— Chapter Three —
— Vikayek —

There was a moment of relaxed silence when the red briefing room doors slid shut behind Hammett, Scott, and Uhura. A peaceful calm, almost meditative, settled over Spock, who had remained behind with his captain.

Here, now; these were the moments that threatened to find purchase through barriers with which he blocked his emotions. These small moments of camaraderie during a mission, where the air in the room was heavy, the only sound in the soft breaths of his very human commander. These moments were what he most looked forward to. If asked, he'd claim it was the scientific discoveries, or the curious features of new species of flora or fauna he discovered. But privately, quietly, these small fractions of time were his favorite. It was illogical, to prefer this gentle silence to the interest and fascination of discovery, but this was one illogical feeling he would allow himself to partake in. Shameful, perhaps, but he could not bring himself to deny himself this. It was, after all, only for a moment.

The captain's hand was warm on his shoulder still. Hazel eyes were soft as they met his own gaze. These small moments prepared him more to face the unknown than any thousands of briefings ever could. These moments reinforced his bone-deep determination to keep this one man—this one cosmically insignificant human—safe from all that would threaten him. Even if that threat was hims—

An insistent drumming broke the silence. Spock broke eye contact with the captain and glanced over at the other occupant of the room. Ah. Yes. The doctor.

Dr. McCoy, now sprawled back into his chair in a most improper and undignified manner, was watching them with pursed lips and an unimpressed expression. Thud-thud-thud-thud; his fingers drummed audibly on the table, and it was clear he was being purposely, pointedly loud. Spock sighed softly; he didn't understand why one would make such an overt visual display out of their disapproval. Even a Vulcan could see that the man was upset based only on facial expression alone; it was unnecessary to make it a group spectacle.

"Do you have something to say, Doctor?" He raised a brow at the man, returning his flat stare beat-for-beat. The captain pulled his hand away from Spock's shoulder and cleared his throat. Spock found the loss of it oddly undesirable.

"You bet your pointed ears I do. Since when am I staying behind?" Despite asking a question, McCoy did not give either of them a chance to answer it, only irrationally continuing to talk. "Someone's gonna have to patch your reckless fool hides up when it all goes to hell down there—you know it will, Jim, don't you try to play dumb—and who do you suppose is going to do that? That clown?" McCoy handwaved erratically towards the doors of the briefing room. Spock gathered, based on the derision in his voice and the context of the conversation, that he was referencing the ambassador. "That, I'd like to see."

"You're right, Bones… but that's why I need you up here. If things go wrong—no, let me finish—if things go wrong, I'm going to need you to be ready for whatever happens. I'm not going to jeopardize my CMO on some wild goose hunt down there. We don't know what we're getting into—and you're right, it is reckless, but that's what you're here for. I'm trusting that you and Scotty will beam our reckless fool hides back up if anything goes south on us."

The captain raised his hand and clapped it hard on McCoy's shoulder briefly. McCoy grunted at him but seemed to settle.

"Yeah, yeah, so long as there's enough to patch up. Don't you go falling into a volcano or something, Jim; that'd test even my skill."

Ignoring the idioms and metaphors being mixed around and inserted haphazardly, Spock was pleased to see the captain start to relax; he was smiling again. Not something obvious to one who did not know him well—it wasn't one of his wide, brash grins—but it was a softening to his face that made his eyes look alive. Dr. McCoy responded to it the same way most of the crew did. Like Spock always did, basking in the heat of that warm look and reflecting it right back. He looked markedly cheered, his outward display of displeasure an obvious façade; one of his rare positive fits of emotion.

Spock, upon noticing the outwardly good mood of the ship's surgeon, turned himself towards the doctor fully.

"You are incorrect, Dr. McCoy." He was rewarded when the doctor's lips thinned immediately, nostrils flaring. "None of our data supports evidence of current volcanic activity on Seskilles VII, but should the captain inexplicably fall into such a rupture in the crust of the planet, I do not think that even your potions and elixirs will be suitable to patch up anything. Magma often fluctuates at a temperature of anywhere between 700 to 1,300 degrees Celsius, while the human body is fully immolated at—"

"Spock, we get the picture, thank you," the captain said. He glanced between his two officers, mouth purposely tight to resist a smile. As close as Spock was to him, he could feel it in the space between the two of them regardless. "No evidence for them then? Well, I guess that's one concern I can cross off my list—although I didn't realize that was something I actually had to be concerned about. Sounds like a painful way to go; I'll be glad to avoid it."

