Author's Note: A quick post betwixt paper writing and thesis finishing. I hope to get more done soon. Thank you for the reviews! Enjoy!

Just because you're paranoid doesn't mean that there isn't an invisible demon about to eat your face.

--Harry Dresden, Storm Front, Jim Butcher

He stood in his dress clothing-- not a uniform today, but instead, a fine, well-tailored suit with only a medal with an insignia to indicate that he was an officer-- with a glass of good, dry wine and the feeling that something was not right about any of this. About him, people he knew mingled with each other, flitting around about like the butterflies of Verde IV. There were tables full of food, ranging from deviled eggs-- a delicacy he enjoyed but refused to partake of tonight-- to something squiggling and orange that looked like an octopus made of gelatin. In the center, lovely floral arrangements stuck out brightly in hand painted vases. The edges of each table had plates and eating implements of all shapes and sizes, guarded by serving men who were better dressed than he was. It was overkill, too much and completely out of place somehow. He felt as though he'd taken a step out of his ship and tripped into a completely different universe.

Someone moved up next to him and stood at his elbow. He too carried a glass though his clearly held some form of liquor. His outfit was similar, differentiating only in the color of his medal which was blue instead of yellow. He gazed about at the people as well and the two of them stood in companionable silence for a bit.

"What's bothering you?" the man standing next to him finally asked. "I'd expect you to be charming any number of the young ladies here and you surprise me by standing in a corner, looking like the whole world's about to come crashing down."

He shrugged and sipped his wine, letting his arm wrap around his middle. "It's nothing big, Bones. I just feel like something's off here. Probably something I ate." The dismissal was more for his friend's benefit than honesty. After all, he hadn't consumed anything today.

"Gotta see a conspiracy everywhere, huh?"

He shook his head. "No, as a Captain, it's my duty to sniff out fishiness."

"And you've got the overwhelming stench here?"

"Something like that."

"All right," Bones swirled his alcohol, "I'll bite. Give me a hint as to where water dwelling creature odors are emanating from. And don't say Ensign Tr'klena because it wasn't funny the first twelve times."

He couldn't pin point it beyond the fact that this place gave him a fluttering sensation in his stomach. It should not, he knew, and he understood McCoy's conspiracy theorist comment. He tended to see plots in the shadows and he was right more than he was wrong which only encouraged the habit. Here, there should not have been an issue, however; this place, a neutral planet, had been carefully scoured by Starfleet on numerous occasions. Their mission here was not only simple, it had actually gone as planned; almost smoother than planned, he noted darkly. Not only that, but the hosts, the pale couple in the corner, had long been friends of the Federation and willingly allowed Starfleet to partake in their acquired knowledge. They had happily given Kirk's crew their latest updates and even invited them to spend their last night on the planet at this glamorous party. Long friends of the Federation, though not a part of it, he'd decided it would have been a gesture of ill will to decline and had allowed most of his crew to beam down for a night of shore leave. Beautiful outfits were provided, good food was served, and he was most obviously the only person not enjoying every second of it.

"Ever feel like someone's screwing with you?" He answered a question with a question. "Because that's how I'm feeling right, now."

"I know exactly what you're talking about," Bones informed him. "Though mainly because one Captain of the Starfleet won't give me a friggin' straight answer."

He fidgeted and pulled at his collar. "Fuck off." His friend raised an eyebrow at him and he huffed. "What?"

Bones shrugged. "Oh, nothing, I'm sorry I asked."

"Bones…"

"I'm sure there's a completely reasonable answer why your sulking like a piss ant."

"I am not sulking," he snapped. "I just don't like this. At all." He chewed at his lip and frowned. "What do you know about the Netwix twins?"

"Julie and Jones?" Bones inquired. "Nice pair of people, Jim. Reclusive but brilliant. They restored this old place themselves and have categorized the antiques. Made an uncountable amount of discoveries as you well know. Why?" The two men met each other's eyes and McCoy let out a short burst of laughter. "Oh, come on, Jim. For fuck's sake, they're scientists. Do you really think they'd be stupid to plot something with us here? The two of them with four hundred of us and Starfleet well-aware of our location?"

