Enterprise High
being a high school AU of ST: XI
with many hijinks
and much angst
x
Chapter Thirty: The Devil in the Dark
x
"Who was at the door?" Winona asked.
"Bones," said Jim, sliding into his chair with a smile on his face. "We made up."
"Oh, good," said Nyota forcefully, leaning over to whack Jim on the arm. "It took you long enough."
"What exactly were you two fighting about?" Aurelan asked innocently.
"Uh," said Jim, pausing with his glass of water halfway to his lips. "Stuff."
Scotty coughed a bit.
"Ah," said Aurelan. "Hm. Well. Er. Winona, this cranberry sauce is excellent."
"Thank you, dear," said Winona quickly. "It's George's mother's recipe…"
Everybody moved on hastily.
After dinner, Chane and Winona insisted on cleaning the kitchen.
"Do you know what they were fighting about?" Chane asked Winona as he scraped grease out of the turkey pan. Winona thought that Chane could do much better than washing dishes. He was slightly taller than his daughter, with the same large, intense black eyes and firm jaw. He was also tantalizingly well-built, for being a college literature professor. Winona thought that there might be some angels in heaven looking out for her. His upper arms flexed under the thin fabric of his cotton shirt, and she blinked.
"I'm not sure, no," she said, a little too loudly. "They'd been dating, you know. But—well, something happened. Jim wouldn't talk to me about it."
"When did they break up?" Chane asked.
Winona thought. "About a month ago. No, about six weeks ago, maybe seven."
"That's interesting," said Chane, putting the turkey pan in the sonic dishwasher. "That's when Nyota broke up with Spock…"
Chane and Winona looked at each other.
"That's… rather awkward," said Winona. "Do you think they're connected?"
"I don't know," sighed Chane. Winona noticed how deep his voice was, then. "I worry about Nyota. She's very smart, and she's a genius at languages—she's already basically fluent in Vulcan, and she just started learning at the beginning of the year. But she—she gets obsessive. When she started karate, after Itidal died, she got her black belt by the time she was thirteen. She achieved godan last year, and they want her to start teaching the master classes. And she went to state in tennis last year, too. I guess it's good that what she does, she does well—very, very well. But sometimes I think it's too much for someone who's just eighteen. She expects too much of herself."
Winona was silent for a minute, the foam over her hands building as she scrubbed at a plate. "Itidal was your wife?" she asked finally.
"Yes," said Chane. "She was a chemist. Somebody released phosgene in the lab, and she died trying to get people out."
"That's terrible. I'm so sorry."
Chane shrugged. "So am I. She'd been working on a truth serum for almost all of her career, and she was nearly done with it. I think that really bothered Nyota, later on, that Itidal had unfinished business when she died."
This made Winona pause. "Your wife was Itidal Kabwegyere?"
"Yes," said Chane, surprised. "You knew her?"
"I'd heard of her," said Winona. "I'm in Starfleet; I was assigned to the USS Khural for a few months."
"Oh," said Chane, clearly taken aback. "I didn't know you were Starfleet. And high-ranking Starfleet, to know about Itidal's project." He frowned. "She was on the Khural for a few months when Nyota was young."
"That was before I was assigned to it, and why I'd heard of her," said Winona. "When I was on the Khural, we were mainly focusing on the Rihanh movement."
Chane thought that Itidal's project was probably declassified by now. He smiled. "Itidal was the spearhead behind the anti-Rihanh movement, though few knew it. The Romulans were growing dangerous during that time. At least the Rihanh movement was disbanded a few years ago, when Ezar began negotiations with the Federation."
Winona was taken aback. "Itidal was in charge? This is news to me. We were told some suit was behind the project; I think we didn't know about it for their protection. I'm glad it was successful, though. The Rihanh were dangerous."
"Romulans in general are dangerous," said Chane. "But I'll give you that nationalist Romulans are even more dangerous."
"Thank god for Ezar," said Winona. They started talking about politics for a while. Chane was surprised that Winona was more conservative than he expected; as a university professor, he was quite far to the left.
