Chapter Text
Inquest Report Re: [Classified incident.] Stardate 2260.12. Summary of Findings. Official reprimand: Captain James T. Kirk. Finding is that Capt. Kirk should have recognized and challenged the illegal nature of the orders from Admiral Marcus. This failure was a contributing, although not proximate, cause of deaths aboard USS Enterprise , USS Vengeance, and on Earth. Official reprimand: Commander Spock. Finding is that Cmdr. Spock should have recognized and challenged the illegal nature of the orders from Capt. Kirk. This failure was a contributing, although not proximate, cause of deaths aboard USS Enterprise? USS Vengeance , and on Earth. Official reprimand: Lieutenant Commander Montgomery Scott. Finding is that Lt. Cmdr. Scott intentionally damaged USS Vengeance, which proximately caused the death of a civilian contractor. Reprimands will be recorded in the classified sections of each officer’s personnel file. Further findings. Official Commendation: Captain James T. Kirk, valor. Official Commendation: Commander Spock, valor. Official Commendation: Lieutenant Commander Montgomery Scott, valor.
“Out,” Nyota ordered, booting the pretty blonde who had been sitting in Scotty’s lap, kissing their way down the engineer’s neck.
“Aww,” blondie pouted. “You didn’t tell me you had a girlfriend, love.”
“Wait,” Scotty called out to the fleeing figure, startled. “Kyle. Karl. Katie ... whatever your name is. Shit. Bloody hell, Nyota,” he complained, straightening his clothes and re-buttoning his shirt.
“You,” Nyota said in fond irritation, sliding into a seat across from Scotty, “are hard to find.” She’d finally tracked him down in Sydney, pleasantly sunny in January, at an open-air harborside bar just nice enough to have good liquor but more than rough enough not to care about the joint that was smoldering between his fingers—old-school smoke, sweet and pungent.
He laughed, his annoyance vanishing. “I should be impossible tae find. You are impressive as ever, lass.”
“Did you see the inquest report?” she said. “Slap on the wrist for the three of you. We’re getting the five year mission.”
“Your pain tolerance is higher than mine, if that was a slap on the wrist.” He downed one of the glasses of liquor on the table with a grimace, and chased it with a lung-filling drag of smoke. “I’m happy for yeh; congratulations on the mission.”
She frowned unhappily at him at his phrasing and kicked at his feet stretched out under her chair. He picked them up and put them on the table.
“What the hell are you doing, Scotty?” she asked in exasperation. “From what I see you’ve been spending your days drunk, stoned, and having shitty sex with every pretty man, woman, or otherwise who will take you to bed.”
He shrugged. “It’s no’ shitty sex. It’s pretty okay sex. As tae the rest … I’m on leave. Two weeks, while they wait for a berth tae open up on the Starbase, and then we’ll transport the Enterprise up from Riverside Shipyard back tae space where she belongs, and finish the repairs from there. I havenae had leave on Earth since 2256, Nyota, leave me alone,” he grumbled, leaning back in his chair. He took another drag from his joint, then offered it to her. She rolled her eyes at him and took it.
“Oh, lord, that’s nice,” she sighed, breathing out a mouthful of smoke. “I’ll risk McCoy’s lecture; I’m smoking the rest of your weed.”
He cracked an eyelid at her. “Go buy your own! There is a shop around the corner. Nothing stopping yeh.”
“Just a disapprovingly Vulcan,” she laughed.
“You’re a goddamned pain in my arse,” he grumbled
“You wish,” she said lazily. “There would be screaming, I assure you, but not from pain. Spock seems to enjoy it. I have ‘impeccable technique.’”
Scotty sat up, the front legs of his chair hitting the floor. “Thank yeh very much for that horrific image. This is how yeh get after one joint?” He waved down a waiter. “She’s having … whatever the hell she wants.”
“Looks like you’ve already drunk all their scotch. Just a beer. Whatever’s local, smooth, and on tap,” she told the waiter. They sat in companionable silence, getting methodically intoxicated in a way they’d never do aboard ship.
“Five year mission,” she continued at last. “Needs a chief engineer. So why the hell haven’t you applied?”
“Kirk sent you,” Scott said heavily.
“No,” she said brightly. “Kirk’s been fretting to Spock and McCoy, who suggested that I find you and ‘inquire as to your plans’ and ‘kick your ass,’ respectively. You can decide who said what.”
He shrugged miserably.
“Drunk and stoned,” she said, looking sharply at him. “How about high? Snorting illegal and dangerous things up your nose?”
“Wow,” he said incredulously, slamming another drink.
“Your sister called me too. She’s worried. And if you think I’ve never talked to Clara about that gap for rehab and treatment when you were seventeen, after your first doctorate and discovering the Aberdeen Solution, then you are sorely mistaken.”
He shook his head, downed another drink, put his feet back on the table, and leaned back in the chair, arms folded and eyes closed.
“Is that a yes or no?” she challenged.
“It’s a ‘I’m nae taking about it,’” he answered.
“So yes?” she pressed, stomach dropping in abrupt concern.
He sighed in aggravation, dug into his pocket, and dumped a small packet on the table.
“Please tell me you haven’t taken any of this, Scotty,” Nyota said shakily. “Because that drug test would get you bumped from the five year mission.”
He sat up. “What on earth do you take me for? I’ve been working on the Enterprise. If my hands arenae steady and my mind isnae clear, I could make a mistake that would cost someone their life. I dinnae touch any of this shite,” he waved at the table, “legal or otherwise when I’m being an engineer. And … I havenae touched the hard stuff at all. Yet.”
“Then why buy it?” she said angrily, stuffing the bag in her purse to flush down the toilet at the first opportunity.
