travel is wasted on some beings," Donstelralth muttered in Vulcan.
The convoy of vehicles reached the city gates. Two vast curving shapes carved from pink and deep purple-colored stone soared into the sky, one on each side of a vast, multi-lane road. A vaguely oval-shaped carving featuring a projecting nub was mounted between the shapes where they met at the top.
"Благослови меня (Bless me)!" Chekov gasped. "Zat is a giant p–"
"It is a monumental, abstract representation of a vulva," Spock said flatly.
"Abstract? Not really," Jim Kirk observed, looking up at the massive sculpted clitoris overhead. "I recognize that."
"Guess you could say we're all being reborn, headin' back in," McCoy drawled. "Some days the peace of the womb seems preferable to the world's troubles. Might be pretty cramped in there, unfortunately, and there's no whisky."
Jim opened the all-staff channel on his communicator and addressed the crew. "All right, everybody. Say what you've got to say about this now, before we get into town. Starfleet has a longstanding presence here, on Alpha Cachette, but it's essential that we maintain peaceful relations with our hosts. Please keep your negative opinions to yourselves and respect local customs and points of view. Remember the Prime Directive."
"I've got nothing against it. I think it rocks," Sulu said with a grin. Chekov, his face red, took two deep breaths and decided not to comment further.
Charlene looked at Scotty.
"What's the matter, 'Lene?"
"You're just aching to say something, aren't you?"
"Me? Never." He batted his eyelashes at her innocently, and Charlene gave him a light jab with her elbow. Watching, Stelen frowned slightly. He had not realized that Charlene of Engineering and Engineer Scott were such good friends.
"All it's missing is a giant set of fingers; too bad my own hands are so small," Ensign Miranda murmured to the women around her, who quivered with suppressed laughter as she held up her own neatly manicured, short-nailed hand.
Some of her crewmates' reactions amused her, but Nyota kept her composure. She was the Communications Officer, and people would expect her to respond to cultural differences in a mature, unruffled manner. She genuinely liked the sculpted gates. She didn't want to offend anyone by taking a picture so she kept looking through the window, memorizing the gates' appearance.
As the vehicle slowed down in traffic Nyota watched the people and buildings. More of the curved objects she'd seen earlier were mounted over the doors of homes and shops; now she recognized them for what they were. They were not shells, as she earlier thought, but clay or wood representations of vulvas and thighs. Something about their appearance felt comforting and friendly, an indication that women were safe and welcome.
She leaned back in her seat, relieved that the vibrations ended as the vehicle drove over smooth town roads. More official business, a little time with Gaila, then the medical clinic, then the beach, some sort of garden reception hosted by the port town's sociable Mayor, and then...blessed rest, time to talk with Spock and figure out what to do with the diagnosis, be it good or bad.
Next chapter: trouble, uncertainty, and a bit of bold behavior.
Thank you for reading! This tale is almost over...only a few chapters to go. Please take a moment to post a review or comment if you'd like to do so.