Five months late, I finally get around to finishing this Whumptober + tumblr request ficlet.
You can read the story in question as Chapter Four of my Touching the Impossible fic; this is a missing scene I've written at request.
"Shuttlecraft NCC-1701-A/14, Captain James T. Kirk recording. Enterprise, if you receive this, it means I was able to finish and launch the emergency beacon in time to clear the planet's atmosphere. Let the record show –"
Dear God.
Uhura slams a hand down on the pause button with a little too much force, because it immediately draws attention from the center seat. Spock swivels the chair – is it his now? – toward her, clear question in his eyes. Asking her, begging her, not to confirm what they all probably suspect is the truth.
Emergency beacons never portend good things.
Something in her eyes must give him confirmation, because his expression immediately shutters. Melts into flawless, clinical Vulcan calm. Cold as ice, and just as deadly below the surface.
She knows as well as Jim does – did? – that it's a façade only; but a necessary one, given the circumstances. This recording can't be played in a public area like the Bridge, not before those closest to the captain have had time to digest it.
Not like this.
"Send the audio contents of the beacon to the Captain's ready room for my review, Lieutenant." Spock's voice is perfectly calm, almost reassuring; and it is clearly fooling no one, at least not the primary alpha shift crew. Sulu's alarmed look their direction is enough to tell her that much. "Mr. Sulu, you have the conn until you are redirected accordingly."
"Aye, sir."
Though clearly uneasy, Sulu takes the seat as Spock vacates it, and after one last look at Uhura, turns back toward the helm and asks for a status report. It's an artful misdirect, and one she hopes Spock appreciates, as he takes the opportunity to make his exit.
When the lift door has closed behind him, she turns back to the board, and after a moment of hesitation, decides to play the message in its entirety. If it's what she assumes it is…
"Shuttlecraft NCC-1701-A/14, Captain James T. Kirk recording."
His voice is calm enough, though after all these years she can now identify the faint edge of controlled panic accompanying the words. Years of listening to, dissecting, and studying audio and video comms will do that to you. She hates that she only has that expertise now to rely on, and cannot be distracted by facial expressions into thinking there might be hope.
"Enterprise, if you receive this, it means I was able to finish and launch the emergency beacon in time to clear the planet's atmosphere. Let the record show that this should be regarded as my last official and personal log, and as such any official information and personal wishes therein supersede all previous ones as legal and binding.
"I am experiencing complete impulse engine failure at 300km altitude over planet A-31's surface. Reason unknown, possibly caused by something in the planetary upper atmosphere. I am…"
A brief clicking of controls, and the shrill warning of an emergency siren reverberating off the cockpit walls.
"I am unable to maintain orbit or break free of the planet's gravitational pull, and obviously I cannot engage the warp drive at this altitude without nuking the planet below. Planetary collision is inevitable within the next…five minutes."
A sick knot of dread forms in her chest. Five minutes would not have been enough time to fully prepare for a crash landing, even in the best of scenarios.
"Under no circumstances is another shuttle to risk its engines coming through this atmosphere until investigation proves the cause of the Galileo's engine failure. I intend…" A brief pause, and a muttered curse. "I intend to divert all remaining power immediately prior to landing to the thrusters, maybe I can bring this thing down in just four or five pieces instead of a hundred."
A brief pause, shattered violently by a dull thud and the sudden beeping of another alarm.
"Yeah, I might not even have that much time. Listen, Spock…don't let them give her to anybody else, yeah? You can be a freaking amazing captain. Keep the crew together and be the damn leader I know you can be. And –"
A more urgent klaxxon starts wailing in warning, the dreaded mechanical drone of "Terrain impact imminent. Terrain impact imminent," a chilling background to the sudden note of visceral fear in the last words.
"I've got to try to land this thing. Look, tell Bones I… shit!"
There is the sound of screeching metal followed by a jumbled assortment of chaotic noise that even she cannot fully identify; and then the thud of an ejection button being slammed just before the recording goes silent.
Deathly, horribly silent.
A red light is blinking on the board, and it's from the ready room.
"Bridge," she manages, and Jim would be proud of how calm the word is.
"Summon the senior officers to the Captain's ready room, Lieutenant."
"Aye, sir." The added respect and titles will help separate them right now, a reminder of the duty they will not shirk, even in the face of this.
She glances over her shoulder, and sees Sulu already motioning for the young Engineering tech to take the center seat. As they're becalmed here over A-31, there is nothing to do but monitor the auto-pilot, so it will be sufficient.
