~happysquid08
Technical Difficulties
Chapter 8: Of Crises and Connections
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Giotto had logically been amassing his forces in several key spots that were necessary for anyone trying to access important ship functions, such as the transport room, the medical center, the bridge, and several different essential hallways. He had revolving teams moving throughout the ship to find the perpetrators, teams which were constantly in contact with a higher Security detail who would inform him of any changes, finds, or shootouts. So Giotto had a foundation of officers ready to deal defensively already in tight formation as well as offensive scouting teams that were handy for quickly evolving situations and for instant action. He was both waiting and not waiting. It was a scheme of attack that Giotto had created himself, and he was quite proud of his accomplishment, even if it was pretty basic procedure.
At the moment, he was dealing with the messages he received from his inner detail of Security, who got their information from the revolving sniper units. Basically, anything that was going on got pitched to the detail, which then filtered all of that information to Giotto, who made decisions based on that information.
All of this because of a murder. Giotto needed information. He was the police, he was Scotland yard, he was Sherlock Holmes. He needed to know who was killed, who killed him, where the perp was, whether or not he was in a group, why he did it, all of it, and he needed it now. He had some of the pieces, but not nearly enough to solve anything.
He also needed to upkeep all of the present movements within the ship of his officers and what they saw.
Giotto had a lot to juggle.
Then his communicator beeped.
"Giotto here."
"This is Sulu."
"Lieutenant?"
"The victim has been confirmed." There was a pause.
Giotto's patience had been wearing thin. He needed information, and he needed it now. So forgive him for speaking out against a superior officer from the bridge, please don't give him a court martial.
"Look, who is it?" His voice might have been a bit harsh, considering that the poor sucker had just been murdered, but he was a bit busy.
There was no response for a moment from the other line.
Giotto shook his communicator and banged it on the desk. No, he wasn't frustrated or stressed; not at all.
"It was…"
Giotto stopped trying to mutilate his communicator. He had missed the name.
"Sorry, could you repeat?"
"The Captain! Captain Kirk!"
Giotto's communicator fell to the ground.
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Uhura was curled up on the Sickbay cot in the fetal position, crying. Nurse Chapel was rubbing circles on her back trying to soothe her.
"There's no way you could have known to save anyone, dear." Chapel had enough experience to console a trauma patient, having more than enough incidents on the Enterprise resulting in mental breakdowns to count. So she was pretty adept at calming the emotional wrecks that showed up in tears. This was a bit different.
"I know… I know…" Uhura covered her eyes with her arm. "But… For someone to have killed the Captain! And Spock is a main suspect, too… Something has been going on for a while, but I never said anything! I should have done something, said something… I should have been able to make sure Spock was all right…"
"Nyota…" Chapel sighed. "Sometimes there is nothing to be done. Sometimes men are unpredictable. Besides, Spock isn't necessarily the killer. Maybe something else was going on. Don't just assume the worst; there's still hope, dear."
That calmed Uhura down for the most part. Before, her entire body was completely tensed like a pressed spring, taut and ready to snap, shaking with tremors. Though tears still ran down her face, Uhura had relaxed.
"But to think… I thought that there was no way it was the Captain, I thought it was just some Security guy… When I heard the news, I couldn't believe it… I just… I guess I thought he was indestructible or something, untouchable… but I suppose that he's just a man, just like everyone else…"
Chapel's hand stopped rubbing circles. Her tone became more serious, more edgy. "Why were you so convinced that the body was a Security officer's?"
Uhura looked back in surprise. She took a moment before responding. "I guess… because his shirt was bright red… But, I mean, the blood was everywhere, so…" Then she put it together. "Oh!"
They both realized that there was a sliver of hope.
"As long as there's hope…" Chapel smiled. "There's a chance that our Captain is still indestructible."
((()))
Slistas had logically been explicating upon the finer details upon the circulatory system of his species in comparison to the carbon-based life-form when Security burst through Engineering's formidable doors.
Scotty had looked as if it had been no surprise; in fact, it looked as if he had expected the interruption. Slistas could not draw together the logic of the situation until he added another assumption to his foundation of knowledge: he noted that his 'black slacks' were resplendent in the substance known as blood; more specifically, hemoglobin from a homo homo sapiens. He had possibly killed a man.