He toyed with the rim of the nearest empty glass. “The last two times I was on the Enterprise with the Captain were the two worst moments of my life. I stood in main engineering, and disobeyed a direct order. Legal or illegal be damned, I told him no. And then, 24 hours later, I stood in main engineering again and …” He sighed and rubbed his eyes. “I was afraid, Nyota,” he admitted softly. “I stood there in front of my warp core, knowing what had tae be done. And instead of walking straight inside, which it was my duty tae do, I let him knock me on my arse and die in my place.”
“Why do you think Kirk hit you, Scotty?” Nyota said gently. “Because he knew that you were about to do it.”
“I dinnae ken if that’s true or nae. But the end of it is that it’s better tae get bumped from the mission for my oldest and worst demon than have James T. Kirk tell me I’m not welcome on his ship.”
“Yeah,” Uhura sighed in irritation. “And half a world away, Jim is worrying that the mission is going to lose the best engineer in Starfleet because you refuse to work with him. I’m calling him,” she said, flipping open her communicator.
“No! wait …” Scott protested.
“I won’t tell him about the drugs,” she said softly. “Jim!” she called out cheerfully when the comm connected. “I am sitting here in lovely Sydney with our perpetually grumpy friend Mr. Scott. Who is drunk and stoned and thinks you don’t want him on the mission.”
“Thank you,” Scott groaned. “That was artfully handled. Are you sure you’re no’ in the diplomatic corps?”
There was a pause “... why the hell wouldn’t I want you on the mission?” Kirk asked. “No. You know what? We’re not doing this over the communicators. Give me a second. I’m going to completely misuse one of the Transporters here at headquarters. Keep your communicator on, Nyota, we’ll lock on and be there in a minute.”
A moment later, Kirk, Spock, and McCoy materialized across the nearby plaza, very much out of place in the dress uniforms required at Starfleet headquarters. “It’s the whole trio,” Scott said to Uhura, holding up three fingers. He leaned back in his chair again to smoke while they piled into the small table, to odd looks from the bar’s other patrons, unused to Starfleet officers, much less those in full dress.
“I forgot it’s summer here. And tomorrow. And daytime,” Kirk complained, and took off his uniform jacket. “Oooh, nice,” he said, spotting the marijuana, and helped himself.
McCoy pulled off his jacket. “Smoke?!” he said, aggrieved. “Seriously? You could at least vape it. Or eat it. You all enjoy lung disease, I take it.” He surveyed the wreckage of many, many drinks. “And liver cirrhosis. What time is it here? It’s only 1300, at best. Just when did you start drinkin’ today?” Spock, his uniform impeccably in place, lifted an eyebrow at Nyota, who just shrugged unrepentantly.
“I’m on leave!” Scotty complained, throwing up his hands. The bemused waiter stopped by to clear the table and take another drink order. An awkward silence settled over the group.
“Take a stroll with me, Leonard?” Nyota asked. “The harborwalk looks lovely.”
“I think I will.” McCoy stood and offered her his arm, which she took with a fond shake of her head, leaving the Captain, his first, and his second to talk. They were barely out of earshot before Kirk was leaning forward earnestly, trying to get Scotty to look up at him.
“Let me guess,” McCoy said. “Scotty thinks Jim won’t have him back because of torpedoes, the Vengeance, the inquest, and the warp core. Because those are the exact issues that have Jim convinced that Scotty hates his guts.”
“Got it in one,” Uhura sighed. “Think they’ll work it out?”
McCoy shrugged. “Jim’s worried Scotty may leave Starfleet entirely,” McCoy confided. “There’s been angry talk at headquarters that Starfleet betrayed a good officer with that arrest and inquest stunt, and that he’s going to walk.”
”He hasn’t said anything,” Uhura said. “Then again, he hasn’t said anything. If he feels betrayed, he also feels guilty. And if he’s leaving, it’s going to be in the most self-immolating way possible … Can you get rid of this, Leonard?” she said, pulling the drugs out of her purse.
“Shit,” McCoy said fervently, shoving it into his pocket. “Has he taken any?”
“He said no.”
“Look, there’s a depressingly bad history there...” McCoy started wearily.
“I know,” Uhura said quickly. “He said no, and I believe him. He was considering being self destructive, but hadn’t got there yet. Or at least, not quite that far,” she amended. She sighed. “It’s funny. If I was asked to guess which one of my friends had been arrested three times on court martial charges, which one would be most likely disappear to the other side of the planet to have dangerous sex with strangers in back alleys, which one had a frightening history of serious drug addiction, it wouldn’t be the cheerful, bighearted, nerdy engineer.”
“He doesn’t get in trouble as often as some people we know, but when he does he goes big,” McCoy agreed, and glanced back toward Kirk, Spock, and Scott. “Look,” he said softly. “They’ve worked it out.”
“Oh, thank god,” Nyota sighed. “We’re all coming home.”
Personal Log, Stardate 2260.93. We haven’t been together in one place for a year. And what a hell of a year. But what a wonderful reason to get together today.
“Hikaru, she is beautiful,” Nyota said, looking down into newborn Demora’s eyes.
“We think so,” Sulu said proudly. “We may be a little biased though.”
“You do not get to hog the baby, Nyota,” McCoy complained. “Hand her over. Gained, what, a quarter kilo already? Good for you babygirl, just keep growin’ and growin.’”
It was an exquisite southern California day, the sun warm on the beach and an unending blue sky overhead. A perfect day for the naming ceremony of a much-loved little girl. Ben and Hikaru’s nieces and nephews were chasing each other, the cousins splashing in the surf while their parents watched. The kids had all immediately glommed on to Pavel Chekov, who was playing at being a monster in the waves while Ben and Hikaru’s parents sat under a shaded canopy, enjoying their drinks and shouting encouragement.
The Enterprise was in the final days of preparation for deployment, but Nyota had pried Scotty off the ship and plied him with sunscreen, sandwiches, and beer. He’d fallen asleep in a beach chair after lunch, and there was an unspoken agreement to let him be for a few hours, although a bucketful of water to the face was definitely in his future.