"I assure you, Captain, that you would not have time to feel much; your pain receptors would boil off before you were to even hit the surface."

"Comforting."

McCoy glanced between the two of them and then snorted loudly.

"Uh-huh. Well, if you do decide to get yourself vaporized, Jim, give me a heads up, would you? I've only got a certain amount of burn cream, and I don't want to waste it on a lost cause. As for you," Dr. McCoy quirked his head towards Spock and squinted suspiciously. "…you should be fine. Your planet's about as a hot as anything I've ever seen. Pretty sure if you took a dip in a lava pool, you'd just consider it a day at the spa. If we're gonna talk about burning up alive, I swear I still feel that blazing sun of yours in my sleep."

A cold sensation washed over him and Spock paused, his posture stiffening into something rigid. The emotionless expression that he'd been too lax at maintaining hardened back up, smoothing over into one of indifference and apathy. This back-and-forth bantering between them no longer felt quite so engaging; he found he had no desire to further participate in it. He too dreamt of blazing heat when he slept, but it was not the heat of the sun that he remembered burning him. The fire had been inside. This was not an area he wanted the conversation to be directed towards, and he shut it down abruptly and without explanation.

"If you say so, Doctor." Spock stood, collecting his PADD. "Captain, if you'll excuse me…"

"Spock, hold on a moment. Bones, can you—?"

McCoy rolled his eyes but stood as well, loudly cracking his back as he did so. There was a muttered comment about getting too damn old for this, but what this was wasn't specified and Spock didn't care to speculate on it. The doors slid shut behind him, plunging the room back into silence. This time, however, it was not so serene. Still tense from the conversation, he stared at his PADD. The data on it did not display anything he had not already memorized to the last decimal, but he kept his gaze down on it all the same.

"Sir?"

"What are your thoughts on all this, Spock?"

Tilting his head in consideration, he finally glanced at the captain. Kirk was still sitting, looking more and more worn as the seconds ticked by. They hadn't had much opportunity to discuss the mission between themselves since the complications began, and although much seemed to be said between them in shared eye contact from across the bridge, it was a poor substitute for an actual conversation. That hollow, wrenching feeling that had opened in his stomach at the mention of Vulcan—and what had happened there—shrank slightly at his captain's obvious exhaustion.

"Specify."

"The mission, the landing party, all of it."

Spock leaned against the table edge. Kirk's leg brushed lightly against his knee. "My professional opinion is that we have our orders. Irrespective of any concerns, we have been overruled and now must comply with the instructions as given. Dedicating further energy to thoughts beyond that which we can control is an impractical use of time."

"I see. And yourunprofessional opinion?"

"I strive to be professional in all aspects, Captain; opinion or otherwise." Spock paused, hesitating for a moment before he finally relented. "… However, my opinion is that we do not have nearly enough facts to bring about a satisfactory preparation of safety to this mission. I would prefer more data."

Kirk let out a low gust of breath as if he were slowly deflating. He looked drained, Spock thought. Too many unknown variables had him stressed; not for himself, but for his crew, his ship. Spock wished to relieve some of the pressure but did not know how to achieve that when he himself felt similarly. They were, as the human idiom went, in the same boat.

"Me too, but with Hammett breathing down our necks…" The captain toyed with his own PADD absently, seemingly more for something to do with his hands rather than any actual meaningful purpose. "Three weeks I've had that man on my ship, ferrying him from planet to planet, and I've just about had it up to here with the whole thing. We've done these kinds of missions before just fine without him; of the three planets we've already visited, there's not been a minute that he was useful—not a single one. I don't know what Command was thinking."