Though he was currently ignorant as to how this came about, Slistas made a clever hypothesis about how his clothing acquired such a stain: The Enterprise crew assumes that the unit Slistas has committed the act of splicing another of their ranks, and is now taking Slistas into custody as is custom with their laws and for their own safety.
Slistas submitted easily to the Security forces.
((()))
After much ado about Security forces attempting to secure the location, Chapel and Uhura elbowed their way into the scene of the crime. Nurse Chapel took her tricorder and some very specific DNA samples.
After three minutes, the two of them burst out of the room and made their way to the bridge.
This was important.
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Finally, Bones and Spock made it to the transporter room. Bones eyed the suspiciously smug-looking contraption from the corner of the room as Spock took a seat.
"Um… Spock?" Bones scanned him again.
"Doctor, I am attempting to contact the Captain through the bond. Please do not interrupt."
He could almost see a nerve twitching in that imperial Vulcan forehead.
Bones steamed off into his corner, trying to hold back his impulse to strangle Spock. He didn't fully master the impulse, but instead strangled his tricorder, an innocent bystander.
((()))
Spock's focus narrowed on that tiny speck of difference he could still sense even when all other emotions from the other source – Jim – had gone. It was the tip of the tiny thread that connected them, mind to mind, essence to essence.
Carefully, ever so carefully, Spock navigated himself down the strand. He followed many twists and turns, all of them endlessly complicated, but all of them promised to lead him to Jim. The basic theory of the emotional connection between beings included a great deal of time and energy to connect properly, meaning that in order to fully connect, Spock would have to find exactly the right thought to bond them together, to pull them together, to allow their two explosive minds to finally fully meet. Spock would have to somehow prematurely speed up the process of knowing Jim's mind and his own in comparison. Therefore, Spock was perfectly content to take a good amount of time and energy to reach this end. He obediently went through each and every knot he could that separated them.
When the light of Jim's connection suddenly dimmed, however, Spock realized that he didn't have time for such meandering. This thought cut through everything else, freeing the string from all knots. Now all he had to do was find some way of traversing the link.
Every thought Spock had was of the two of them together, now. On the bridge, making important decisions and arguing together, in Jim's quarters playing chess, eating lunch in the Mess Hall, patching up in Sickbay together, everything Spock could think of during their time on the Enterprise flashed through his brain in an instant.
Spock's mind had been continually straining outward, and so it was as if he collided with something hurling back at him when Jim reciprocated.
Spock?
Jim!
Tied up and stowed away in some godforsaken cargo hold, Jim laughed.
Back in the transporter room, Spock's lip curled upward in a smile.
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"Captain Kirk is alive!"
Every single person on the bridge froze instantly.
Uhura was smiling and waving the DNA evidence for her statement.
Chapel added, "It's true. The victim of the murder is not the Captain."
Everyone recognized that there was once again hope. Some stood, some dropped, some cried, some laughed, but everyone realized that everything would turn out just fine. Because they had their Captain back.
"Then…" Sulu thought aloud, "Where is he now?"
Everyone froze again.
Uhura sat in her chair, shooing away her replacement.
"Isn't it obvious?" She stuck her earpiece in. "We find him."
((()))
Slistas was securely behind the energy field of the brig now, but there were still five teams of Security posted on him. He hadn't been wounded by the officers, but he certainly felt threatened. They had the feel of bloodlust surrounding them, especially the head of the Security.
He wondered why.
Logically, Slistas connected his thin fingers to the wall behind him, sticking through the metal as if his extending digits were needles poking through cloth. Weaving his fingers through the wall, Slistas reached a conduit holding a flow of information. Wrapping his now string-thin fingers around the conduit, Slistas slipped one razor-sharp claw into the weak metal. He then received a battering of new knowledge directly from the ship's computers.
So he had killed the Captain? The animosity of the crew was not unwarranted. But wait – new information states that the victim was not the Captain, but a low-rank lieutenant on Security.
Now, the Enterprise was on task to find the Captain, who had not in fact beamed down planetside as he was supposed to do the day previous. The last that had been seen of him was in the hallway by his quarters, and there were witnesses who had seen him enter those quarters. Also, the murder had happened in the connecting room between the Captian's and the First Officer's quarters.