Spock had cradled Demora for nearly an hour, communing with the child who had looked up at him curiously for five minutes before falling asleep in his arms. He had finally handed her off to her father, then stood ankle deep in the waves, staring across the sea, before coming back to Nyota and taking her hand.
Jim Kirk wasn’t sure if this is what steely-eyed explorers were supposed to look like, bravely preparing to hurl themselves into the unknown. But a family? Well. It certainly looked like that.
“Walk with me a minute, Hikaru,” Kirk said, grabbing Sulu by the shoulder. “Five year mission?” He asked softly once they were out of earshot. “Are you sure?”
Sulu looked over at his little family, his husband and tiny baby, with longing and pain. “I’m sure, sir,” he said.
Kirk shook his head. “It’s Jim asking, Hikaru. Not Captain Kirk.”
“I’m sure, Jim,” he amended. “Believe me. We’ve looked at other assignments. I’ve interviewed in the private sector, talked with admirals about teaching at the academy. And there are positions here on Earth, if I wanted them. We’ve talked and cried, and cried and talked. But I’m not letting the Enterprise warp away without me, even if I’m leaving my heart behind.”
“There’s a narrow window to change your mind,” Kirk said quietly. “There are a hundred thousand tons of equipment and supplies staged at the San Francisco Shipyard, and the shuttles start running tomorrow. I stood next to Scotty three weeks ago when he brought the repaired core online again, and the Enterprise is tugging at the reigns to go. The engineers are already aboard, and the rest of the crew is coming off their last training rotations. I’ll leave you on Earth until the very last minute, but it’s just weeks until deployment, Hikaru. Weeks.”
Sulu wiped his eyes. “I know,” he breathed.
Jim patted his back. “Okay,” he said.
There were plenty of ancient and somber traditions they could have drawn on, but Ben and Hikaru had crafted their own. As the last of the sunlight and the first of the starlight fell on the beach they stood by a fire and held their daughter in their hands, dressed all in white. They announced her name and spoke their love and prayers for her. She was passed to her grandparents, who presented her with a scroll, her name written in delicate calligraphy. They had planned to pass her to each of the assembled guests, but she was fussy after a long day, and they each simply spoke their prayers over her while she watched from her fathers’ arms.
The sun went down and the families went home, sunbaked children yawning. “Go home, Hikaru” Nyota had said, shooing him away with his precious daughter in his arms. The rest of the Enterprise crew lingered languidly around the fire, sitting in the sand drinking the last of the beer. Before he went, Sulu paused next to them.
“My prayer for the mission is to fly straight and fast and true,” he said, and his crewmates smiled up at him.
“That we discower things no one has discowered, and see things no one has seen,” Chekov said, rolling his bottle of beer in his hands as he stared into the fire.
Uhura stirred from where she was leaning against Spock’s chest. “That we find friends along the way,” she said.
“That when the Captain asks the impossible, the laws of physics will bend, just a little,” Scotty said, his grin slightly maniacal.
“I just want everybody to make it home,” McCoy sighed.
Spock paused in thought. “That our actions will reflect the best of the Federation, our peoples, and ourselves.”
They turned toward their Captain, who looked up to the sky, his face lit by firelight, and quoted softly: “Let me but live my life from year to year, with forward face and unreluctant soul; not hurrying to, nor turning from the goal; not mourning for the things that disappear in the dim past, nor holding back in fear from what the future veils; but with a whole and happy heart, that pays its toll to youth and age, and travels on with cheer. So let the way wind up the hill or down, o'er rough or smooth, the journey will be joy: Still seeking what I sought when but a boy, new friendship, high adventure, and a crown, my heart will keep the courage of the quest, and hope the road's last turn will be the best.”
“He thinks he’s a damn poet,” McCoy complained after a thoughtful moment, and Kirk winked at him.
“Boldly go, friends,” Kirk said, a toast they were happy to drink to as they clinked their glass bottles together over the waning fire. “Boldly go.”
Captain’s Log, Stardate 2260.203. We’re not even that far from home yet, and into mysteries already. We’re in orbit around what appears to be a ghost planet—full of massive modern cities, and not one sign of the people who built them.
The planet would have been beautiful. It was beautiful. But it was by far the eeriest place they had ever been. Vast, towering cities, all completely abandoned, molding over apocalyptically as nature took the entire world back.
“What do you think, Lieutenant Zhu?” the Captain asked the ship’s anthropologist.
Zhu shook his head, puzzled. “This was an advanced civilization, obviously. Massive buildings, public transportation, parks, shops. Probably churches and schools. The architecture suggests a bipedal species of approximately human height. It’s a little hard to judge without a study of the ecology, but I’d guess that this world has been abandoned for at least a century. No sign of a planetary cataclysm, war, or plague. No bodies, and you would expect to still see some, unless they were particularly delicate.”
“They definitely had written language,” Uhura said. “It hasn’t been difficult to translate. What you would expect in an urban city. The signs say things like ‘government building,’ ‘this way to the park,’ ‘our food is the best and cheapest,’ ‘no littering.’ No indication of what happened here, though. It wouldn’t surprise me if a civilization like this did most of its communication electronically. Broadcast, radio, digital. Assuming that they saved any of that at all, we would have to get aged and damaged equipment operating to get even a hint of that data.”
Ensign Keenser was scanning with his tricorder. “Pre-warp,” he said softly. “Internal combustion engines. Carbon-based power sources, although I’d say those natural resources were seriously strained and in swift decline. No radiation signals that would suggest nuclear capacity. There is a very large project outside of the city that I can’t identify that actually seems to be emitting energy. No indication of a migration off-planet—no large scale spaceship construction, no launch platforms.”
