Huge thanks to my amazing alpha/beta Insanity-Red for all the help.

"Captain's log, Stardate 2261.8. Still no trace of the cadets who simply . . . disappeared during their exam. The Enterprise and several other ships continue to comb through nearly every inch of space in the vicinity of their last known location—and beyond. But so far there's nothing."

Jim let out a sigh and buried his face in his hands, elbows propped up on his knees. The chronometer showed that it was only 0326 hours, and he was supposed to be sleeping. But after hours of tossing and turning, all manner of thoughts running through his head like wild horses, and every minute lasting an eternity, he had simply given up.

The vial of Potion for Dreamless Sleep that Hermione had given him some time ago sat invitingly on his bedside table, offering the brief oblivion of sleep. He hadn't needed it in a long while, but in recent weeks, it seemed to be the only way he could get any meaningful rest. Not tonight, though—he'd already taken it three times in the past week, and couldn't anymore. He'd made Hermione a promise to be responsible with the potion, and he sure as hell wouldn't break it.

"I might be a little biased," he continued, looking out the viewport in his quarters, "but I believe I have the best crew in the Fleet. It especially shows in times like this, when someone needs assistance. No matter how badly they wanted their shore leave, every single member of my crew opted to stay on board and join in the effort to find the missing cadets."

He paused for a heartbeat, and added quietly, "To find our friends."

He stood and walked towards the bookshelf positioned against the far wall. It was half filled with an assortment of books, most of which were a present from Hermione. His hand, as if of its own accord, moved towards the three-volume hardcover edition of War and Peace circa 1998 that Hermione had given him on the day the Enterprise departed for her shakedown cruise. At the time, looking at the package, he'd thought it was merely a single book, but magic, as he was still learning, was a wondrous thing that often made things seem not what they really were. Inside the first book, there was a paper note, written in her careful handwriting:

Dear James,

As you begin a new chapter in your life, I'd like to share with you the books that have become significant for both of us, and my all-time favourite quote: "As long as there is life, there is happiness."

Be happy and be safe.

Love,

Hermione

The first time Jim had read the note, his heart skipped a beat. He'd read the last two words over and over, almost obsessively, telling himself not to read too much into it. But hope could be a powerful—and dangerous—thing, especially when he knew the continuation of the quote mentioned in the note: "There is a great deal, a great deal before us."

A promise? Maybe. Maybe not.

Jim let out a breath and placed the book back on the shelf.

The other half of the shelf was occupied by photos: of his brother Sam and his wife Aurelan, holding their newborn baby Peter; of his mother in the Valiant's arboretum, surrounded by her plants and, for the first time in a very long time, sporting a genuinely happy smile.

Of him and Bones at the end of their first year at the Academy: he had a goofy smile and an arm over Bones' shoulder, and Bones, his arms crossed, looked grumpy and annoyed. Bones wasn't exactly a fan of having his picture taken, but Jim had somehow managed to talk him into posing for a few during their years at the Academy, claiming that it was important—if not for himself, then for Joanna. Little sweetheart Jojo, who called him Uncle Jim and occasionally sent him her drawings that had always ended up in frames and adorned his walls.

Jim's eyes drifted to a photo of himself and Hermione on his desk positioned just below the bookshelf. This particular picture had been so thoughtfully snapped by Uhura on the day he had received his captaincy. He had his arm on one of her shoulders, and they were laughing at a joke he'd made. He no longer remembered the joke, but the look on Hermione's face, the sparkle in her eyes as she laughed, the way her right hand came up to rest on his chest—all of that was now forever captured in this photo, all thanks to Uhura.

It was truly amazing how much of her was in his quarters (in the several other photos, in the books, in the enchanted projector that showed him a surprisingly accurate night sky as it was seen from beside their skeetia tree on the Academy grounds), despite her never having set foot here. Despite her being . . . absent.

Absence makes the heart grow fonder.

Jim had undoubtedly learned the truth of that statement over the past three years. It was difficult—torturous even—to be so far away from her, despite the frequent messages that they exchanged and the shore leaves that he chose to spend on Earth, close to her. She lurked in his dreams and wandered into his thoughts when he allowed his mind to idle. It was nearly impossible to avoid thinking about her for any substantial length of time.

So he resolved to have her on the Enterprise after her graduation (he knew that with her grades, that wouldn't be a problem) and kept himself busy. Time went faster that way.

It wasn't as though he didn't like his job. Just the opposite. Captain of a starship—the flagship, no less—was the best job in the galaxy, as far as Jim was concerned. But it could get lonely. Because there was always that . . . distance between him and the crew. It was the nature of Command.

He sighed and picked up the photo and ran his fingers over it, tracing Hermione's face, imagining what it would feel like to touch it, to caress it, to claim it as his own.

If she joins the Enterprise, she'll be one of my crew, he thought absently.