"I would not presume to speak for them, but it would be logical to theorize that they were considering the long-term ramifications of a failed mission. Forming a new trade route through unclaimed space requires a certain amount of cooperation from those inhabitants within it. That Seskilles VII is allegedly rich in Pergium would make it a point of interest for the Federation already; that it is also along the new route now makes it a priority. There will be further interest in this quadrant with the proposed corridor, and many manned vessels passing through it. To borrow one of your human expressions, if we do not jump at the opportunity, someone else will. The Ambassador—"

"—The Ambassador is just a bit of flashy decoration to make the people feel special." Kirk waved a hand distractedly. "I know, I know—I get it, Spock, but I don't like it. God, I hate these kinds of missions. Envoys have their purpose and place somewhere in the universe, don't get me wrong… but that somewhere isn't on my ship."

"There does seem to be a rather negative pattern forming around their involvement. Of the past ten diplomatic expeditions involving a Starfleet Ambassador, six ended with hostile actions taken against us. Five of the six resulted in either injury or death to at least one member of the landing party. On three of those occasions, the Enterprise itself was in considerable danger and narrowly averted partial or total destruction."

The captain looked bemused. "A rather negative—yes, I'd say so. You know, with those statistics in hand, I suspect we could word a valid complaint to the brass that ambassadors are a proven hazard to my ship and crew. Ban anymore from coming aboard."

"Indeed, they appear to have a markedly detrimental effect. Their removal would have the added benefit of boosted crew morale which, if nothing else, could only improve ship efficiency. Taking into consideration the popularity of the diplomats we've worked with before, I suspect it would prove to be a positively regarded decision; I have not yet met one that has been particularly agreeable to be around. Most perplexing, given the nature of their profession."

"… Isn't your father an ambassador of some kind?"

Spock cleared his throat and glanced back down at his PADD, at the numbers that he had already memorized multiple times over.

"Indeed. The statement stands, sir."

The captain let out a startled laugh, standing and packing up his own equipment and tucking them beneath an arm. But he paused, then, and leaned against the table alongside him. From his proximity, Spock could feel the heat of him, even through their uniforms. He glanced over, finding the man was watching him carefully. There was something in his eyes that Spock could not quantify or label; something that made him feel scrutinized, as if he were underneath the microscope in one of his own labs.

"I missed this."

"Sir?"

"This," Kirk went on to clarify, a small smile creasing the corners of his eyes. "The two of us talking. I missed it."

"We frequently converse, Captain." But Spock did understand what the captain meant, despite his purposeful evasiveness. There had been an undeniable distance between them for months now, one that was only just starting to fade. It had been unavoidable; Spock had needed to withdraw for a time to examine and order his own thoughts and emotions without being exposed unnecessarily to those of others. Even Jim, who was remarkably well-ordered for a human.

Especially Jim.

It had been five months, two weeks, four days, thirteen hours, and forty-one minutes since they had left Vulcan. While the captain seemed to have put behind him the events that had taken place there, Spock had not. Could not.

"You know what I mean." The captain wasn't put off by the deflection, and only nudged his arm lightly against his own. "You've been acting… I don't know, looser. Not so quiet. Relaxed. If I didn't know any better, I'd almost say happier—sorry, I know. Whatever it is, I'm glad you're back."

That warm pit in him felt likely to boil over. Jim was close enough that Spock could make out the flecks of green amidst the hazel of his eyes. The emotional distance between them had been necessary to heal—as much as Spock could—from what had happened, but it had not been easy for him. Neither, it seemed, had it been any easier for Jim. It was only in the past month that he felt their previous camaraderie return with something approaching the same levity as before. There were still stilted periods, pauses between them where something went left unsaid, but they were lessening.

Kaiidth: what was, was. Although the intense autocritical feelings still lingered beneath the surface of his control, he'd found meditation helpful in suppressing them down deep. There were moments—McCoy's unthinking comment being one of them—where they threatened to emerge, but those moments were becoming fewer as time passed. Most days now, he awoke with a sense of stability, rather than the clammy shivering he'd experienced the first nine weeks after Vulcan.

As time stretched further, he could pretend that nothing had ever happened at all—and if he had his way, nothing ever would again.

"So am I, Jim."