“A ghost planet,” Kirk mused. “The archeologists could probably spend lifetimes here, trying to solve the mystery. Well, we’ll make our report, and leave it to them.” The Captain flipped his communicator open. “Four to beam up,” he said, and they dematerialized.
“Dinnae move,” Scott said urgently as the away team reappeared on the transporter pad. “I have the quarantine shield dropped.” The away team was grimacing and rubbing at their chests, aching deeply from the roughest rematerialization they’d ever had. They could see the faint shimmer of the shield between them and the transporter console, and Scott just beyond, pouring over his screens.
“What’s going on, Mr. Scott?” the Captain asked, glancing at the team to make sure everyone was present and body parts in order.
“Biofilter picked up something strange, but your patterns were also going a … wee bit dodgy, so I didnae dare wait.” Scott glanced up at them, face set grimly and pale from whatever miracle he’d just pulled off. The transporter tech sitting next to him was trembling, so whatever it had been, it had been very bad. “Just hang out for a bit,” Scott continued. “I need to get McCoy in here tae take a look at this.”
“Excuse me for a minute, sir,” the tech said tightly, scooting quickly past the Chief into the hall. The doors hadn’t quite closed before the sound of his retching reached them.
“Scotty,” Kirk said, his voice pitched to a warning. “Why is Ensign O’Neil throwing up in the hall?”
McCoy came barging in at that moment, and sagged in relief when he saw the puzzled but fine-appearing away team. “O’Neil is out there puking. Jesus, I was afraid we had a transporter splice. What the hell is going on?”
O’Neil stepped back in. “Sorry sir,” he said shakily to Scott, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “It’s just that I’ve never been that close to losing anyone before.”
The door opened again; Spock, looking concerned. “What has happened?” he asked gravely.
“Will everyone please just shut up for a minute,” Scott snapped, hands still moving on the controls. Silence descended, other than the sound of McCoy’s medical tricorder. McCoy frowned at his readings, then came over to the transporter console and looked over Scott’s shoulder.
“What the hell is that?” McCoy asked, and Scott stepped aside so McCoy and Spock could get a better look. Scotty reached out and grabbed Ensign O’Neil gently by the arm.
“Hey,” he said softly. “It didnae happen, laddie. Mop up the mess out there, aye? and take the rest of the day off. We’ll talk tomorrow. Yeh did good.” O’Neil nodded, embarrassed and shaken and miserable, but at least slightly comforted, and let his boss push him out the door.
Kirk pinched the bridge of his nose. “Gentlemen …” he said.
Scott pulled off the eyepiece that gave him heads-up access to the delicate transporter data. He rubbed his face with both hands. “I lost you, for thirty seconds,” he admitted. “Then I got your patterns back, but they were commingled. I barely got yeh all untangled at the damn atomic level before your patterns completely degraded. I couldnae wait any longer, but the biofilter doesnae like something about yeh.” He looked down at his hands, trembling mutinously, and shook them out.
“That close, huh?” Kirk asked, with false bravado. He motioned to the away team to sit; it was looking like it would be a while.
“Just the adrenaline dropping off,” Scott insisted.
“Sure,” Kirk said, and blew out a breath. “Montgomery Scott’s trembling hands means we were dead, and you pulled off a miracle.”
“Remains to be seen,” McCoy said. “This is weird. How do you all feel?”
“Achy,” Uhura said. “All over, like too much of a workout and the flu at the same time.” The others nodded.
“Could be transporter shock,” Scott suggested.
“Except the biofilters were right,” McCoy said. “There is definitely something wrong here, but I can’t identify it. Not a parasite; not a pathogen. It’s like their mass has been reduced, which is impossible. Weird as hell.” He swiped the data from the transporter console onto a padd, and held it up just outside the shield screen for the Captain to see.
Behind him, Uhura gasped tightly, then slumped to the ground with a groan. The Captain jumped to her side while Spock pressed himself to the force shield.
“Drop the shield!” Spock ordered Scott sharply.
Scott’s gaze flickered miserably; they’d had this kind of conversation before outside the warp core. “I cannae, not until McCoy clears it.”
“Jim, how is she?” McCoy asked urgently.
“I’m okay,” she said shakily, and reached up to take Kirk’s hand, outstretched to help her sit up—and their hands passed straight through each other like ghosts. They both jerked back with a yelp.
McCoy and Scott were staring, slack jawed and incredulous at what they’d just seen.
“Captain,” Spock said urgently. “Are you both incorporeal?”
“Just how the hell would you like me to test that, Mr. Spock?” Kirk asked a little hysterically, staring at his hands.
The away team reached out for each other. Hands passed through hands or faces, but, strangely, not through the bulk of each other’s bodies.
“Clothing,” Spock said simply. Kirk pulled off his shirt, and as Spock had predicted, the others could then reach through his chest up to the cuffs of their sleeves.
“Oh, that isn’t disturbing at all,” McCoy moaned.
“You’re standing on the deck. What about communicators, tricorders, the wall?” Scott asked. They found they could all interact with items and the ship as usual.
“I wonder,” Nyota said, and pulled a ration bar out of her field pack. Once she removed it from the wrapper, it slipped through her fingers. She picked it up inside the wrapper, and tried to take a bite, but it was impossible. “That’s a little disappointing,” she confessed ruefully. “I’m really hungry.”
“Organic material,” Spock summarized. “You cannot interact with organic material. Is this a transporter accident, Mr. Scott?”
Scott sputtered, offended on the transporter’s behalf. “A transporter accident? In a perfectly functioning transporter? Causing selective molecular dissolution? No, sir. If this was a transporter error we’d have four puddles of goo on the pad instead of four crewmen. This wasnae the transporter; I’d stake my life on it.” Spock lifted an eyebrow. “I’ll … run a diagnostic,” Scott sighed, punching a series of buttons on the console.