Winona wondered if Chane realized that Itidal's death probably wasn't an accident. She thought that perhaps she shouldn't have said that she didn't know Itidal's identity for Itidal's own protection. Little harm could come of Chane acknowledging who she was now, years after the Rihanh had ceased operations. But she remembered hearing news of Itidal's death, and the whispers that went with it. Maybe Chane really thought there had been a mistake in the extremely secure government research facility, a mistake that had released thousands of gallons of an early nineteenth century poison gas into a modern laboratory. Why had it been phosgene? Why was it that only Itidal had died? Winona made up her mind to look up the file.
There was a complication that Winona, who was perceptive about events rather than people, had not seen. As Scotty, Uhura, and Chane left that night, Chane drew Winona aside. "Would you like to have dinner some time?" he asked, smiling nervously.
Winona's heart fluttered a bit, although the rational part of her mind said sarcastically, "After you do some research on his assassinated wife? Sure, sounds great." She smiled nervously back at him. "I would love to. I'm not free until next Friday, though."
"It's a date," said Chane, leaning down to kiss her on the cheek. (He was substantially taller than she.)
After everyone had left, Jim cornered Winona in the kitchen. "Are you dating Nyota's dad?" he demanded.
Winona laughed nervously. "Of course not! Well, okay. We're going to dinner Friday night."
Jim clawed at his hair. "Oh God. Really? Of course you are. Okay. That's fine, mom."
"What?"
"Do whatever you want." Jim sounded pained. "You're an adult. You can date whoever."
"Why are you being so reasonable?"
Jim glared at her. "What kind of question is that?"
"A valid one."
"I can be mature about things," protested Jim.
This went on for a while, until Winona just had to ask: "Does Nyota talk about her mother very much?"
Jim looked like he wanted to say something about Winona looking up the competition, but she gave him her most wintery mother's gaze, and he left it. "No, she doesn't," he said. "I don't even know how she died, or when. Do you know something?"
"Yes, Chane was telling me," said Winona. "Itidal was a chemist and there was an accident in her lab. Nyota was four."
"I get the feeling Nyota doesn't remember her well," said Jim sadly.
Sam, who knew Winona and Jim were having a discussion, knocked on the kitchen doorframe. "Is it safe to come in? Aurelan wants more turkey."
"Of course," said Winona. "I'll get it for her." The conversation was over, and Jim left.
Winona stayed up late that night, looking through Itidal's file. But when she went to bed, she made a significant mistake. She simply left her computer up, since she wasn't done with the file yet.
The next day, when she sent Jim to grab something from her room, he spotted the open tab, glanced across it, and quietly ordered a print-out.
x
At six in the morning the next day, a Saturday, Spock was awoken by an insistent knock on the front door of the apartment. Sarek had gone to Islamabad the night before and would be back at noon, so Spock dragged himself out of bed and answered the door.
It was Kirk.
"Morning," said Kirk, bustling inside. He was wearing a heavy backpack that he immediately dumped on the floor next to the dining room table. "You're not awake yet? Shocking. Listen, I've got something to show you."
"Excuse me," said Spock, attempting patience as he rubbed sleep out of his eyes. "What are you doing here, James?"
"I said, I've got something to show you." Kirk was pulling transparencies out of his backpack and spreading them across the table. They were covered in purple ink.
"And how did you get through security?" Spock demanded.
"I'm persuasive," said Kirk, continuing to dig through the backpack. "Sit down."
Spock, at a loss and very sleepy, sat. Kirk shoved a single transparency at him.
"What is this?"
"Read it."
Resigned, Spock picked it up.
Classified Level VI. Personnel file 26690B47H26. Kabwegyere, Itidal. Special Services, admiral. Official rank, lieutenant.
"I am not allowed to read this," Spock said, lowering the transparency. "James, this is Level Six classified. Civilian clearance is Level Eight."
"Yeah, but it's not 'till Level Five that you get a felony," said Kirk. "For this, they just fine you and then do an Extraction. Keep reading."