The captain smiled widely at him, bumping their arms together once more. With him pressed against his side, something protective rose up, breeching his normally rigid control despite his best efforts to suppress it. Jim, with his warm smiles and easy forgiveness; there was nothing in Spock that made him deserve such kindness, not after the inexcusable thing he had done, and yet Jim never seemed to fault him for it. He spoke with the same relaxed closeness he always had. The thought was there, and he thought it often, that he should have maintained distance from the captain after the events of Vulcan. That he should have kept away for both their sakes, because he knew he could not remain impartial when it came to this man. But despite his better judgement, he indulged in this weakness of his. Overwhelming friendship, and all the messy, complicated emotions that came with it.

It wasn't only illogical, it was dangerous.

And Jim missed this. It was clear, both then and now, that he'd felt at least some degree of sadness at the growing distance between them, as missing implied a negative emotion at the loss of something considered meaningful. The captain had enough hardship as it was without his first officer adding to it. That he had done so unintentionally, even if for valid reasons, made something in him ache. The last thing he wanted, in all this vast universe, was to hurt Jim.

Why was it, then, that he always seemed to do so anyways?

"Chess tonight?" Jim asked, standing and smoothing his uniform. "—assuming we don't get immolated planetside, of course. I believe it's your turn to play white."

"That would be satisfactory, sir. And Jim," the captain paused at the doors, glancing back at Spock. "I would not allow you to burn if it were in my power to prevent."

Another smile aimed at him, like the sun peeking through heavy clouds. "I know. I never doubted you for a moment, Spock. I trust you."

He remembered well what it felt like to burn; fire consuming and charring him from beneath his own skin. It haunted him, kept him up more nights than he would care to admit. Even so, he wouldn't hesitate to walk through more than fire, take on every bit of pain and even more besides, to prevent Jim from suffering. He had let the man down once before, indefensibly, and yet Jim still professed no doubt in his ability to keep him safe. Illogical, imprudent.

As the captain left the room, Spock watching after him, he once more vowed that he would never again give Jim a reason to regret that seemingly unshakable belief in him, no matter what the future might hold. He had broken that trust before. He would not do so again.

Instead of reading over the limited data contained within the PADD, of which he had already memorized thrice over, Spock found it more beneficial to retire to his quarters for quick meditation.

Although he had meditated in the morning before his shift, the events of the day had disarrayed the usual order of his mind and processing it was required to continue with clear focus. When dealing with first contact, strong ability to focus would be necessary. There was much to ruminate on and sort through: the upcoming landing party, the mission itself, Ambassador Hammett and the waves of disarray he left in his wake, his own reaction at the comment of Dr. McCoy, Jim. It was the latter two that caused him to sit there for longer than he might have otherwise, folded neatly in the lesh'riq—kneeling on the floor with his legs tucked neatly beneath him.

It was his practice as a Vulcan to know his mind well; to know all the thoughts and emotions contained within. Since he was young, he had maintained this routine of the acceptance—and then suppression—of deep feelings that could alter his behavior or control. Dedicated meditation was a primary tool, but the act of self-examination was something he practiced in all waking moments of his life. It was instinct now to distance himself from emotion and the thoughts causing them. He would focus on the source, examine it, rationalize through it, and then bury it down as he did all the others.

The emotions brought up by Dr. McCoy's mention of Vulcan; the hollow feeling in his stomach, the quickening of his pulse racing in his side, the sudden tension of his muscles—an anxiety response, brought up by surfacing memories of a comparatively recent negative experience. It was understandable, although irrational. Suffering from such adverse symptoms would not change what had happened in the past. There was nothing to be done for the events on Vulcan, and feeling anxious now at its mere mention was not only illogical, but also damaging. As the name of his home planet and standard title of his species, it would be cited aloud with some degree of frequency. Reacting as he did only reinforced an undesirable connotation to a vaguely connected term.

Spock breathed in and out slowly, measuredly.

He'd reacted as he did out of a sense of apprehension. Apprehension during a dangerous time was not uncommon and allowed for an increased level of alertness, which could save not only his life, but the lives of others. This alone was acceptable, but the timing was not. He had been in the briefing room during this flare of emotion, not in a situation where lives were under immediate threat, and certainly not on Vulcan five months prior. A situational emotion that was misplaced, not in theory but in timing and location. Logical to a certain degree but unneeded. Distance it from memories of experiences past. Examine it. Accept it. Suppress it. Move onto the next.

As always when ordering his mind, the captain came up as a primary subject.