“I tend to agree with Mr. Scott,” the Captain said. “We don’t know that this arose in transport. The transporter didn’t like something about us, but I don’t know how long we’ve been … noncorporeal. I didn’t touch anything but my equipment down there. Do any of you remember touching anything organic on the surface of the planet? Pick a flower, touch a vine growing through the ruins?” The away team shook their heads. “I can’t feel anything,” the Captain continued quietly. “Except the pain in my own body. I can’t feel the weight of my clothing, the communicator in my hand, my feet in the deck. Not numb just …not there. We have an away team turning into ghosts after walking around on a ghost planet. My guess is that those things are related.”
“Except there weren’t ghosts down there,” McCoy said. “There was no one at all.”
“It might be a progressive condition,” Kirk said. “And we aren’t going to get answers standing around on a transporter pad. Beam us back down to the planet, Mr. Scott.”
Scott’s eyes popped at the order. “There is no way in hell, sir. It’s been fifteen years since I lost someone in transport, but I damn near lost the four of you today. Besides, for all we know the transporter did this.”
“You just said it didn’t. You said you’d bet your life it wasn’t the transporter,” Kirk said.
“Aye, well, in that case I’ve changed my mind, sir.” The transporter diagnostic chose that moment to beep all clear.
“Sure, Scotty,” Kirk said sarcastically. “Look, keep the rest of the team here, and just beam me down.”
The away team immediately disagreed. “There might be written information somewhere,” Uhura said.
“I might be able to get computers running that tell us something,” Keenser continued.
“I’m in this with you,” Zhu insisted.
“Now just a damn minute…” McCoy started.
“I am nae beaming anyone down,” Scott growled, cutting them all off. “It could kill you all.”
“It’s an order, Mr. Scott,” the Captain said. Scott folded his arms mutinously, and the men glared at each other through the shield. “I guess we’ll deal with this later, engineer,” the Kirk said tightly. “Mr. Spock, please relieve Mr. Scott.”
“Jim…” McCoy begged.
Scott closed his eyes, his jaw clenched, and held up a hand, forestalling Spock. He looped the heads-up display back over his ear and across his face. “I’ll do it sir. God help me. You’ve no chance otherwise. Planet of mysteries sir. Where do yeh want tae go? We’ve got one shot, at best.”
Kirk thought for a moment. “Ensign Keenser identified a large project, but didn’t know what it was. I doubt we’ll find the answer at the department of motor vehicles or the library. Send us there.”
“Let’s see it, wee man,” Scott sighed, and Keenser held his tricorder up to the quarantine shield. Scott nodded, and the away team took their places on the pad again. “Be very still; your beating hearts alone might be too complex a movement in bodies that dinnae fully exist just now. Ready?”
“Energize,” the Captain said firmly, and Scott reluctantly pulled the dematerialization lever.
“Goddamnit,” Scott whispered as the transporter immediately began protesting alarmingly.
“They’ve commingled. Compensate, Mr. Scott!” Spock ordered sharply.
Scott did not respond, his eyes fixed unblinkingly on the data, his hands moving swiftly, waiting as long as he dared before punching the rematerialization sequence. He slammed the communication button on his console with his fist. “Captain, are yeh whole and in the right places?” he asked desperately.
“We’re okay Scotty,” the Captain answered weakly. “But holy hell that hurt. Remind me that I need to listen to your advice next time.”
“As repeatedly established over and over again,” Scott spat, pulling off his headset and throwing it furiously at the console. Then he spun on Spock. “As for you, Mr. Spock. Dinnae ever, ever fuckin’ distract me in the middle of a beamdown!” Scott stormed out of the room.
“That sounded a little tense,” Kirk said over the comm.
“I’m sure he’ll be back in ten minutes to apologize,” McCoy sighed.
“I will speak with him, but his characteristic emotionalism was ... not unwarranted.” Spock admitted mildly.
“I suppose not,” Kirk said, exchanging a knowing glance with both Uhura and Keenser. “We’ll organize a plan down here. Bones, please analyze the medical data and see if it tells you anything. Spock, get our brightest minds thinking deep thoughts, including Mr. Scott once he’s calmed down. Keep us updated. Kirk out.”
“Everybody okay?” Kirk asked the away team. They were pale, and everyone was in pain, but they nodded. Kirk turned to study the massive structure in front of him. They were on the far outskirts of the city, and the building was larger than anything they’d seen. Clearly industrial but, as Keenser had noted, completely mysterious. The away team headed for a door that once would have been imposing, but now was hanging off its hinges. It was dark inside; very dark, and the team pulled flashlights out of their packs. “Comm check,” the Captain said, and to his relief the communicators seemed to work within the building. On the Enterprise, the communication officer confirmed receipt as well. “Let’s split up here; get a feel for where we are,” the Captain said, and his team nodded.
Keenser headed up a staircase, Uhura toward what appeared to be an office space. Kirk exchanged a glance with Zhu, and they headed in different directions on the main floor.
Massive conduits passed overhead and below the grating underfoot. A large turbine was just visible, hanging over the center of what seemed to be a vast center room. Kirk was making his way around the perimeter, careful of his footing in the dark, when there was an alarming grinding sound, and massive shades lifted, lighting the room with sunlight. “Ensign Keenser, was that you?” Kirk asked.
“Aye sir. Should have warned you. I didn’t expect that to work. A weighted pulley system.”
“Good job, that will make this much easier.”
“There is a computer system,” Uhura reported. “If we could just get power …”
“There is something strange here in the center of the building,” Zhu said. Almost a membrane…” Zhu’s report abruptly broke off into horrific screams, and the Captain came running, phaser in hand, Uhura and Keenser hot on his heels. When they reached him, Zhu was bowed over in agony, holding his hands up, which were fading, disappearing completely. Hands, wrists, elbows.