He scowled. "I don't know, Bones. Something just doesn't feel right about them. Them and their creepy pictures of half-dead people."

"I will not deny you that their taste in decorations is disturbing," Bones acquiesced. "But I'm betting they came with this place. Julie said they restored everything to its original format. The only updates are in the kitchen and bathrooms for convenience." He drained his glass. "Seriously, Jim. Lighten up. Just because there are shadows in the corner doesn't mean the darkness is creeping up on you. Okay?"

"Whatever you say, Bones," he returned, setting his glass down on the tray of a passing waiter. They stood in silence for a moment, Kirk pulling at his cuffs and McCoy letting the ice cubes in his glass clink about. "Do you know where they are from originally?"

Bones rolled his eyes. "You just can't let it rest can you?"

"I just want a conversation topic," he said, holding his hands up. "Seriously."
"Not a clue," the man said airily. "Go figure it out yourself." He clasped his friend's shoulder. "And be nice."

"Nice? I'm always nice."

"You know what I mean," McCoy warned. "Be… diplomatic. Remember, they're your hosts." And he melted away into the crowd.

He surreptitiously flicked his friend off and stayed where he was for a bit, people watching and trying to control the creeping in his limbs and stomach. From his vantage point, the male twin was visible slipping through the masses, only pausing to smile and trade the occasional word. He grabbed another glass of wine before pursuing the man, grimacing at the slightly bitter flavor. Deserting it on a table, he caught up with Jones and edged around a group of Engineers in order to step in front of him. Jones stopped immediately, his thin features confused and then falsely friendly. He held out his hand immediately, a smile on his effeminate lips.

"Captain James Kirk," he greeted. "I was wondering when I would get the pleasure of speaking to you on more casual terms."

He took the hand and dropped it as fast as he could. "Well, we've both been busy getting things done, Doctor Netwix. And you've out done yourself. Throw a damn nice party even if the costumes are a bit…" Diplomatic, diplomatic; tact, tact, "odd."

Netwix's face did not change, giving it a mask like quality. "Ah, yes, we wished to make everyone as comfortable as possible. And the outfits give the party a bit of life, wouldn't you say? Instead of the majority of people being in their dress uniforms, the men can be striking in suits and the women can be at their most beautiful in silken gowns."

"Excellent idea," he assured, forcing a smile on his lips. His whole body was on edge. "And, excuse my bluntness but your file was so vague, how exactly did you come across this mansion? I've always had a bit of interest in archeology," a lie, "and it is very unique."

"Jones!" A swirl of fabric interrupted him and the second Dr. Netwix approached, her overlarge eyes and pale skin giving her an innocent appearance. "Oh, I'm sorry, Captain. I thought my brother was trying to ignore his guests once again. He's ever so apt at disappearing into corners."

"Just fine," he said, his lips straining against the smile. "You look lovely tonight, Dr. Netwix."

"Why, thank you," she said, her grin filled with slightly pointed teeth. "And you look absolutely dapper in your suit. You could so easily have been a man from this culture a thousand years ago. Goodness, I'm sure the ladies are all over you."

"Oh, I don't need the suit," he forced the civility and the play, "my sharp wit and adorable personality are enough."

She laughed but it was obviously contrived and it was all he could do to keep the corners of his lips turned upwards. Jones mildly patted his sister's arm and she calmed herself. "Julie, my love, Captain Kirk has just informed me that he wishes to know more about our studies. I was thinking of taking him for a tour of our libraries. Would you survive here without me?" His hand brushed her cheek and a shiver traced its way up Kirk's spine.

"See, Captain?" Julie pouted but it was not endearing to him. Usually, he was a sucker for a good pout. "Always running off to escape fraternization." She kissed her brother on the cheek. "Of course, love, take him off. I'm sure you'll both enjoy it. Jones does love to talk about our work and your Doctor McCoy says you love to learn, Captain Kirk."