He shook his head. No, that wouldn't be a problem. Starfleet Regulations frowned upon fraternization between officers and their superiors, but didn't strictly forbid it. Robert and Sarah April's relationship was proof of that.

And besides that, he had to find her first.

"And we will find you," he said out loud to the picture in his hands. "I promise I'll find you."

Then, remembering that the computer was still recording his words, he commanded, "Computer, end log entry and delete the last two sentences."

"Last two sentences deleted," confirmed an automated voice. "Entry saved."

"I'm losing my mind," he muttered under his breath, running a hand through his hair.

I need a haircut, he thought absently.

But more than that, he needed to sleep.

He needed to find her.

He wanted to scream.

Instead, he stood and headed for the shower.

Before leaving his quarters, as was his habit, he checked his computer console for any personal messages. These types of messages were usually from Hermione, but with her missing . . .

He clicked on the last message he'd received from her. It was the prerecorded one he'd gotten on his birthday. The timestamp showed that she'd recorded it shortly before heading off to Starbase 5 for her exam.

"Hello, James!" she began cheerfully into the camera.

A wide smile brightened her face, and rays of sunshine gilded her curls. Jim felt the familiar lurch in his stomach, as it happened every time he heard her voice.

"Happy birthday! I know that you're supposed to be on Earth today and this message might be completely unnecessary since I should be able to congratulate you in person, but given the unpredictable nature of your job—not to mention life in general . . . Well, I just wanted to make sure that I get to wish you a happy birthday. I know how you feel about today, and I know you don't care about it. But it's special to me, and so are you."

She paused for a moment, biting her lip.

"And I'm not the only one who thinks so." She moved her PADD so that he could see the tree behind her. Their tree. She'd recorded the message at the Memorial Garden.

"Our baby agrees with me." She rolled her eyes and laughed, tucking a wayward strand of hair behind her ear. "Anyway, I wish you all the best. I . . ."

She tilted her head slightly, a small smile playing on her lips. "I miss you . . . And I'll see you soon. Be safe."

The screen went black, and Jim leaned forward to turn off his computer. He blinked twice, surprised to feel his lashes wet.

This message wasn't the only thing he'd received from her for his birthday. She'd made arrangements for a package to be delivered to him in case they didn't get to see each other. The package that an ensign had delivered to him when they'd docked temporarily at Starbase 5 for a debriefing. The package that now sat on the corner of his desk, still wrapped. He couldn't bring himself to open it. Not until he found her and knew she was safe.

The Bridge was surprisingly busy for the gamma shift. Apparently, Jim wasn't the only one who couldn't sleep. Spock was there. And so was Uhura, one hand on the receiver in her ear as she listened to the ether in hopes of picking up something—anything—that might help them find their friends. Scotty sat at the Engineering console, red-eyed and exhausted, muttering something under his breath and barely noticing anything around him.

"Good morning, everyone!" said Jim, forcing out a smile.

The Bridge crew muttered 'good morning' back as he made his way towards Spock who stood over the science terminal, hands clasped behind his back, as he gave directions to Lieutenant Afovia.

"Captain," said Spock in the way of greeting.

"Status update, Mr. Spock?"

"We are currently scanning grid 183," his First Officer replied, throwing a glance at the main viewer. "All systems nominal. The Apollo and Banting have completed scans of grids 210 through 277."

"Any word from Sickbay about our patient? Has he woken up yet?"

"Negative. Mr. Hoss' condition is unchanged."

Jim slowly nodded, feeling a crease appear on his forehead. The Engineering console let out two long beeps, prompting Scotty to slam his hand down.

"Oh, you piece of . . . !" he exclaimed.

Jim walked over to the Engineering console and put a hand on Scotty's shoulder.

"Mr. Scott, when was the last time you slept?"

"I dunno," Scotty replied, his hands flying over the keys, his attention barely on Jim. "I don't remember."

"Go to your quarters and get some sleep."

"All due respect, sir, but I cannae!" protested Scotty. "I've got to finish recalibrating these long-range sensors. I'm so close!"

As far as Jim knew, Scotty had been at this for days. He'd recalibrated the short-range sensors to pick up on any active use of magic from Harry and Hermione quickly enough, but long-range sensors were giving him trouble. Scotty was very vocal in his frustration, talking to the equipment and once even comparing his task with trying to get a pony to do ballet.

"You can do that after," suggested Jim.

"Sir, our friends are missing. They could be dying somewhere for all we know! And you want me to take a nap?"

Jim swallowed the lump in his throat.

"Believe me, Scotty, I want to find them just as much as you do," he said. "But you gotta take care of yourself, too. They'd want you to do that."

And Jim couldn't have his crew members collapsing from exhaustion.

"Perhaps you will be more comfortable 'taking a nap' if a qualified replacement would take up your task, Mr. Scott?" asked Spock as soon as Chekov entered the Bridge.