“I touched it, sir,” Zhu panted, his body vanishing more by the moment. “The membrane. I touched it. I’m sorry, sir. I’m … oh, God,” he choked, and threw his head back, screaming silently with no body left to push air through his throat. And then he was gone.
Kirk jerked out his communicator, eyes locked in horror on the place where his crewman had stood. “Enterprise did you beam Lieutenant Zhu out?!”
“No, sir,” Spock replied tensely.
“Well, he just vanished or disassembled or disintegrated in front of our eyes,” Kirk said mournfully.
“Your condition is deteriorating?” Spock asked sharply.
“Maybe,” Kirk replied. “He said he touched something.”
“Captain, we also have a serious problem up here. Mr. Scott just reported that one of his engineers attempted to drink a cup of coffee, and it ‘poured straight through his body into his boots.’”
“It’s spreading to the Enterprise?” Kirk whispered.
“It appears so, sir,” Spock said. “Captain, I would like your permission to beam down to the planet.”
“No way, Spock,” the Captain responded instantly, and Uhura stepped forward and met Kirk’s eyes, her hand lifted in protest.
“It would appear that I am no safer aboard the ship than I would be with you. My technical and scientific expertise may be a significant benefit,” Spock answered reasonably. “In addition, I am certain that Dr. McCoy can devise a number of monitoring devices for me to wear that may be invaluable helping us determine what is occurring.”
“Unfortunately, I agree, Mr. Spock,” Kirk said reluctantly, and Uhura’s shoulders slumped in resignation. “Get down here as quickly as you can. Ensign Keenser and Lieutenant Uhura will provide you a list of additional equipment that we may need. See you in a few minutes.” Kirk closed the line, then glanced up ruefully at what remained of his team. “Scotty and McCoy are going to be apocalyptic.”
Aboard the ship, the second officer stared levelly across at the first, then stepped closer to the command chair. “What in the hell are you thinking Mr. Spock?” he said, voice pitched so it wouldn’t carry across the bridge. “The Captain is down there, seriously affected by what may well be a …” he paused, and dropped his voice further. “A fatal condition. And now you want tae beam down too? I object, sir, in the strongest terms.”
“The condition is spreading to the ship, Engineer Scott. We must solve this as quickly as possible if any of us are to survive.”
“I dinnae disagree with that,” the Engineer hissed, trying to clamp down on agitation that was starting to draw the attention of the bridge offers. “Which can be done perfectly well from the ship! What I fail tae understand is why…” he pinched the bridge of his nose, struggling to keep his voice under control, with limited success. “Why in the goddamned hell the two of you always have the suicidal need to stand side by side in the same spewing shithole, every bloody time.”
In front of them, Sulu and Chekov were studiously examining their consoles. Spock didn’t even raise an eyebrow. “Jim and Nyota are down there,” Spock said simply. The answer immediately threw Scott, who scrubbed both hands down his face.
“Aye, and my friend Ensign Keenser. That isnae a reason,” Scott said wearily.
“It is,” Spock answered.
“A logical reason?” Scott shot back, and eyes widened all over the bridge.
“I could present the argument, if you wish.”
Scott made an inarticulate noise of frustration. “I get the one Vulcan in all the damn universe who goes with his gut. Maybe McCoy can talk some sense intae yeh,” he said, and stomped off the bridge.
McCoy didn’t bother to keep his voice down. “Are you out of your Vulcan mind!?” he yelled, pacing the medbay.
“Quite the contrary,” Spock said levely. “Doctor, I would be happy to wear any device which might assist you in gathering data about the condition, in the assumption that I might become incorporeal more quickly on the surface. While it is only correlative, at present, that proximity to the planet leads to the condition, it is likely related, as the away team was affected first. We cannot prove causation, but it is sufficient data to develop a hypothesis. Mr. Scott, as soon as I am on the surface, break orbit and take the ship out past the first moon. It may provide a measure of safety.”
“Aye, sir,” Scott said resignedly, and McCoy whirled on him.
“You’re just going to let him do this?!” McCoy hissed.
“This isnae my day for talkin’ sense intae superior officers,” Scott sighed.
McCoy took a breath, clearly unhappy, then started to grab equipment. He stuck a piece of a bandage to the back to Spock’s hand. “This is organic tape. Some species don’t respond well to the dermal regenerator or to non-organic bandages. When this falls through your hand, we will know for sure that you’ve been affected.” The Doctor hesitated, the stuck and piece to his own hand, and to Scotty’s. McCoy then fixed several monitors to Spock, one to his neck, one to his chest under his shirt. “Maybe it will tell us something.”
“Meet me in the transporter room in five minutes,” Spock said to the unhappy officers, going to collect supplies.
Spock materialized in the surface outside the building, He flipped his communicator open. “That seemed to be uneventful, Mr. Scott.”
“It was,” Scott responded. “That confirms that the issue isnae with the transporter itself, but something on the planet.”
“Agreed,” Spock said. “I will find the Captain. As discussed, break orbit.” Spock walked into the massive building and glanced around it. “Captain?” he called.
“Here, Spock.” Spock followed Kirk’s voice to the center of the building, and found his Captain looking down at a strange circle. It was about ten meters in diameter, centered in the room. It shimmered and was slightly convex, like a portion of a massive soap bubble, and it looked vanishingly delicate. “Zhu touched this, and died. I have a feeling that this is the source of our puzzle,” Kirk said.
Spock pulled out his tricorder and scanned. “No mass at all. Energy, however. Massive energy, in fact, but not of any kind I recognize. A puzzle indeed.”
“I think I may have some more pieces of that puzzle,” Uhura said, coming up behind them. “Keenser managed to modify his phaser to power the computer, and I’m getting a picture of what happened here.”
She exchanged a glance with Spock, annoyed and grateful for his presence in equal measure. He reached out hesitantly and put a hand on her arm. “I can’t feel you, Spock,” she said quietly, an admission that felt shattering, and he gave a small, pained nod. Kirk glanced between them, his gaze flickering unhappily.