"Always a fan of new information," he agreed, wondering what else Bones had said and what had put the Doctor into such a chatty mood. "And I must admit a fascination with actual books."

"Then you will not be disappointed!" Julie exclaimed. "For books, we have a plenty, as you can see here in this room. The library is magnificent." She curtsied. "Enjoy yourselves, gentlemen. I shall see you upon your return." And she swept off with the fluttering of skirts and smiles.

Jones cleared his throat and beckoned for him to follow. "Please excuse my sister, Captain. Party atmosphere brings out her exuberant side and sometimes she forgets her manners."

"She's wonderful," he lied. "Really a beautiful woman. Must get lonely for her down here."

Jones paused as he came to a door and pressed on it. "We are all the company we need."

"I'm sure," he backtracked a bit, acutely aware that he was about to go somewhere, alone, with a man he barely trusted. "I mean, she must get lonely for other women and, maybe, an… appreciative man." The high speech and politeness were driving him fucking crazy but he got the impression if he didn't keep it up, Jones would become even less helpful..

"We are all we need," Jones repeated as they went down a darkened hallway, towards a dimly lit room ahead. "We and our books to help us. As you saw back in the receiving hall, we have many books here. This culture was in love with books-- fantastical, historical, religious, they are all here."

Glad for the change of topic, he followed it. "Really? Are they all bound books or did they have computer storage?"

"They had computers," Jones told him as they entered the room. "But books were their love. Even when most of the other information on this planet could be accessed digitally, books were still produced and read."

Even with the discomfort of the other man's presence, he could not help but be awed by the library. The ceiling here was much higher than in the other room, spiraling upward like a tower. The shape of the room itself was circular and the walls had shelves build into them all the way up to the rafters. These cascading hollows were filled with books of every shape, size and color, foreign scrawling decorating their binding with titles. Tall ladders leaned against the shelves to allow for easier access but even the tallest one did not reach the last shelf near the roof. A chandelier hung from the pinnacle of the ceiling and the candles in it glowed gently, giving the place an ethereal quality. At the arches over the windows, different inscriptions lay pure and gold.

"Wonderful, isn't it?" Jones whispered.

"Impressive," he replied in an equally soft tone. In the center of the room were tables, laden with even more precious tomes. "Is that Latin, there on the one window?"

"Indeed it is, Captain," Jones said. "While we did our best to keep this place in it's original formatting, my sister and I did wish to add in little touches of our own. We both find the language of your Ancient Rome to be similar to that of our home world and therefore, soothing."

"And where's that?" he asked. "Your files with Starfleet were kinda limited."

Jones studied him, his fingers trailing over covers. "Why Ghengis II, Captain. Surely that was available to you?"

His idea that maybe these were not the Doctors Netwix didn't fly out the window so much as perch precariously on the sill. He cleared his throat, "Uh, yeah, of course. Sorry, I forgot. Good schools there?"

"The best outside the Federation," Jones informed him. "We studied a great deal from a very young age and are considered to be the experts in the field of xenoanthropology."

"Impressive," he intoned again. He changed the topic. "And so you preserve books?"

"Knowledge, Captain, knowledge. These books are knowledge of a society practically lost. My sister and I have spent many hours here attempting to restore and translate as many as possible."

He did not follow Jones as the man paced about the library. "Tough job but someone has to do it, right?"

"We love it, for us it is not work but an honor," Jones murmured, his voice distant. "A great honor."

The fervor in his host's voice was disconcerting at best. He swallowed and gently grasped a book with a tattered spine and peeling scrawling words. "I can see why." Silently, they stood, Jones now staring at him. "Tell me, who's jurisdiction do you fall under? I know Ghengis II is not part of the Federation but I'm unfamiliar with their colonization rules."