"Additionally, was Itidal Kabwegyere not Nyota's mother?"
"Which is why this is very important," said Kirk.
Spock was convinced enough to continue.
Commissioned stardate 2211.4.17… He scanned the page. Final promotion SS Admiral stardate 2215.9.02.
"She made admiral in just over four years?" Spock said. "That is impossible."
"She was a Special Services admiral," said Kirk. "She was only a lieutenant, officially, remember?"
"Fascinating," muttered Spock.
Head, with Admiral Lidiya Gavrikov, of the Rihanh Project.
Spock frowned. "'Rihanh' is simply the what the Romulans call themselves, as a race." Kirk opened his mouth, but Spock remembered something before Kirk could speak. "Ah, I recall, now. The Rihanh were a nationalist Romulan movement. And is this name not familiar?" he added, pointing out Lidiya Gavrikov to Kirk.
"We'll get to that," said Kirk.
Since commission, pursued narcosynthetic research including 3-quinuclidinyl benzilate and sodium thiopental… "Truth serum," said Spock. … Degree from Makerere University in Chemistry, International Relations, and Linguistics. … Married 2209.12.12, to Chane Uhura, a human citizen of Federation (background check included appendix III.) … Daughter Nyota Uhura born 2217.12.28 … Died honorably in the line of duty 2221.10.27, incident report on page 3… "Do you have page three?"
Kirk handed it to him.
2221.10.26, 16:42. Leak in phosgene storage tank. Suspected sabotage; unproven. Ventilation safety system shutdown. Suspected sabotage; unproven. Laboratory 448B flooded with phosgene. Admiral Kabwegyere, Lt. Cmndr. Heather Chapel, and Ensign Oscar Hiaasen were in laboratory.
"Christine's mother," said Spock. Kirk nodded seriously and gestured for Spock to keep reading.
Level II secure door allowed exit; Level III secure door did not. Ventilation subsystem 43F rerouted. Security breach suspected; unproven. Admiral Kabwegyere collapsed 16:58, post successful attempt to rewire Level III secure door from ventilation subsystem 43F electronics chamber. Effectively saved lives of Lt. Cmndr. Chapel and Ensign Hiaasen. Lt. Cmndr. Chapel and Ensign Hiaasen were treated at secure location, released without permanent damage. Admiral Kabwegyere pronounced dead at 0:13, 2221.10.27 at secure location. Body released to family at 8:00, 2221.10.27.
"It was murder," said Spock. "Unequivocally, it was murder."
"Yes," said Kirk, eyes hard. "As so many incidents have been. Spock, there's a connection here. Do you see it?"
"Yes, Ms. Chapel, and—who was the other head of the Rihanh Project—?"
"I did a simple search on her." Kirk leaned across the table. "Spock, Lidiya Gavrikov is Pavel Chekov's mother."
Spock said nothing.
"There's more," said Kirk, and Spock felt the excitement in his voice. "My mom, she served on the USS Khural, which Kabwegyere served on before her—it was the flagship for the Rihanh Project. And so did Pike, right before my mother. My father died destroying the Romulan outpost on Calder II. Calder II, which became a Romulan colony even after the destruction of the Kelvin, because the Federation couldn't keep their forces strong in that area, because of the Rihanh. The Rihanh used the planet as a base. Spock, they used it as a base. And—there's so much more—"
Kirk shuffled through the transparencies. "There are rumors that three women with the last name 'Dawes' were spies that managed to infiltrate the Rihanh. Bones has always talked about how his grandmothers were in Starfleet, but nobody knew in what capacity, and he found a picture of one of them as a very convincing Romulan once—and their last name is Dawes, and they match the descriptions I've found—one blonde, one brunette, one redhead, etcetera. And of course, your father rescued Nero from the rubble on Calder II, and that's where something really interesting happens."
Kirk found another transparency and shoved it at Spock. It was a press clipping, translated from Romulan and dated about four years previously.