"Should I include Sickbay, sir?"
A fractional pause. "Negative. I will fetch Dr. McCoy myself."
Neither Spock nor McCoy are present when she enters the ready room behind the others, but that isn't surprising, given what she knows. And judging from everyone else's faces, they already suspect the worst. Emergency beacons are never good, and the fact that it was not played for the entire bridge crew to hear can only mean one thing.
Sulu looks to her when they're all seated, and after a second of hesitation, she goes ahead and plays the recording for them. If nothing else, it will give them time to digest before the official transfer of command happens. A kind gesture, if a little deviant from regulation. But they are very much past following regulation to the letter at this point, this odd little family of theirs.
When the recording has finished, the four of them just sit there for a moment, staring around the table in horrified silence.
"I mean…it's not confirmed yet, right?" Sulu finally says quietly. "He's survived a lot worse things than a shuttle crash. And he has that weird superhuman blood now, so maybe we shouldn't assume the worst?"
"Almost nobody could survive a shuttle crash at that altitude and speed," Scott interjects, just as quietly. In contrast to the practiced calm of their pilot, however, he is furiously scrolling through Engineering manuals, no doubt in active search for the culprit. "How the devil did that shuttle engine die? It's near brand-new!"
"The keptin said he suspected a disturbance in the atmosphere?"
"Laddie, there is naught in that atmosphere that would cause complete engine failure. There's half a dozen safeguards against it, what with the new warp engine installations. And –"
Behind them, the door opens, and Spock walks in, followed closely by their Chief Medical Officer. If the doctor's eyes are suspiciously red-rimmed, no one is going to say a word about it. Spock briefly puts a hand on his shoulder as he slides into one of the three open chairs, but himself remains standing, not even looking at the empty one at the head of the table.
"You have listened to the captain's recording?" he asks, matter-of-fact.
"Yes, sir." Sulu looks up at him. "What happens now?"
"If he survived, we need to be down there," McCoy says flatly.
"The atmospheric readings make long-range scanning impossible, and the planet is far too inhospitable to beam down crewmen indiscriminately."
"We have shuttles for a reason."
"We do. However, the captain's last official order was that none should descend until we have verified the cause of the engine failure in the Galileo." Spock holds up a hand to halt the rising protests, given from all around the table. "I will not contradict that order, and risk the safety of the crew who were – are, his primary concern at all times."
"I know how to fly a goddamn shuttle, Spock. I'll take the risk."
"You will not, Doctor. He would never forgive me for allowing you to be put in danger."
That's an emotional enough statement that it shuts them all up, for a brief moment. What are they supposed to do now?
Seated directly across from her, she sees Montgomery Scott's face turn as white as the spotless tabletop, as he stares down at something on his padd.
Spock's clearly seen the same thing, and pounces on it like a panther. "Mr. Scott?"
"Uh." A quick swallow. "Might've…might've found the cause of the engine failure. Sir."
The addendum is more alarming than the horrified look he's giving all of them.
"Specify, Mr. Scott."
Yeah, that deceptive calm is definitely screaming a Vulcan red alert.
Scott opens his mouth briefly, and after fumbling for a second, gives up on verbalization and pushes the padd across the table in Spock's direction. Clearly losing patience with the human elements in the room, Spock snatches it and begins reading.
He obviously sees it, whatever it might be, because he drops the padd back to the table and folds his hands behind his back. Uhura suspects it's to keep them from wrapping around Scotty's neck.
"I take it you did not disclose this information when the captain departed?"
"I couldna disclose what I didn't know! The redesign makes no sense, and it's not mandatory to memorize the new specs!"
"It is your job, Mr. Scott. To assimilate any systemic changes in Engineering, and communicate them accordingly to relevant parties."
"I get upward of twenty engineering updates and recalls a day, Mr. Spock!"
Spock's left eyebrow inclines slightly in clear disdain. "You believe that to be sufficient excuse for your professional negligence?"
McCoy has snatched the discarded padd, and now elbows Spock in the leg without looking up. "Easy," he warns, almost absently.
"You are not part of this conversation, Doctor."
Sulu and Chekov exchange a look that clearly says 'neither are we, can we get the hell out of the crossfire now please'."
"Well, I'm makin' myself part of the conversation. It's not professional negligence, and you know it," the doctor replies, setting the padd back on the table. "I'm a doctor, not an engineer. And even I know that's probably the most idiotic design change the 'Fleet's ever come up with."
Scott shoots him a pathetically sad look of pure gratitude.