"My dear Captain," Jones began, as though speaking to a particularly unintelligent student. "It would almost seem as though you didn't read any of the information provided to you. This planet, Kh't'sta as the natives called it so long ago, belongs to no one. It is a sanctuary of knowledge to those who wish to learn from it. That is why my sister and I give as much as we can to the Federation, to everyone. Everyone must learn what they can for a worldly mind without the freedom of knowledge is one of the worst possible things. Untrustworthy, unpredictable, lacking in plausible decision making."

"So a child's mind is the darkest place imaginable?"

"Nay, you misunderstand me," Jones said, placing one of the books back on the shelf. "A tamed, well-trained mind is necessary for organized society to exist. The only thing better is a spotless mind, like that of a young child."

He set the book down, a chill creeping up his spine. "Sorry for the misunderstanding. I'm just impressed by your achievements and want to discuss your work." His senses called for him to evacuate everyone immediately. "Sometimes, or so I've been told, I come off a bit strong."

"I understand, Captain, and could say I, similarly, am enchanted by you. A Starfleet Captain at age twenty-five, before graduation or any service at all; the youngest Captain ever appointed. And, so many successful missions, the strongest crew and best ship in the fleet. I've been told you have a genius IQ and a distinct gift for knowing how things, and people, work." Jones's voice would have, for anyone else, supported his words but he'd spent enough time with an even-tempered, emotionally suppressed first mate to know that underneath the modulated tone was something completely the opposite. "With that said, you should know we welcome curiosity and debate here with open arms. I would request that you do not hold back whatever is on your mind."

An obvious challenge which he sidestepped, for the moment, until he knew he could escape. "Tell me more about this place, then, if you will. Like the pictures that are out in the hall—they're kind of gruesome, don't you think?"

"From your point of view, most certainly," Jones acquiesced. "I am sure, of course, you are familiar with the phrase memento mori?"

"Of course." He ran a hand down his neck to relieve the hairs standing on end.

James nodded. "Yes, this culture was highly fixated on the idea of death and the ephemeral quality of the universe. This household belonged to one of the higher class, hence the grandeur of the images in the pictures. Tradition dictated that the families would be painted in their best clothing but as corpses in order for them to never forget that in the end, we all will meet our doom."

"Morbid," he said, referring to the reverence in the man's tone as much as the idea of it. The room had taken on an overly warm quality as the adrenaline surged through his veins. He was hyper aware of every little sound and the distance between himself and the exit..

"Perhaps, but it was inline with their religious beliefs. They had, on this planet, a singular religion or system of beliefs in which all partook," Jones opened the book up and turned it towards him. "Many memorized its passages and children were taught from very young ages the basic writings you see before you. The Book of Truth, this part is called. Here," he removed, from a stack of papers, a sheet and placed it on the pages, "is the translation. Read it. You may find it enlightening."

He picked up the paper. "Paper and ink?"

"My sister and I find it more soothing to write our findings on paper first, and enter it into the computers later. After all, our energy sources are often limited here. While this planet is abundant in natural resources, we have yet to tap into its main system of power. Even if we could, we are a bit wary of doing so lest an interface malfunction cause complete failure of the entire matrix."

He stopped himself from reading, raising his eyebrows. "Bad circuits? What sort of power system is it? My engineers are excellent."

Jones's eyes met his and his stomach dropped somewhere near his knees. It was strange because they were, without a doubt, normal eyes. No extraordinary color or shape differences were present-- they were a hazel color and large like his sister's eyes-- but somehow they set him on edge. Maybe it was the fact that they presented no emotions, no feelings and no depth; not like he'd been particularly good at using eyes for detecting those sort of things but any idiot could sense a void. Or maybe it was the fact that there were no little red blood vessels in the whites of the eyes. But whatever it was, he found himself speechless-- no, not speechless, unable to speak-- as the two of them locked gazes.

"I have read of your Mr. Scott and know of his abilities," Jones spoke first but did not break away from the staring. "But as that is part of your file, I am certain you know that our power sources and the science arc of this planet are strictly classified. My instinct, however, is to trust you and your wisdom so I feel comfortable giving you a bare bones outline of what is here. Forgive me if I decline the help of your Mr. Scott."