This was not enough information to piece together the events. Slistas knew that he would have to take in much more information if he was to solve this particular mystery. He readied himself for an onslaught of too much information, which could short-circuit him.
Giving himself to the cause, Slistas let go of his barriers and search-narrowing results. The entirety of the memory banks of the Enterprise pummeled into his brain unceasingly.
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Jim had finally woken up to Spock's call, and found himself in quite a position. Thanks to Spock, he knew the basics of the situation, but had to figure out the details by himself.
He was in storage, not necessarily in the Enterprise. He could be planetside, and he could be on another ship. At the moment, he was guessing planetside on a hunch. But that particular hunch was irrelevant. Jim needed to find his coordinates, and that meant he was going to need access to the systems of wherever he was.
Which brought him back to his surroundings; he was mostly entrenched in darkness, but could just make out the familiar lights of a computer bleeping in the corner. Like a worm, Jim wriggled into complete darkness and began trying to untie the knots choking his wrists and ankles as well as knees and elbows. The cord was tough and wouldn't budge. He was gagged as well, with the same cord; someone had tried to be quite thorough.
But not thorough enough. Jim still had that familiar knife in his boot, the one that could cut through anything. It had never failed him before, anyway. Slipping it out, he easily cut his ankles and knees free. From that point, he could stand, which was good enough for the moment. He stretched his legs out and sighed before returning to his task. From his tied-up hands, he flipped the knife to the ground and picked it up with his two feet encased in standard issue boots. Using his supreme foot dexterity, Kirk snapped his gag off of his face. Now all that was left were his arms.
Kirk picked up the knife in between his teeth and stabbed it into the ground. Then he dragged his bonds against the knife's sharp edge until his wrists were free. He did the same to his elbows, though it was a bit more awkward.
Finally free of all restraints, Kirk stood, using a nearby table to hoist himself to his feet. He casually slipped the knife back into his boot, a habit so completely ingrained into him that, even in this situation, his technique and form were absolutely perfect.
"For being beaten for an entire day, I'm in pretty good shape," Jim remarked, spitting out some blood onto the floor, to the world at large. Well, to Spock mostly, who was still worried about him.
Jim, are you certain you are unharmed?
Every time it happened, it made Jim freeze. It wasn't a bunch of words and sentences that brought Jim to know Spock's thoughts; it was just him, Spock himself. A sudden onslaught of another person that bubbled up from the solid foundation within Jim, like an ocean casting up a monstrous wave up into the sky.
And Jim didn't really know how to respond to it, so he just spoke. That seemed to work pretty well.
"Yeah. For the most part." He winced as he stumbled forward, gripping his side.
Yet I can still feel your pain.
Jim paused. He didn't like that particular part of this whole weird Spock-being-in-his-mind thing. It made him feel a bit guilty and a liar. "Yeah, well, I've been through worse before, I'll get through this."
And on that note, he finally reached those damn computer terminals.
Jim.
"Spock?" He got the system turned on, no problem.
I am with you.
As Jim tinkered with the buttons and the tiny knobs, a hint of a smile threatened to surface. He was pretty sure Spock got this part of the feeling.
"…Yeah, I know. I know."
((()))
Spock was still hunched over on the floor, Indian-style. Bones had been tapping his foot for such a long time that it was ridiculous. After an infinite number of random scans with his tricorder, Bones was starting to get a bit restless. He hadn't always been the most patient man.
Bones flipped out his communicator before remembering that it was broken.
Bee-bee-beep.
In his hand, the thing beeped. It was almost like magic.
After a second of shock, Bones flipped the thing open.
"Bones here."
There was no response.
Bones cursed. The damn thing was broken, he knew it. He threw it against the wall, just what it deserved.
"Damn thing, doesn't even have the decency to work." Bones stewed a bit before losing interest. He turned back to scanning Spock; this was getting a bit tedious.
It was then that Spock abruptly decided it was time to wake up and startle the hell out of poor country doctor, radiating power and giving Bones a sense of foreboding.
"Doctor McCoy." Spock strode with purpose to the doors and out into the hallway. Bones followed a beat later, a bit confused.
"How's Jim?"