"Can we get in on the explanation, sir?" Sulu interjects, just in time to head off what is likely a verbal evisceration that will be talked about for weeks below decks. "What happened?"
"The new shuttles have had a control switch redesign," McCoy says wearily, when Spock is clearly not going to divert his attention from his intended target. "Replaced the filtration system switch with a kill switch for the impulse engines."
She pinches the bridge of her nose, wisely keeping her thoughts silent. They all know how stupid that is, there's very little point in vocalizing the obvious.
Sulu is not quite so tactful. "That's idiotic!"
"Such idiocy seems to be a common trait among Engineering personnel," Spock says icily.
Face flushed with a combination of mortification and anger, Scott shoves his chair back and fairly white knuckles the table. "Oh, come on!"
"That's a little uncalled-for, sir," Sulu adds to their CE's indignant reply. Uncowed, he then straightens in his chair, and gives a more respectful nod. "Piloting is my life, sir. And I wouldn't have felt the need to re-read a manual I've read a hundred times; I'd never have caught it either. Something that important should have had a full series of memos from Head of 'Fleet Engineering, and mandatory re-training modules for anyone with a pilot's certification."
"And it didn't!" Scott adds, pendulum swinging more toward anger than embarrassment now. "I could quote these spec manuals inside-out and backwards, sir! I would never risk anyone's life over something like this, not intentionally!"
"Be that as it may, you did," Spock snaps back, the first crack in his stone-faced façade splintering rapidly into a web.
"Whoa, hey!" McCoy scrambles up, one hand on Spock's arm. A belated barrier between them, but Scott is already on his feet and leaning forward on the table. His eyes are shining with either tears or just plain anger.
"With respect, Acting Captain," he enunciates through clenched teeth. "Go to hell."
Sulu pinches the bridge of his nose as the door slides closed behind their Chief Engineer, and poor Chekov is obviously doing his level best to sink through the floor unnoticed.
McCoy clears his throat in warning. "Sit down, Spock."
That look could incinerate a lesser man.
"I said sit. Your ass. Down," the doctor snarls, and after a brief second of hesitation Spock does. "You really think he'd want you berating an officer over a mistake any of us would have made? What was that!"
Spock is silent, but Uhura can see a faint flush of olive at his cheekbones.
"You've got to pull it together," the doctor adds, and she can fairly feel the empathetic grief in the gentle admonishment. "You're the captain, right now. Act like it."
"Understood, Doctor." A quiet, measured exhale, as he rests his forehead briefly against steepled hands, eyes closed. "I apologize for my lack of professionalism. I will speak to Chief Engineer Scott and extend my apologies both personally and publicly."
"Maybe wait an hour before doing either, sir," Sulu says with a wry grimace. "But yeah, we get it."
Uhura's padd beeps, drawing attention back to her. "Shuttle 17's ready to go, just needs a co-pilot and a science officer who can read short-range scans while compensating for magnetic turbulence," she reports, pointing at the padd with her stylus.
At the incredulous looks this engenders, she shrugs. "We know what caused the engine failure. His instructions aren't in effect anymore. And we can't beam people down until we at least have a wreckage trail pinpointed. Every second counts, and we don't all need to just be sitting here. Do you want to argue about it or get moving?"
"Sir? Can we…"
Spock nods, eyes closed and still silent.
Sulu stands, tugging Chekov with him. "Tell them we lift off in five, Lieutenant," he calls, as they hurry from the room. Doing what they can, when they can.
"They'll find him," she says quietly, in the deathly stillness that follows, as if doing so will manifest the faint possibility.
Please, Jim. If there ever was a time we needed one of those miracles that seem to follow you, it's now.
Somehow, and she still has no idea how, they actually get that miracle.
Whether they have skilled piloting or 'superblood' or Luck or just random chance operating in their favor to thank, none of them really care; because it did just that. Seeing the wreckage of the Galileo, spread out over almost half a kilometer of rocky, inhospitable cliffs and mountainside, she'd been well prepared for the worst. And then shocked beyond belief to find the worst was not what happened.
Fate has apparently decided they've lost enough for one universe, and was kind enough to spare them another tragedy that would have shipwrecked them all.
She told Jim once, back when he was fighting his way back to life after Khan, that he was the sun in the Enterprise crew's star system; all of them, somehow having been pulled irresistibly into his irregular orbit for the remainder of their lives.
And star systems die with their suns. Maybe not right away, but they do, eventually, due to the lack of light, warmth, anchoring. They've come close, many times, on this dangerous mission of theirs, always somehow emerging without permanent damage; but luck does not hold forever.
