Jim reared back at the brief flash of light as Kyw disappeared. He cursed, spinning around as Hendorff made a confused noise. Giotto was already snapping orders into his communicator.
"Shit. Spock where'd it go?"
Spock's eyebrow tried to reach the ceiling.
"I do not know, captain. Considering this Kyw made no overt movements or references to its future plans, I cannot extrapolate its future destination."
Smug bastard.
Running a frustrated hand through his hair, Jim holstered his phaser, all the while resisting the impulse to just run blindly through the ship until he found Kyw. He wasn't comfortable in the least with a powerful, unknown being running freely around his ship, around his crew.
Before he could work himself up too much, his communicator signalled. He flipped the lid open with a click.
"Kirk here. What is it?" He snapped.
Sulu's hesitant voice rang through from the other end.
/It's Sulu, captain. I think you should come up to the bridge, sir. There's something…you might want to see./
He sounded unnerved, which sent Jim's brain straight to Red Alert – Sulu was never unnerved. He needed to get up on the bridge.
"Got it. Be there in a second. Kirk out." He stashed the communicator and signalled to his men.
"We need to be up on the bridge five minutes ago. Stay on high alert, let's go."
By the time the turbolift stopped at the bridge, Jim's nerves were wound tighter than a bow string. He fidgeted, phaser in his hand. He had an idea of what was happening on the bridge – Kyw wouldn't just jump ship because of a few stun-setting blasters. Probably not even for full power phasers. Jim had an uncomfortable feeling Kyw would throw the ship into disarray faster than he could catch it.
A calm hand settled on his shoulder, and he looked back at his First Officer, who quickly retrieved his hand. Sure, Jim often clapped Spock on the shoulder for the slightest positive news, but Spock rarely returned physical contact in any situations but when he felt Jim needed some form of human comfort. As Bones wasn't available, his brief touch would have to do.
And it did do; Jim felt a little lighter, and shot a tight smile at his friend.
"It'll be fine." He said. Jim thought he could see Spock biting back a comment on the futile delusions of optimism, but both men refrained from commenting further.
The turbolift doors slid open with a soft hiss, and Jim made to rush forward, only to be brought to an abrupt stop barely a few steps out.
The first thing he registered were the number of officers with their phasers pointed at the captain's chair. The second thing was the head of dark hair poking out of the top of the chair back, over a yellow command shirt. The chair swung around to face Jim.
Jim felt his heart drop to his feet. He could only stare, breath coming hard and fast as pure noise roared in his ear. His chest beat with the painful thud of a heart in agony. All he could do was focus on the figure before him.
"You-" He choked out.
"At ease, Jim." Christopher Pike said easily. There he sat, leaning casually on one of the chair arms, legs spread in an easy stance of command, his stern face relaxed as he looked steadily on at Jim.
He couldn't move. Jim's body was in shock as he stared at his very much alive, very much real mentor. What-
He felt Spock move up behind him; even in such situations, he kept some awareness around him.
"Jim." Spock said quietly in his ear. "That is not Admiral Pike."
Then Christopher Pike grinned with too many teeth.
Jim saw red. His hands shook as he stared at Kyw.
"How- how dare you-" He snarled. Kyw just looked at him innocently.
"I just thought to put you more at ease…captain."
With a yell, before Spock could react and snag his shirt, Jim threw himself at Kyw, blind in his rage, in his need to strangle that alien who had dared to resurrect the face of his mentor from where he'd laid him to rest.
Yet, instead of his hands tangling in a gold shirt, Jim landed face-first into the seat of the captain's chair. He remained still there for a moment, breathing hard and shaking with unsuppressed anger. His shoulders shook in pain – as quickly as Pike had come, he was once again gone (and it helped none that his brain knew Pike had never really come back; that first sentence of "at ease, Jim" had opened up that raw wound of loss that had only just healed).
He was brought out of his paralysis when Chekov's voice filtered out to him.
"Keptin, keptin, you vill haf to do better zhan zhat."
Jim turned to his navigator, and even before he saw him he knew it wasn't Chekov. Well, it was Chekov, but it wasn't Chekov. Jim saw Sulu stare at Chekov with wide eyes, edging away slightly.
"I will say this only once, Kyw. Keep. Away. From. My. Crew!"
Chekov rolled his eyes, body straightening in a rebellious manner Jim knew Chekov would never pull off in real life. He didn't know whether Kyw was impersonating Chekov, or whether it had taken over his body, but either way, Jim was just about ready to throw the creature out of the air-lock.
"Or vhat, keptin? Will you zhrow me out of airlock?" He asked in a mocking tone.
Jim stiffened; could it read his thoughts?
Suddenly there was a flurry of activity to his right, from the ops console. Kyw looked on with mild interest through Chekov's eyes as Rand raised her head.
"Captain, small, unidentified vessel port-side."
"Not now, lieutenant." Jim snapped, waving his hand dismissively, never taking his eyes off of Kyw. Chekov looked back at him and raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging on his lips.
"You should get zhat, keptin. It's probably important."
Suddenly, Chekov jolted and blinked his eyes in a disorientated manner. It was a second before he noticed the heavy scrutiny he was under.