"By all means," he said, stiffly, pulling at his collar. "I can't force you to accept."

"No, you can't, can you?" The silent implication asked what he intended to do about it. "Back at the peak of this planet's civilized years, the main form of transportation was a singular road. It ran through the forest you see outside and had no bridges, breaking points or endings." Before he could ask for clarification, James continued. "How, I am sure you are wondering, can a road do that? The answer may seem ludicrous to us but the fact is, this planet survives on a multi-dimensional plane. Each piece of the planet exists in a separate space. What you see from your ship, I am certain, is one fairly tiny planet with a great deal of woods, two large oceans and a singular river. Once you are down here, however, you experience multiple planets and places. The way people traveled was by taking certain marked exits off the path. Place one foot into the woods and then when you turned back you would be on a new path. It was all about memorizing the indicators, of course, and people who were not from the planet often got horribly lost and would die. But the idea is, in fact, ingenious. My sister and I have found maps and done a few journeys ourselves. Maybe you should try sometime. It would prove to be most soothing."

His personal experience with dimension traveling beings kept him from shooting it down as immediately ludicrous. All the same, he had to work to keep his face passive and focused on the papers in his hands in order to do so. They trembled slightly with strain and endorphins.

"You said, this was a religion of death," he said slowly, after scanning the document. He hoped that Netwix had not noted his change of pace. "But to me, this just sounds like a book about truths of life. Like the one that begins, 'This is a place not made in the fabric of reality…' just seems to be talking about fate or destiny. And the other one, the one about energy, is talking about how pure happiness can never be achieved." The heat in the room was nearly unbearable. "How does that apply to a death culture?"

Jones shrugged. "I couldn't imagine it would make much sense to anyone from this time and place. But, then again, we don't expect anyone to understand."

Julie came in, ruining his chance to ask for an explanation, her dress drooping a bit. She looked tired, older, somehow. "Brother, I really must have you back now in order to…" She trailed off when she saw him standing there. "Oh, Captain, I did not realize you two were still speaking."

"Is everything all right?" he asked, taking in her mussed appearance. His voice cracked a bit and he frowned at himself. The room had taken a blurry edge to it.

"Fine, fine," she waved a hand, "everything's fine. Just enjoying the life and splendor the Federation brings to this place." She pulled at a strand of hair. "Do you like our books, Captain?"

He nodded and fought a head rush. "As I've said before, I am a sucker for beautiful books. Do you use that dimensional thing to store more in here?" He meant it as both a distraction and a joke as he slowly headed towards the exit.

Julie stared at him as though he was crazy then glanced at Jones who gave her a very odd smile. Then she turned back to him, her eyebrows half-way up her forehead. "You know of our technology?"

"Uh, your brother just shared the little known secret of this place," he said, now ten feet from escape where he intended to find Spock and plan a mass exodus.

Her pale lips curled up. "All of it, did he?"

"Of course not, darling," Jones soothed, taking the strand of hair from her. "I left the best part for you to deliver. I have to say, he's fought the charms quite well."

"He hasn't eaten anything," she sniffed, "that's part of it. Though he has had something to drink. You look pale, Captain. Why don't you sit down?"

He swallowed. "I'm all right, actually. But I'd like to know what the fuck is going on." His voice had gone very, very low suddenly and he couldn't get it to go any louder. "Now."

"Tut, tut," she scolded. "I can't give away all of our secrets." She sighed. "With all of his struggling, he's going to be quite useless to us."

Jones placed a kiss on her cheek. "So true. I suppose he'll have to wander."

"And the doctor as well as a few others," a wistful expression crossed her features. "Oh how I'd rather have kept them all. Doctor McCoy especially; he is so very appealing." And as if on cue, he started to fall, a swirl of crystal chandelier and worn covers coating his view. "Oh my, well, you should've sat down." Then nothing.