"Nero's adoptive parents were killed—quite horribly—when Nero was fourteen, and he moved to Earth soon after," said Kirk. "He was suspected of murdering them—but cleared. And look, they were famously anti-Rihanh, but his tutor, when he was young, was a woman who was his friend Ayel's mother, and she, although Nero's adoptive family didn't know it, was a passionate former Rihanh who had formally rejected the movement just months before going to work as a tutor. And Nero's betrothed, Mandana, comes from Rihanh royalty—she's Nero's third cousin, actually; his parents Naeus and Aemilia were Rihanh leaders as well."
"The Rihanh disbanded four years ago," said Spock.
"Yes," said Kirk. "When Ezar started negotiations with the Federation. At the same time that Nero came to Earth."
"James, what are you suggesting? Nero cannot be leading an—an undercover operation for the Rihanh, which have, as you have said, disbanded. He is eighteen."
"Listen," said Kirk. "Your father. He's famous, right?"
"Yes…"
"And Nero really wants to kill you."
"Yes, he has proven that."
"Now, what is your father famous for?"
Spock blinked.
"My father is famous for convincing Ezar to begin negotiations with the Federation," said Spock slowly.
"You see, don't you?" said Kirk, drawing back with something like triumph on his face. "This is why Nero hates you so much. First, you're Vulcan, and Romulans hate Vulcans. Then, since my father is dead, he holds you very responsible for the death of his parents—"
"That is completely illogical."
"Do you think that Nero is at all logical? Then your father places him into an anti-Rihanh household that try brainwash him against his ancestors, and he has to be rescued by an active Rihanh agent. So then he probably kills his adoptive parents, or has them killed, and comes to Earth, for the Rihanh—because it's his legacy; he has to continue the work of his parents—I mean, you know how crazy Romulans are about heritage and birthright and tradition—and finds you, and doesn't even hesitate in trying to kill you, since he's already killed his own parents."
"What fact makes you think that he killed them?"
Kirk hesitated before speaking.
"He—well, he's proven that he's willing to kill. He killed your mother."
Spock had no reply.
"And then, just, you know, to break the camel's back, you go and bust his fiancée for trying to cheat at UIL. It's like poking a mad dog for the last time and it finally breaks its chain. Now, the thing is—" Kirk started muttering and shuffling around papers again. "Am I right about the Rihanh connection? His contact with his tutor, Ayel's mother—her name was Aetal—implies it, but he could just be out for revenge on you. We can't be sure."
"How is it that the hovercar club is so interconnected with the anti-Rihanh program?" said Spock. "Six—seven, if one includes Mr. Pike—of the members have some connection…"
"Just Hikaru and Scotty don't…" said Kirk, scratching his chin. "It is highly improbable that all of us would."
"But perfect for Nero, if he would like to take as much revenge as possible," said Spock. He tugged at his ear. "I am also skeptical about the Rihanh connection."
"We need proof," said Kirk. "How could we get proof?"
Spock closed his eyes and thought.
There was a web here that he could see the edges of. The Rihanh. A nationalist Romulan movement. What, exactly, were their goals? Romulans were nationalist without the help of a splinter group. He didn't know enough about them.
"We need to go to a library," said Spock. "Ideally, the Federation Archives. We can learn about what the Rihanh seem to be from prevalent sources, but classified material can only be accessed through the Archives, and that material will tell us what the Rihanh are."
"Okay," said Kirk. "Let's go." He started shoving transparencies into his bag.
"Wait," said Spock, glaring at him. "It is six thirty. The Archives do not open until eight, and I need to wash and dress myself."
Kirk huffed. "Fine. Go get dressed. I'll…" He stared around. "I'll make us breakfast."
Spock raised his eyebrow.
"Shoo," said Kirk, flapping his arms at Spock. "While you're getting ready, think about this, will you?"
"Of course," said Spock, as if he were reassuring an overexcited puppy. "And please, be careful."
"Don't worry, I won't burn the house down," said Kirk, already in the kitchen.