To say that Jim was an intrusive thought would not be correct, exactly… but also not entirely incorrect. The perplexing contradiction in this had caused him a great deal of both contemplation and confliction. That so much of his meditation involved his captain should have disturbed him—did disturb him, on some level—but he also knew it was not altogether unexpected. They shared a close friendship bond, spent the majority of their time together, and made a very capable and efficient command team. It would have been an oddity to not think often of the captain in some form or another; he would have had to examine his mind for some kind of fault or failure if Jim were not a frequent feature in his thoughts. That was only logical.

However, he also knew that there were other reasons why Jim featured so prominently when he turned his focus inwards, and logic had very little to do with them.

It was at this thought that his focus began to falter. In this one instance, he could not bring himself to examine his feelings: those surrounding that of his captain. To do so would open doors that he would rather stay permanently closed, for his own sake. For Jim's sake. It was undoubtedly illogical to allow them to fester as they did; they were an open wound in the normally rigid barriers of his control. And yet, he could not suppress them entirely; that would take close examination of those feelings and an acceptance of them.

Spock could not bring himself to do either.

Focus.

Eyes closed, he tried to imagine his mind as an ocean of sand; dunes rising and falling, gleaming white from the reflection of the hot sun—again he paused, struggling with the mental image before forcing himself to examine them. Hot sun, the sense of fire burning in his eyes, beneath his skin, between his thighs—associations rose up with nauseating speed, and he firmly pressed them back down beneath the sand. Anxiety. Misplaced anxiety; the quickening of his pulse, the tension in his muscles. All had taken over him once more, just as it had in the briefing room. This was not the time for that; he would not be controlled by his memories, or the emotions that came with them. Thought controlled emotion, emotion did not control thought. In this, he would not compromise. Accept them and let them go beneath the sand.

Here, he was in command. The disturbances he felt were considered and discarded as logical reactions that had no use here. What had happened, happened. To feel so strongly about the events that had taken place over five months prior was not only illogical, but also undignified. It was not in his ability to change; all he could do was continue to move forward as he had been. Logically, professionally, controlled.

Jim.

He wanted to push those feelings behind the walls of his control as he had the others, but Spock found he could not. To do so felt as if he were ripping some part of himself out in some wrenching manner that did not make sense. Drowning in a way that was entirely irrational and fueled by pure emotionalism. The illogic of it was unrelenting, like a klaxon in his thoughts. Focus—but it failed him, as it always did when his mind wandered towards the captain. He could not accept those thoughts and emotions. He could not examine them. He could not suppress them.

Instead, Spock reluctantly allowed those feelings to linger; not considered or ordered or accepted but instead nudged gently but firmly to the peripherals of his mind. An open wound, he'd called it, a decidedly negative implication. It did not feel like something negative. It felt like something warm. It felt welcoming. It felt dangerous in a way he did not have a name for.

He moved on.

Focus.

It took another ten minutes of V'ree'lat, the act of sorting and ordering one's mind, in order to feel fully in control of himself. Those turbulent, chaotic emotions were suppressed and buried down deep, accepted as much as possible in the limited time he'd had. Jim had been permitted to remain, if only in the barest sense. A temporary measure: Spock told himself that he would confront it at a later date, when he had the time and freedom of concentration to do so. Until then, he would delegate those uncertain sentiments to the fringe corners of his mind.

Once this mission was over, he would come back to them and do what he must. For his own sake. For Jim's. But for now, he would disregard them as best he could. They would not control him.

Rising after a short time, Spock felt only a quiet serenity. It had proven difficult after the events of Vulcan to find that in himself after he had suffered from such blazing emotional turbulence. That ordered calm had been brutally torn from him by the curse of his biology, but finally came easier now that time had passed. He meditated more than he slept, but it was far more beneficial than rest ever could be to his health; he was healing in whatever way he could, and progress had been made. Small, slight progress, but measurable all the same. He was relieved to feel more in control the past few weeks than he had the months prior.

The landing party, all but Captain Kirk, was already present when he arrived at the Transporter Room. Lieutenant Uhura had one hand pressed against her earpiece for focus, firmly ignoring Ambassador Hammett's hovering efforts to engage in conversation with her, and the other two were in deep discussion over a shared PADD.