Thankfully, it has held for another day.
Dr. McCoy transports the captain straight to Sickbay, bypassing the transporter room so that medical attention can be implemented immediately; but she beams back up per normal procedure, and there is Scotty at the controls, completing both transports with the usual high-priority efficiency care. Faithfully at his post, despite it all.
"He's going to be fine," Uhura says, even before she steps off the pad, and the grateful look he gives her breaks her heart all over again. "And he doesn't blame anybody for it. He specifically said so."
There's a lot more still to be said, and likely some process changes to be made as a preventative measure; but for now, it will have to be enough.
"Leonard said it'll be at least an hour in surgery, and another two before he'll be conscious again, but you're welcome to stop by if you need to," she adds gently. "I'll even keep Spock out of the way, if you want."
A brief chuckle. "Aye, I just bet you would. But I think I'll wait, a bit. Thanks."
She nods, and puts a reassuring hand on his shoulder as she makes her way out of the room. The turbolift at the end of the hall is mercifully empty, which lets her recover a little from the receding adrenaline drain. The re-donning of the competency of a communications officer is just another part of her daily uniform.
Sickbay is a flurry of controlled chaos; but for all that, it is still a reassuring cyclone of comfort and competency. McCoy is just finishing scrubbing up when she enters, and motions briskly to her from across the ward.
"Doctor?" she asks, poking her head into the sanitizing cubicle but remaining well back from the contamination line.
"Get your boyfriend out of my operating theater, or I will throw him out," the doctor says, donning surgical gloves with an almost disturbing thwack of latex snapping against skin.
"He is the acting captain right now, not 'my boyfriend'," she points out mildly.
"Ask me if I care about the semantics. Jim's too soft-hearted to tell him to hit the bricks, but I'm not. Now if you don't care about me tossing him on his ear in front of half a dozen junior officers and a nursing team, that's fine. But if you want it done nicely, do it yourself before I get in there."
"Oh, please, you're not fooling either of us." She punctuates the words with an eyeroll. "Besides, it'd be like kicking a puppy, wouldn't it?"
"Yeah," the doctor admits, with a small smile. "But don't ever tell him I said so."
She laughs and walks across the hall to the waiting room just outside the operating theater, where a patient nurse is doing his best to work around the two idiots in the center, who have been having a quiet conversation despite the chaos happening at the bedside perigee of this strange orbital dance.
"Look, Spock, you have got to chill, okay?" Jim's voice is a little hoarse from exposure still, but it's full of open affection and amusement. Granted, a lot of that might be because he's well on his way to being high as a kite on painkillers, but it's genuine either way. "I still have one working arm, and I am not afraid to hug you to shut you up."
She can't hear Spock's response, but it makes the nurse stifle a laugh.
"I'm going to be fine," is the more gentle addendum. "Believe me, I'm as happy about that as you are. Now go apologize to Scotty for being a dick."
"I had already planned to do so. In more professional phraseology, obviously."
And very reluctantly, is the silent, exceedingly put-out clarification that follows.
"It's not his fault, Spock. I should've read the pre-flight checklist in complete detail, not just the short version. Specially since it was a new shuttle model. It's not his responsibility to compensate for me not following protocol to the letter."
"You do have an appalling habit of this."
"Yeah, yeah. Rub it in." Jim glances up as Uhura moves into his line of sight, purposefully at the foot of the bed so he doesn't have to rotate that bad shoulder. "Is Bones about to rain hell down on anyone not wearing medical scrubs in here?"
"I've been given that impression, yes." She smiles, and briefly squeezes his ankle through the blanket. "We'll see you on the other side, Captain."
"Out," McCoy's voice from behind them enunciates crisply. "This isn't a public transport station, so both of you, get. And you can tell anybody lurking in my waiting room that it'll be tomorrow before I let him out of my sight again. If that."
"Don't tell them that," Jim interjects, a little wearily. He winces, but does not otherwise move, under the effects of a tranquilizing hypospray. "It sounds creepier than it is."
"Indeed. I am well aware of the doctor's propensity toward utilizing human emotion rather than medical science as the catalyzing element behind his orders."
"Out. Lieutenant?"
"We're going," she says hastily, tugging on Spock's arm. "Thank you, Doctor."
"Ooh yes, thank you, Doctor," Jim echoes in a mocking, if slightly sleepy, sing-song as they leave the room.
McCoy snorts. "You, shush now. And count backward from ten."
A brief pause, and then a bewildered, "…How'm I supposed to do both of those?"