Spock flinched, but Kirk didn't notice his mistake until Spock had been gone for a few minutes. In the middle of cracking eggs, he paused for a facepalm.
Kirk had been thinking about nothing but the conspiracy he suspected he had just uncovered for the past twelve hours. But as he methodically made scrambled eggs, toasted bread, and found silverware, his mind urged him away from his previous line of thinking. He was in Spock's apartment. He put the butter down and looked around.
The apartment was beautiful, and very expensive. Kirk could tell that everything about the place must have cost massive amounts of money. Every metal fixture was elaborately carved or styled silver, and all of the wood was real mahogany. The color of the place was red and steel-gray and a cloudy blue, and as Kirk peeked down the main hallway, he noticed that each door had a different foreign word carved into its polished front. Undoubtedly the calligraphy was Vulcan, and each word must have had a meaning, but he couldn't for the life of him discern it.
He was gazing at an engraving on a door halfway down the hallway when the door he was gazing at was whipped open. Kirk would have shrieked and windmilled backwards, but the sight that replaced it made all of his muscles go taut and still.
Spock, holding a white towel around his waist, stared at Kirk, who stared right back at him.
"Hello," said Spock slowly. He didn't look uncomfortable at all, to be standing there in the coldish air… dripping. Little droplets of water. Running down his sternum. Glistening on his collarbone. His hair, slightly curly, very damp. His hand, flexed tightly around his towel. The appallingly attractive tilt of his hipbones. And the clear beads on his eyelashes, attracting light to his dark as night eyes.
Oh God, thought Kirk.
Spock leaned forward, looking concerned. "James. Did I scare you?"
Kirk nodded.
"I am very sorry. I did not expect to find you here. I shall depart for my room now." Very carefully, he pushed Kirk aside and slipped by him. Kirk closed his eyes as Spock passed. The warm, damp shower-heat of him was actually painful.
The soft pad of feet, and then the light snick of a closing door. Kirk opened his eyes. The bathroom's steam emptied into his face. He made a sort of sighing, needy noise, and then slapped his hand over his mouth, hoping Spock hadn't heard it.
Spock hadn't. He was currently freaking out because he had just realized that he had left his glasses in the bathroom, and because he was worried about Kirk's reaction. He stared at himself critically in the mirror for an entire ten seconds, which he very rarely did. He was flushed slightly green with the heat, and his chest seemed sunken. He frowned and poked at his skinny ribs, then realized how illogical he was being and dropped his towel to get dressed.
Kirk snuck back into the kitchen guiltily and finished making breakfast. When Spock emerged from his room ten minutes later, Kirk was had just found the jam and was jubilant.
"Why the hell do you keep your jam in the back of the cabinet?" Kirk asked as he brought the jars over to the table. "And do you have anything other than kwyochik and strawberry?"
"There is some elgontir on the second shelf of the pantry," said Spock, sitting down at the table. He was dressed immaculately in a white collared shirt and charcoal gray slacks. He had draped a coat over the back of his chair and rescued his glasses. Kirk, who was wearing khakis and a niceish shirt (emphasis on the –ish), felt underdressed.
"I hate elgontir," said Kirk. "What do you want?"
"I am content with strawberry," said Spock, reaching for the jar. "Thank you for preparing this meal, James."
"You're welcome," said Kirk, settling down and scooping kwyochik jam onto his toast. "Sorry about earlier. I was just looking at the calligraphy on each of the doors."
"It is beautiful," Spock acknowledged, spearing a piece of toast on his fork.
"What do they mean?"
"They say various things. Rani ra moi rena ro itisha—I am in good health—is carved into the door you were inspecting. And the phrase on my bedroom door is Semara, which means, 'Fascinating.'"
Kirk laughed, but Spock gave him a dark look and he stopped quickly. "I'm sorry, it's just—really? That's what's on your door? How come?"
"It is not a direct translation," said Spock irritably. "It means something closer to 'entrancing' or 'captivating,' but it implies that it is a system of thought that has caught your attention. There is an idiom that comes from it, Semara ra itch'ia nahp'du masu, or—roughly translated—'Fascinated by exigent thoughts of water.' The phrase has dual meanings, of course."