Uhura breathed and pulled herself upright, collecting herself, and led them to the computer console in what seemed to be an office space.
Keenser glanced up, his hands in the guts of the mechanism. “It’s fragile,” he said simply.
“I’ve only been working with the language for an hour, but I have the broad strokes,” Uhura explained, pulling up a screen full of glyphs.
“They have a name for the membrane,” she said, pointing at a symbol on the screen. “I can’t quite translate it. Something like ‘the gift’ or ‘the powerful one.’ Maybe even ‘the god.’ It appeared at some point. I’m not sure the timeframe; possibly months, years. I don’t think it’s anything quite as long as centuries or millennia.”
“This building appears to be industrial,” Spock observed. “If the membrane were ancient, it would more likely be surrounded by a temple or other sacred space.”
“Unless they were like humans,” Kirk murmured, “wholly capable of desecration.” Spock tilted his head, conceding the point.
“The building is definitely entirely industrial,” Uhura continued. “Best as I can tell, as Keenser guessed, they were having a severe energy crisis, and were trying to tap the membrane for power. Successfully too, at first. There are congratulatory messages. ‘You’ve done it, you’ve saved us, the future is limitless.’ Along those lines. Then something happens, reference to an accident. Someone touches it, or falls in, and the tone changes. ‘The vanishing,’ ‘it’s spreading,’ ‘we can’t stop it,’ ‘my god what have we done.’ And that’s the end.”
“This is it, then,” Kirk said. “This is why this planet is a ghost planet, and why we are vanishing.”
“And quickly too,” Spock said tightly, holding up his hands. The organic bandage that McCoy had placed on his arm fluttered to the ground. “I appear to be noncorporeal.” Nyota gave him a pained, resigned look, and Spock’s communicator beeped.
“Doctor,” Spock said, opening it.
“I take it you’re about to confirm that you’ve just turned into a ghost,” McCoy sighed. “Because the monitors just went crazy and are telling me that you barely exist.”
“Any other data, Doctor?”
“Just that, contrary to the laws of physics, most of the matter in your body simply ceased to exist. No energy conversion, nothing. Scotty is losing his goddamn mind up here.”
Scotty broke in, as agitated as he’d been all day. “With quantum exceptions I’m nae willing tae entertain just yet, matter and energy cannae be destroyed. Simplest explanation? Alternate universe punchin’ a hole ...”
“I agree, Mr. Scott,” Spock said. “Captain, I hypothesize that the membrane is a break in the spacetime continuum. The very thinnest of walls between this universe, and another. And rather than drawing energy from that universe as they had intended, the indigenous species caused it to draw energy from ours. Starting with the organic mass of our bodies.”
“How do we stop it and reverse it?” Kirk asked heavily. But there would not be time to answer the question tonight; the sun was going down and the light quickly fading. Kirk broke open a chemical light, which glowed pale green.
“Sir, the sun is going down over you, and readings are that it gets damn cold,” Scott reported.
“Very damn cold. Negative forty.” McCoy said with a low whistle.
“It doesnae make sense,” Scott continued. “Not for your latitude and elevation. It’s all wrong. Regardless, I dinnae know if you’d feel it, or be hurt by it, but nae worth the risk. I’m going to beam down a heater, warm clothing, and sleeping bags. I wish I could send you some food, but it willnae help you. Night looks like … about eight hours long.”
“Eight point three one six hours at this latitude,” Spock corrected, and McCoy’s eye roll was almost audible.
“Bunk down,” McCoy said. “We’ll keep working on it up here.”
“I hope we’re still here in the morning,” Kirk said softly. As promised, a few minutes later Scott beamed in a pile of supplies. They couldn’t feel anything; not heat or cold, not each other’s shoulders as they lay side by side, not the ground beneath their backs. It was profoundly unsettling. What they could feel was the deep ache of bodies being stretched across two universes, and gnawing thirst and hunger that could not be satisfied.
Nyota curled into Spock all the same, careful to touch him only where clothing or blankets outlined what was left of his body. “I can hear your heart,” she said softly.
“What do you think, Spock?” Kirk said into the darkness. “Is anyone alive in that other universe? The people of this planet? Lieutenant Zhu?
“We know that other universes exist. The multiverse theory was proved abundantly by Ambassador Spock. Whether any one universe is habitable, however, is an unknown.”
“I’m going to believe they are alive,” Uhura said.
“Me too,” Kirk said.
“Humans … emotional,” Keenser grumped.
“Indeed,” Spock agreed.
The lapsed into silence and uneasy sleep, none of them sure they would see the dawn. But dawn came, pale gray. Cold, probably, their breath heavy in the air though they could not feel the air moving through their lungs. Hungry, although no one mentioned it.
Kirk pulled out his communicator. “Enterprise, we’re still here. Are you?”
“Aye sir, mostly.” It was Sulu. “About ten percent of the crew are ghosts.”
“Dammit,” Kirk muttered. “Is the Enterprise still out at 400,000 kilometers?”
“Yes, sir,” Sulu confirmed. “Barely in orbit, but we’re still getting hit hard. Mr. Scott and Mr. Chekov have been working all night; they have some ideas.”
Kirk turned to Spock. “Why is it affecting the Enterprise?”
“Zhu touched the membrane,” Uhura said. “A similar event seems to have kicked off the imbalance in the first place. Maybe it’s stronger now?”
“I agree,” Spock said, scanning with his tricorder. “It is considerably more energetic than yesterday, and it also seems to be drawing more energy into itself. Mr. Scott expressed surprise at the cold. The membrane is absorbing energy, including the solar energy.” Spock furrowed his brow. “It is growing. Slowly. But in a million years it will overtake our universe entirely. Ages, on a biological scale, but little time at all on a cosmic one. Whether or not we can be saved may be immaterial in light of this threat; we must stop it by whatever means necessary.”