"He is still able to function, though perhaps not as efficiently as usual. It is unfortunate that we should be out of transport range, for you could have been instrumental in, as you say, 'patching him up.'"
"Do we… know where he is?"
"Yes, he has ascertained his coordinates through the ship's systems."
"So he's not planetside?"
"Negative; he is being held on a cargo ship named the Sealion and there is a definite course plotted for the space station around Mars."
"So we're not in range for transport…"
"Evidently. We shall have to follow with the Enterprise."
"But the Enterprise is still undergoing repairs…"
"I am fully aware. We shall inform Starfleet of the pursuit and perhaps gain some backup. Though, of course, we shall use this ship to its fullest capacity and also utilize shuttlecrafts to maneuver around the Sealion and surround it."
The two of them reached the bridge after Spock had gone over his plan, which had evidently been formed between the two of them through voodoo Vulcan shit that Bones didn't really understand but allowed for the moment.
The doors opened, and the considerable bustle of activity froze at the pair of them.
Spock stepped forward.
"Thank you for all of your efforts. Captain Kirk has been located. We have the need to pursue the cargo ship Sealion. Though this ship is still in dire need of repair, it is necessary to push the limits of its stability in order to gain back our captain. Mr. Sulu, plot the course for the Mars space station at warp six. Ms. Uhura, contact Starfleet and inform them of our pursuit and request for aid." Spock sat down in the command chair and pressed a button. "Chief of Security Giotto, this is Commander Spock."
"Here, Commander."
"Put together a battalion of teams and prepare them for boarding the cargo ship Sealion by amassing them in the transporter room. The Captain is alive and well and has been taken aboard that vessel. When the Enterprise has successfully captured the Sealion, prepare to beam aboard the vessel and overtake the crew."
"Yessir."
Spock spun around in the chair and then made his way to his own station. "Ms. Uhura, contact the Mars space station and inform them of our mission. Request for aid in the chance that we do not successfully detain the Sealion and it makes it to port."
"Yessir."
Spock glanced around and saw Scotty and Bones standing there, with no particular purpose.
"Chief Medical Officer McCoy, please proceed to the transporter room in case of any medical emergencies of the Security teams or in the return of the captain. Chief Engineer Scott, please proceed to Engineering to ascertain the wellbeing of the ship throughout this particularly dangerous escapade. After all, this mission is testing the limits of what the Enterprise can take; be prepared to move from station to station."
Bones slung his tricorder over his head and onto his shoulder with a sigh.
Scotty smiled and chirped, "Aye!"
The pair of them set off to the turbolift.
"Mr. Sulu," Spock ordered, "Warp six."
"Yessir."
And they were off.
((()))
In the brig, Slistas was being hammered with a constant, unending amount of information. He was completely incomprehensive of his surroundings until he had decided that he had amassed enough information in order to come to a logical conclusion. He terminated the link between himself and the ship's computers.
When Slistas woke up, there were only three officers surrounding his cell. Evidently, the rest had taken off in pursuit of the Captain who was currently upon the Sealion, a craft currently out of transport range and en route to Mars space station.
Slistas could guess why. He knew who. He knew what. And, of course, he knew where. And, most importantly, he knew how.
However, it was impossible to incorporate his knowledge into the scheme by being kept in the brig.
So Slistas logically concluded that, in order to help the operation succeed, he would have to escape the brig.
After shutting down the system that contained him in an eclipsed field of energy, Slistas was forced to physically restrain the officers guarding him. In order to insure that they were unable to pursue him and also unable to alert their commanders of his escape, Slistas placed each of them, without their communicators, within his cell. He reactivated the energy field and left.
Slistas included a new parameter to his behavioral responses: for the moment, he was considered a violently dangerous fugitive and would be met with force in an attempt to restrain him; therefore, the correct method of response would be to evade confrontation. With that failing, nonlethal violence would be the proper course.
Slistas climbed into the Jefferies tubes.
((()))
Bones and Scotty were squished into the turbolift with a mass of people. What had previously been empty direct from the bridge, the turbolift was stuffed full of people trying to get to their stations for red alert.
On any other starship, there might have been no slight degree of utter panic, chaos, and mob mentality exploding shipwide, not to mention a tiny, packed turbolift. However, this was not just any starship. Though the turbolift was a bit full, everyone was, for the moment, quiet and controlled. There were no excited crewmembers stirring the ashes of fear for the situation. The Enterprise had been through too many emergencies for one red alert to send the crew into pandemonium.