"I can do zat," said Chekov with a nod. "You rest, Mr. Scott."

Scotty's gaze flickered between Jim, Spock, and Chekov.

"Ach, alright then!" he agreed, tiredly rubbing at his red eyes before rising to his feet and offering his seat to Chekov. "But I'll be back in a couple of hours."

"Six," Jim countered firmly.

"With respect, sir—"

"Don't make me involve Dr. McCoy and have him give you a lecture on the importance of sleep, along with a couple of hyposprays."

"Who needs a hypospray?" asked Bones, entering the Bridge.

"Not me," said Scotty hurriedly as he headed for the turbolift. "Wake me if there's something . . ."

The doors barely closed behind Scotty, when Jim turned his questioning gaze to Bones. "Did he wake up?"

Bones crossed his arms. "Why, good morning to you, too."

"Bones."

"Aren't we touchy today?" said Bones grouchily, shaking his head once.

Jim waited for him to continue, but Bones decided to take his time analyzing him instead. His mouth twisted in disapproval as his eyes fell upon Jim's scraped knuckles—the result of beating the crap outta a punching bag at the gym.

It was clear to Jim exactly what Bones thought of it all and what he wanted to say to him: 'You look like shit.'

Jim knew that already, but he moved his hands behind his back anyway (in a very Spock-like manner), and cleared his throat.

"He's still out," Bones said finally. "Fun fact about Bolians: they talk in their sleep."

"So do humans," said Jim dismissively.

"Not when they're passed out due to injuries, they don't."

This got Jim thinking.

"So he's been talking while unconscious?" he said, frowning at how crazy that sounded. "What did he say?"

"Somethin' that sounded like 'magnum' or 'nagging.' I can't be sure. Oh, and also somethin' about ejecting the core and abandoning the ship."

"Relieving a memory?" suggested Jim. "That would explain why we found him in an escape pod."

"I must remind you, captain," said Spock, "that none of the ships currently involved in the search and rescue have detected any signs of radiation consistent with a warp core breach."

Jim nodded and ran a hand through his hair, questions running through his head.

If the warp core hadn't breached, then what had prompted the Bolian to flee the ship?

The pod had been substantially damaged when they found it. It was a miracle Raix was even alive. But if not a breach, then what could have caused such damage?

The Enterprise and other search vessels hadn't picked up on any plasma emissions, nor EM displacements in the area. Nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing to even indicate the cadetship had ever been there—apart from a portable emergency distress beacon and an escape pod. It was like they simply vanished.

But ships didn't do that.

So where were the cadets?

"Where are you, Mia?" Jim whispered.

"She is alive."

Jim nearly jumped, startled to see Spock standing right beside him. Bones was nowhere in sight.

"Dr. McCoy went back to medical," said Spock, picking up on Jim's searching gaze.

"I—uh—thanks."

They stood in silence, staring at the readouts displayed on the viewscreen.

"Of course she's alive," Jim said after a while. "Until we have any proof to the contrary, I refuse to even consider the possibility that . . . that . . ."

He couldn't even bring himself to say it—not aloud, not otherwise. She had to be alive. Had to.

"But I do have proof that she is alive."

Jim turned to face him fully. "Elaborate."

"It has to do with one of the consequences of the abilities that my people have," Spock explained. "When we focus on a specific person during our meditations, we are able to feel them."

A memory resurfaced in his brain: a conversation he had with Spock the elder in San Francisco Botanical Gardens nearly three years ago. The older Spock had said that one of the effects of his people's ability to mind-meld was a permanent connection between the mind of the Vulcan initiating the meld and that of the subject. That when said Vulcan focused on said subject, they'd be able to feel this specific person.

"Wait a minute," he said, narrowing his eyes at Spock, "are you telling me you mind-melded with Mia?"

The mental image of Spock arranging his fingers a certain way on her face and the intimate nature of the meld seared something inside Jim. An emotion, ugly and unwelcome, began tugging at his heart.

"It was not intentional," replied Spock, "but yes, I have."

Unintentional? thought Jim, confused. How's that even possible?

And then reminded himself, With magical people, anything is possible.

"And now you can feel her?" he asked, doing his best to squash the unwanted emotions.

"Not at the moment."

Jim rolled his eyes at Spock. "No, not at this very moment. But when you focus on her?"

"Affirmative. Although I must specify that in the past two weeks, no matter how hard I focused, I was only able to feel her presence intermittently."

"Why do you think that is?"

"Unclear, captain."

"Captain," interjected Uhura, slightly turning in her seat to face him, "incoming transmission from Admiral Pike, sir."

Jim nodded. "Put it through to my ready room, please."

"Right away, sir."

"Thank you, lieutenant."

In his ready room, Jim rubbed his palms together, surprised to find them sweaty, and accepted the transmission.