Kirk frowned. "I don't understand. How does it have dual meanings?"
"On Vulcan, water itself is crucial, and thus, one's thoughts about it are significant as well. But as I have said, since semara refers to an idea rather than an object, the water becomes a metaphor. Like I have said, it is an idiom."
They finished eating by seven fifteen and put the dishes away together, careful to avoid each other in the small space. Kirk wanted nothing more than to see Spock like that again, and Spock wanted to know that Kirk's expression had been one of want rather than shock. Instead, they left the apartment, Spock carefully locking the door behind him. They made their way to Kirk's motorcycle, which was parked illegally next to Spock's Volvo.
"I gotta take my bike," said Kirk, swinging his leg over the seat. "You can come with, if you'd like."
He didn't expect Spock to nod, almost eagerly, in acceptance, and move towards his motorcycle.
"Woah, wait. Really?"
"Yes," said Spock, confused. "It is the most convenient. If you must bring your vehicle, I shall come with you, and then utilize public transportation to return to the Embassy."
Kirk was taken aback. "But this is a motorcycle. It has really weak safety fields. And you need a helmet before the automatic guardian will let you on."
"I shall go replicate one," said Spock, and walked off. He came back a minute later bearing a sleek black helmet that he lost no time in buckling under his chin.
"Have you ridden a motorcycle before?" said Kirk.
"No," said Spock. His voice was muffled under the visor, which he then flipped up. "Since you are capable of captaining a motorcycle, I thought that merely being a passenger in one would be simple."
Kirk sneered. "Swing your leg over and get comfortable," he said. "You can wrap your arm around me, if you like, or hold onto the strap." He gestured behind him. "Come on, the Archives are opening in fifteen minutes."
Spock, well aware that his hormones were making him do illogical, unsafe things but not particularly resenting them for it, mounted the bike awkwardly. The tilt of the seat slid him right into Kirk's back.
Kirk took a slightly shuddering breath. Spock was completely unwilling to put his hands in between them to grasp the strap, so he wrapped his arms around Kirk instead—but very loosely.
"You set?" said Kirk, attempting to sound normal.
"Affirmative," said Spock, doing the same.
Kirk shoved up the kickstand and accelerated off.
The next ten minutes were, Spock thought, some of the best of his life, but also some of the scariest. Kirk was not exactly a passive driver. In fact, Spock was half tempted to beat him over the head with the closest solid object he could find in order to stop Kirk from ever inflicting his driving on the innocent world again. This was ignoring how close Spock had to lean to Kirk in order not to fall off, or feel like he was going to fall off, as they toppled down hills and barreled around corners.
They reached the Archives five minutes before the great steel doors were opened to the public. The Archives were housed in a building constructed like the Pantheon: Kirk and Spock had to walk through a short peristyle before reaching the doors, and inside, the view was magnificent. A single oculus, hundreds of feet above, cast a single circle of sunlight onto the floor. Vast computer banks equipped with virtual reality exploratory equipment (VREEs) lined the walls and spread in circles across the tiled floor.
Spock headed immediately for the Starfleet section, Kirk following him. He submitted his information and stepped into the virtual space.
Millions, if not billions, of files were accessible, and visible, within the electronic sight granted to him in the virtual space, represented as floating titles with dates attached. He moved along the files, using the search tool to figure out what he wanted. He selected about ten files to view outside the virtual space (the VREE was not built to display the actual documents, but merely to act as a search engine) and stepped out of the machine. Kirk was still in his VREE alcove, presumably doing his own search.
On his way to the collection desk, where a PADD with the files he had requested would be issued to him, he spotted someone familiar—a woman with black hair. He glanced at her, away, and then at her again, but when he looked back the second time, she was gone. Frowning, he switched routes, diving into an alley between banks of VREEs.
He had not gone more than ten feet before he felt something cold press against his neck, and heard soft voice say, "Move one muscle and you're dead."
x