“Antimatter explosion?” Kirk spitballed, then corrected himself. “No, if it gets stronger the more energy it absorbs, that would just exponentially accelerate it. How do you seal a rift in spacetime?”
Ensign Keenser, characteristically quiet, blinked as though something were occurring to him that he didn’t like.
“Bend it over on itself; bring the edges together like mending a hole in fabric,” Scott said, coming on the open line. Keenser frowned as though it was just as bad as he feared. “Getting the Enterprise within a few meters of the rift, and punching warp eight should do it.”
Kirk blinked and exchanged a glance with the little engineer. “That will be … interesting. Go to warp eight, in a planetary gravity well, in the middle of atmospheric mass, and with planetary mass just meters away? That’s a hell of a warp field. It will make a nice instant mountain range on the planet. Won’t it also crush us?”
“We’ll need to be very, very precise,” Scott hedged. “Mr. Spock, Mr. Keenser, we are going tae need readings on the membrane or rift or whatever the hell it is, as detailed as you can get.”
“What does it mean for the Enterprise’s ghosts?” Kirk asked softly.
Scott didn’t answer.
“Unknown,” Spock stated. “But there is no choice. We will get you your readings, Mr. Scott.”
“I’ll send a shuttle for yeh, sir. Before yeh protest about putting crew at risk, Sulu is already a ghost. He probably didnae mention it. I’ll send him.”
Kirk frowned unhappily at that news, remembering Sulu’s hands cradling his new baby and the kisses he scattered so lovingly on her cheeks. He wondered if Sulu would ever touch his daughter again, although that point might be moot. If sealing the rift didn’t kill them outright, the ghosts would all die of thirst in a few days.
They were back on the ship within an hour. Spock, Chekov, and Scott hovered over Spock’s station for another hour, murmuring over the mathematics. Apparently satisfied, Scott headed for engineering, clearly tense, while Spock and Chekov conferenced with Sulu and the backup pilot DePaul to model the precise steps of the maneuver.
“We are ready, sir,” Spock said at last.
“Yellow alert,” the Captain said. “Buckle up, everyone. Mr. Sulu, take us down.”
The Enterprise dropped slowly into the atmosphere, Sulu very carefully controlling the rate of descent to minimize heating on the hull. The superstructure creaked as atmospheric pressure increased. Ordinarily they would have increased internal pressure to compensate, but warping from the atmosphere back into space wouldn’t give them time to lower the internal pressure again, and would cause the ship to explode. Scotty had declared the atmospheric pressure within tolerances. Barely.
The lights flickered as the ship protested, threatening to implode. “Two kilometers,” Sulu said tensely.
“We’re still okay,” Scott reported from Engineering. At one kilometer they slowed to a crawl, Chekov, Sulu, and DePaul all working the thrusters. At 500 kilometers, engineering moved both nacelles inward six centimeters each, a rare maneuver to narrow and focus the warp field. The matter-antimatter reactor went to full capacity, the tempo and volume of its roaring throb increasing dangerously. At 200 meters the nacelles came online, charging to full in a combat posture. Chekov and DePaul shifted from thrusters to the impulse nozzles to hold the ship at a precise heading and declination; there was a two centimeter margin for error.
“Holding,” Chekov reported. “Holding. Holding.”
“At your discretion Mr. Sulu,” Kirk murmured.
At thirty meters exactly, with no margin for error at all, Sulu engaged the warp drive.
Warp was never to be engaged in a gravity well, in atmosphere, or in proximity to a planet—for many, many important reasons, chief among them being that a planet was not meant to be folded, and a Starship was not meant to to fold anything more dense than the vacuum of space. Ship and planet howled in protest. Of equal concern, however, was the agonized screaming from the ship’s ghostly crew, who sounded as if they were being torn limb from limb.
Chekov and DePaul both leapt for the helm over Sulu’s slumped body and jerked the Enterprise out of warp. The ship whined in protest, nacelles grinding faintly under the uneven thump of the reactor. They stared at each other, panting in exertion.
“Status?” the Captain asked weakly, stirring in his chair.
“Alive?” Chekov volunteered.
“If you say so,” Kirk sighed. A touch on his shoulder startled him straight upright.
“Corporeal,” Spock said, allowing his hand to linger.
“Bridge, are you all whole?” McCoy asked urgently, calling up from sickbay. “Because our ghosts all seem to be back down here.”
“I think so, Bones,” Kirk said. Sulu sighed in unabashed relief as Chekov helped him upright, and Kirk smiled faintly when Spock pressed a gentle kiss to Uhura’s knuckles.
“Get a room,” Kirk teased lightly. “I take it that it worked, Spock?”
“Affirmative, Captain. The rift is closed. And …” Spock trailed off. “I am reading a massive surge of biomass from the planet.”
“Sir!” Uhura interrupted urgently. “I’m getting a Starfleet signal from the surface.”
“Umm. This is Lieutenant Zhu. Enterprise, are you there?”
“Zhu!” Kirk shouted joyfully. “We thought you were dead!”
“Not dead, sir. And not alone either. I think I found the indigenous population. They are a little confused, but there also seems to be a lot of hugging? Now they are hugging me. I’m rather obviously alien, and I think they think I saved them. You might want to get down here soon, sir, to explain it to them. Whatever it is that you did.”
Kirk sat back in wonder. “Scotty, are you on fire down there?” he called down to engineering.
“Aye,” the Chief replied, grumpily terse. “As usual.”
“Well, put it out and cheer up. We saved ourselves, a planet and the universe today,” Kirk said, more than a little smugly.
“As usual,” Uhura whispered to Spock.
Kirk heard her and spun around in his chair, beaming broadly. “And we’re just getting started!”