As was the precedent, the turbolift halted again.
There was a bit of disappointed mutterings, but that was pretty much it. As the Chief Engineer, Scotty was at first expected to instantly fix the problem but since that was too dangerous with no tools and a turbolift full of people along with no sensor devices as to the ship's conditions or to the crux of the problem, Scotty informed the turbolift crowd of the stick, and how Engineering was automatically informed and how they would be moving again momentarily. So everyone was relaxed.
A couple was arguing over what to have for dinner, pork or steak, and baked versus mashed potatoes. Three friends from the same station were bickering over who got to report to the bridge instead of running scans. They solved their troubles with a quick tournament of rock, paper, scissors. Scotty made sure that Bones had enough space to breathe and had him turned towards the wall.
"Naew, Doctor, Ah think tha', no ma'er what, th' firs' drink ye'll buy fer me 'll have t' be some Sco'ish whiskey. Bes' there is."
Bones' lips twitched into a tiny grin, his forehead pressed against the bulkhead, face slightly turned towards Scotty. His shoulders were tensed up and his back was rigid, but Scotty thought he could fix that.
"The lad on th' bridge, the wee lad, what was his name?"
"…Chekhov?" Bones' head cocked to the side as he thought.
"Aye, Doctor. Tha's the one. Th' other dae, mah delicate sensibilities were affronted by 'is crass love of vodka. Said 'e prefers it t' any other drink."
"Well, that's cuz he's Russian, ain't it?" Now Bones was fully smiling.
"Aye, but when Ah pointed that out, th' wee lad made th' outlandish declaration tha' all drinks worth drinking originated in 'is Russia, and tha' since Ah loved alcohol at all, Ah'm actually lovin' Russian vodka, th' source of all alcohol."
Bones snorted. "He would."
"Naew Ah say t' the lad, 'Haew d'ye explain Scottish whiskey, me lad?' an 'e says tha' the Vikings brought it there, from Russia, millennia ago."
After a second, Bones laughed, his eyes creasing closed. His body was now completely relaxed as he leaned against the bulkhead. His face still retained the hint of a smile.
"And o' course, after Ah bring 'im th' historical evidence of international production o' alcohol – "
A shiver shook the turbolift and it jerked into motion. Since Bones had been completely relaxed, the sudden movement threw him off balance.
Scotty caught his shoulder and steadied the good doctor. "Naew, there, careful. Caent have mah ship's senior medical officer injurin' himself in th' turbolift."
"Yeah, thanks," Bones grunted as he straightened himself, unable to meet Scotty's eye. Before, his face had been clear and smooth; now, his familiar creases and scowls were returning. Scotty only noticed the shift now. He wondered what caused it.
People began filing out of the turbolift.
"Till later, then, Doctor!" Scotty smiled and waved before heading down the hall.
Bones grabbed his shoulder before he could go another step. Scotty looked back, slightly confused, but Bones wouldn't meet his eyes. His cheeks were flushed, too. "Thanks, Scotty."
"Any tahyme, any tahyme." Scotty grinned before setting off again. If he wasn't careful, the entire Enterprise could accidentally destroy itself under too much strain; Scotty needed to get down to Engineering.
After a moment of being rooted into the same spot, Bones turned on his heel and made his way back into the turbolift. He had to get to Sickbay quickly to grab his equipment before going to the transporter room.
He had a job to do.
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End of Part 8, tbc.
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Author's Note: Yeah, so it's been a while. My internet was all funny. I need a new computer... Soon, I'm gonna get a new laptop! But until then, things are probably going to be a bit slow. I know that lately I've been focusing a lot on the relationship between Kirk and Spock, with Bones and Scotty not really showing up at all... Which is bad... But hey, Kirk and Spock are big players in this game! Their relationship affects everyone on the ship, especially Bones! Besides, it's cute. That's my defense. And I feel like Bones/Scotty is a lot slower and needs other relationships to ascertain its stability, as well as a bunch of thrown together circumstances. So... sorry about not having new Scones material for a while. I hope this last scene made up for it some. there'll be more... eventually.