"K-keptin?" He stuttered nervously. Jim gave him a small, tight smile.
"It's good to have you back, ensign." Kyw was gone, at least for now. Jim knew now he couldn't exactly do anything about it for the moment, not until it decided to show itself again. He turned to Rand.
"What was that about a vessel, lieutenant?" In the background he briefly registered Chekov muttering to Sulu "Vhere did I go?".
"Sir, the Enterprise is picking up a small, unidentifiable vessel. It seems to be drifting, sir."
"Captain, I'm picking up an automated distress signal too. From initial analysis, I'd say about five years old." Uhura called from her communications station.
Jim sighed and rubbed tired hands across his face – it had only been about an hour in total from when he'd been itching to do anything. Now, he just wanted to sit down and recover from the tailspin Kyw had put on the day. He also noticed only the fringes of Alpha shift had switched over; his core officers were dedicated as always – if Jim didn't finish up the shift, they wouldn't either.
He gingerly lowered himself into the captain's chair, dismissing Giotto and Hendorff, while Spock seated himself at the science- station.
"Uhura, open hailing frequencies."
"I've been trying, sir, hailing frequencies open on all channels, no response."
"Hmm, Spock, if the distress signal is five years old, what do you think the chances are there's anyone still alive in that thing?"
Spock considered this for a moment.
"I would approximate a survival rate of human passengers at 6.2%, considering the length of time elapsed and the shuttle's location far out from any starbase or civilisation advanced enough to offer aid. However, even if there are no survivors, Starfleet regulations insist the drifting vessel be turned over to the nearest Starbase if possible."
"Yeah, Spock, thanks for that; I wasn't actually going to just waltz right on by anyway." Jim grunted.
Although he couldn't see him, he could practically hear Spock's eyebrow rising at his tone.
"I was only trying to-"
"Yeah well don't okay? Just- don't." He was tired. Yes, Jim was focussed on the situation, but Pike's face still hovered on the fringes of his consciousness, fraying his patience.
He punched in communication to engineering.
/Scott 'ere./
"Scotty, we have a suspected flotsam vessel at-" He glanced over to the helm.
"Bearing 044 – mark – 30." Sulu called over.
"-bearing 044 – mark – 30. Lock the tractor beam onto it and pull it into shuttlebay 3. We're unsure if there're any survivors, so try not to turn it into a carousel down there."
/Sair, have ye' met me? I'll have 'er in smooth as a lassie's leg on 'er weddin' night./
"You just…do that, Scotty. I'll be at the bay in a few moments. Kirk out." He shut off engineering before switching the comm. channel to medical.
"Kirk to McCoy."
/Chapel here, Captain. Can I help you?/ Came a slightly frosty voice.
"Nurse, is Bones around?" Jim asked, somewhat flatly. He was still slightly uncomfortable around the woman. After their…situation, and having forgotten about her of all things, he'd felt vaguely guilty (and scared of what Carol might do if he came within a ten-foot radius of the woman). He tried to avoid interacting with her when possible.
/He's just about to leave. To sleep. Which he hasn't done in a while./ She informed him pointedly.
Yes, okay, so Jim's been called thick-headed by most of the people in his life on a regular basis, but even he could pick up on what she was trying to tell him, even if she hadn't liberally laced her response with thick disapproval. Before he could make a reply, he heard some kind of whisper-argument going on on the other side.
/Give 'im here.
No. Leonard, if you go one more shift without getting a proper night's rest, M'Benga and I will have to scrape you out of bed in the mornings. You're hardly fit for duty-
Give it 'ere, woman! I'm fit as a raven at a funeral if I'm still walkin' around on me own two feet, a'ight?
Leonard Horatio McCoy, don't you-
McCoy here. What's the damage, Jim?/
Obviously Bones had won that battle, but not the war from the hellfire he could hear Christine muttering in the background.
"Am I interrupting something?"
/A date with the dear lady My Bed, but nothing I can't handle. You found out who our stowaway is?/
"Ah, that. Long story; we've moved on. Can you meet me in shuttlebay 3? Or send a medical team?"
/Well, when it rains it pours. Yeah, I'll be there Jim. What am I bein' called in for? Scotty got his carrots and sprouts caught in a shuttle door again?/
Jim could hear him put together a medical kit as a spoke. He shuddered at the mental image Bones had provided.
"No. We're getting a damaged shuttle in, we can't tell if there're any survivors. The hull is made of some kind of scan-proof metal. I want a medical officer on standby just in case."
/Fine, Jim, on my way. McCoy out – oh, stop fussing Chris, I ain't gonna fall apart where I stand y'know-/
Jim chuckled as his medical crew bitched at each other. Shutting off the communications, he stood, wincing as he heard his knees click in protest. It was all that up-down-up-down he'd been doing that day. He shook his head despairingly; he was a young man! He'll probably end up having back problems at thirty!
"Mister Spock, you have the conn. Dr Marcus, if you'll accompany me to the shuttlebay." Carol nodded, leaving her station to Spock if needs be and joining Jim in the turbolift.
"Let's go see what the horta dragged in."