Lieutenant Tabea broke away from Ensign Kemen-Varley upon seeing him, moving swiftly to his side and standing in parade rest.

"Sir, Mukhammed and I were just discussing the planet's shielding. The Seskille keep insisting that the energy cloak belongs to us—but of course, we know that isn't right. I know Engineering hasn't had much luck from up here, but I think I may be able to find the source once we make planetside. It's all rather fascinating." She appeared to be in good spirits; her face was flushed with excitement as she looked at him. The flush only spread upwards as she cleared her throat lightly; her body language displayed a certain hesitation now. He raised a brow at her.

"I… also wanted to thank you for the opportunity, sir; Shams al-Din said that you chose me for this mission personally."

His second-in-command in Science, Lieutenant Sameera Shams al-Din, had given him a list of officers she felt would be a good fit for the expedition. It had not been a difficult choice; of those listed, Aileen Tabea was both a dedicated officer and a careful scientist. Her record spoke for itself. Spock had observed her to be in a consistently positive mood throughout her time aboard the ship, even during periods of uncertainty; such a demeanor could only benefit a landing party engaging in a difficult first contact. Her own knowledge in exobiology, her particular field of expertise, would allow for specialized insight into the Seskille, however they appeared. If they appeared.

"Your work has met all standards without fail, and your specialty was relevant to this mission. It would be illogical to choose another based on that criterion alone. You are also, from my own observation, professional in your approach towards different species and their many variations. As we do not know how or in what way the Seskille function, this is an appropriate skillset to recommend you."

The lieutenant, to borrow human phrasing, lit up. "Thank you, Commander! I promise not to let you down!"

She gave him a firm, bobbing nod and moved back toward Ensign Kemen-Varley. They conversed in hushed, hurried whispers. Tabea's internal temperature appeared high, evidenced by the startlingly red blush on her neck and face. Spock purposely avoided listening in on the conversation; he had a feeling he knew already what the topic of discussion was and had no interest in further confirming it. Instead, he focused pointedly on adjusting the settings of his tricorder to account for unknown energy readings, rather than only the proven ones.

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were conducting research of your own." He felt the captain approach and stand at his side, the warmth of him filling the space between them. Spock raised a brow up at Kirk, who only gave him an amused look. He cocked his head towards Lieutenant Tabea. "A study about the effect you have on your scientists." The clarification didn't clear up Spock's confusion and the amusement visibly grew in the captain's eyes. "Your female scientists."

Ah.

"I have no knowledge on that topic." Spock emphatically went back to his tricorder, although it was set to his exact specifications now and there was little else he could do with it. The captain seemed to know it too, because he clapped a hand on Spock's shoulder. Even through the material of his uniform shirt, he could feel the barest emotional transference. The captain thought the whole situation quite humorous; this was not the first time he had teased Spock about it. Only two days prior, it had been the topic of gleeful discussion between Kirk and Dr. McCoy over a shared meal, while Spock pointedly attempted to ignore them and eat his salad.

"Of course, my mistake. It must be a coincidence that they all seem to get strangely overheated around you."

"If the temperature controls aboard the ship are faulty, that would fall under the purview of Engineering."

"Sure, I'll just tell Scotty that your mere presence causes environmental to short out, shall I? I'm sure he'd love the challenge." But then the captain grimaced as he spied something behind Spock, the humor fading. Spock straightened stiffly in preparation. "Speaking of Scotty, probably best to get this show going. The sooner we get down there, the sooner we can be done… and the sooner we're done, the sooner we can drop off that—" The captain cut himself off with a slow puff of air and further refused to so much as glance at the Ambassador, who was clearly vying for Kirk's attention now. Instead, he turned and pressed the panel on the wall. "Kirk to Bridge."

"Scott here, sir."

"Our time's up, Mr. Scott; you've got the conn while we're planetside. If anything goes wrong…" Here, the captain paused, and his brow furrowed. "If the Enterprise is getting… I don't know, sucked into the atmosphere, or being hijacked by brainwashed aliens, or magic computers are trying to take over, or any other crazy thing that might threaten it, I want you to get the ship out of here."