"Admiral Pike," he greeted.

Even though it had only been a few days since he'd last spoken to him, Jim noted that the admiral looked different somehow—the worry lines on his forehead had increased, and the shadows under his eyes had become darker.

"Captain Kirk," said Pike with a slight nod and a barely noticeable smile. "What's your status?"

"The situation is unchanged. We're still searching for the cadets."

Pike nodded once and began typing something on his computer terminal. "You need to start searching elsewhere."

"What do you mean, sir?"

Pike finished typing, and a few moments later, Jim's monitor lit up with an incoming message.

"Deep space telemetry lab in Sector 218 picked up a warp trail ten days ago," said Pike. "It matches the one of the missing cadetship."

Jim leaned forward in his seat as he analyzed the data Pike sent him. The coordinates of the warp trail weren't far from the Agaron Nebula.

"Ten days ago?" he asked evenly.

He felt his hands clench into fists almost of their own accord. Taking a slow breath, he made a conscious effort to relax them.

"Why didn't we get this information sooner?"

"Nearby subspace relay went offline, leaving the entire sector in the dark."

"Again? We just fixed that relay, not a month ago."

The relay had been hit by an ion storm and gotten severely damaged. But the Enterprise had left it as good as new.

"Another ion storm?"

Pike shook his head. "I dispatched the Bradbury to conduct repairs and investigate. They found evidence of sabotage."

Jim frowned. Why would someone sabotage a subspace relay? Unless . . . Unless someone wanted to silence that sector. But why? What was so special about it?

But the bigger question, one that worried Jim most at the moment, was—

"How did the cadets supposedly end up halfway across the quadrant from their last known location?"

Pike let out a heavy sigh. "I wish I knew."

He picked up a glass of water and took a sip.

"I'd like you to go and check it out. See if you can find anything that could help us solve this puzzle—and, hopefully, get our missing cadets back." Pike put the glass back down. "The Hiawatha and Archimedes will rendezvous with you at the coordinates and assist you in your efforts. Captain Mayweather of the Lexington will take point on the search in your current sector."

"The Lexington? Last I heard, the ship wasn't entirely ready. Is it wise to take her out?"

Surely, there were other ships currently involved in the search and rescue that could take up the task?

"Mayweather and Admiral Marcus decided that she's 'ready enough.' She won't have fully operational weapons, but other than that, she's good to go. Mayweather thinks they'll be fine. It's a safe sector."

Jim wanted to scoff but caught himself.

"That's what those cadets who are now missing thought, too," he pointed out evenly.

Pike nodded slowly, and a heavy silence settled in the room, briefly.

"How's the cadet in your sickbay, by the way?"

"He hasn't woken up yet," replied Jim. "Given his injuries, Dr. McCoy thought it prudent to let Mr. Hoss wake up on his own."

Pike nodded. "Those are quite the injuries. I read your doctor's report. One specific injury interests me. Strangulation? Is McCoy sure about that?"

"I have no reason to doubt his competency," replied Jim, feeling slightly defensive on his friend's behalf.

"I didn't say that you should," said Pike. "McCoy is one of the best. It's just a very distinct sort of injury."

No kidding, thought Jim, suppressing his fear at the idea of Mia and Harry's crew being deliberately assaulted—it was that much worse than the idea of them simply facing an accident. And now with this new information . . . Jim didn't even know what to think.

Was magic somehow responsible? Jim was no expert in that field, but he was pretty sure their friends couldn't transport themselves—and their ship—that far.

And even if magic was responsible for the cadetship's sudden appearance in another sector, it still didn't explain all the rest in the long list of oddities they were confronted with.

"One more thing," said Pike. "You mentioned that Mr. Scott found a way to recalibrate short-range sensors to search for magical signatures and was working on doing the same to the long-range scans?"

"Yes, sir."

"How's that coming along?"

"He says he's close."

"Good to hear. The Lexington should be arriving at your location in a couple of hours. It would be useful to have Mr. Scott recalibrate her sensors as well."

"Does Mayweather know about . . . you know?"

Pike nodded. "Admiral Marcus briefed her on Harry's and Hermione's abilities. She already wanted them as part of her crew after their graduation. Now she wants them even more." He chuckled. "You have competition, James."

Jim smiled wryly. We'll see about that.

"We'll make sure the Lexington's sensors are recalibrated before we leave, sir," said Jim.

He'd have to send Chekov to do it, as he didn't want to wake Scotty just yet—not when there was someone who could complete the task just as well.

And who knows, maybe by then Chekov would find a way to recalibrate the long-range sensors as well? One could hope.

"And I also have a request, sir—" began Jim.

"I'll notify you right away if someone else finds them first," Pike said as if reading Jim's mind.

Something in his gaze softened and hardened at the same time as he leaned forward.

"And we will find them, son," he said. "We won't rest until we do."