It wasn't said in jest, despite what would have normally been an exaggeration. Clearly, Kirk was thinking of Spock's verbal statistics of past diplomatic missions; they had rarely been without crisis in some way or another, and all of what the captain said had indeed happened at least once—some more than. But Mr. Scott only gave a barking laugh.

"Aye, sir, that I will. Had my fair share of practice at it recently; I'd say I'm a deft hand at it by now. First spot 'o trouble, I'll get this fair silver lady to safety."

"…And the crew, Scotty." Kirk motioned towards the transporter chamber; the landing party assembled on the platform in arrangement, Spock standing beside an empty pad. "The crew goes too."

"Then they had all best be on it when I leave. Good luck down there, Captain. We'll be tracking you as best we can from up here, for all the good it'll do. But I've got the coordinates clocked in and a small field margin besides. You just give the word."

"I'm hoping that luck won't be needed, Mr. Scott, but thank you. Kirk out."

The captain turned and faced his assembled crew. Gone was the levity in his eyes; they were stern now. Hardened. There was no sign of apprehension or unease in his expression, but Spock knew from experience in reading this particular man well that he was feeling it all the same. To some degree, they all—himself excepted—felt it before a mission, but this one in particular had too many unknown variables for anyone's comfort. The data was incomplete, questions left unanswered, and the facts were few. Spock didn't begrudge Kirk's misgivings about the situation; he had his own.

"We keep together down there, whatever happens. I don't know if our tricorders will allow us to track each other, or if the energy field will interfere with those too, but we stay as one group regardless. The coordinates we land at are the same ones that'll be used to get us back up, and only those coordinates. The Enterprise won't be able to locate or lock in on our signal, but they can blindly beam up a pre-calculated location."

The landing party was grave as they observed the captain, all eyes staring forward in disciplined focus. A credit to the service, and to the ship. Spock had heard it said that the Enterprise had the most efficient crew of the fleet, and he thought it an accurate judgement. It wasn't because of anything unique about the ship itself, however, but because of its captain. Even he, who would never subscribe any emotionalism to himself, felt something tense ease in him at the confidence in Kirk's voice.

"We're going down there in good faith," Kirk continued, "and I hope it stays that way… but rest assured, I want no casualties. Should things go south, you make for the landing coordinates and request beam up immediately. You don't wait, you don't try to split off and play hero. You disregard the mission and get yourself—no, Ambassador Hammett, I'm not going to jeopardize the lives of my men for some rocks, even ones as valuable as these." Hammett, who had been on the verge of protesting, closed his mouth with an audible snap. "—You're to disregard the mission and get yourselves out of there if something goes wrong, no hesitation. Understood?"

"Yes, sir."

The captain moved to Spock's side, taking position on the platform with the rest of them. His posture was purposely and strategically confident, but his hands were clenched into fists. It was the only visible sign of his trepidation. A gut feeling, Jim had told him before. Spock found that human instincts, despite all their disordered and flawed variations, could occasionally be quite accurate. Jim's certainly were. Regardless of logic, he would trust the captain's hunch over any mathematical or scientific certainty. If Jim's intuitions were sounding the alarms in his head, so too were they echoing in Spock's. Time after time had proven that supposedly imprecise gut feeling to be more reliable than any known fact or data point his instruments could supply. It was not logical. It was not rational. But it was true all the same.

They exchanged silent glances, eyes saying so much without speaking anything at all, and Spock gave him a small nod. Whatever happened, good or bad, he would be at his captain's side for it.

"Energize."

The transporter room disappeared in a blaze of golden light. The feeling of weightlessness and disorientation only lasted a fraction of a second, their bodies frozen in a state of stasis save for the minute tingle of their atoms dispersing. The Enterprise faded and the planet of Seskilles VII materialized around them, forming into shapes, colors, objects, visuals—

And the instant it did, they were bludgeoned by a freezing, glacial wind.

Vulcan:
K'oh-nar — The fear of emotional vulnerability and emotional exposure.
Vikayek — Alarm; a device that serves to warn of danger by means of a sound or signal.
Kaiidth — What is, is.
Lesh'riq — A meditation position involving kneeling with feet tucked under.
V'ree'lat — To order one's thoughts and clear one's mind.