Chapter Text
For 5.4 seconds, (an unacceptable lapse in efficiency under normal circumstances), Spock is stunned, unable to take action, staring at the gap in the walkway where Jim fell through.
He must focus. He must regain control of himself. His thoughts war with him. Jim, in the depths of him, at his very core. Freedom from the ne-hal-mazhiv vokaya. The explosion. Stonn held against him, dying. Jim, leading him, strength and security and then…gone. He feels…no. He must not feel. Spock lifts his free hand up to the communicator on his chest, but finds only the fabric of his Investigative Forces issued fatigues. His communicator is gone. Desperately seeking, his fingers curl only around the shape of the safety light which is still secured to him. No, no! He has no way of contacting Jim!
Reflexively, Spock reaches for Jim in his mind, though a link left behind by a meld, even one so deep as the one he has just shared with Jim, is little more than a resonance. And, yet, impossibly, illogically, he reaches Jim. He senses that Jim is unharmed, and near. Again, he feels…no! He must not feel.
Stiltedly, Spock shifts Stonn’s weight onto his back and kneels, reaching forward to retrieve Jim’s rifle from the twisted edge of the metal grating it is caught on. Carefully, he balances Stonn onto his shoulder as he stands and slings the rifle over the opposite shoulder where it hangs awkwardly, banging against his hip. It is not optimal, but if necessary he will be able to drop Stonn and raise the rifle to engage with any threat that emerges.
His mind, cleared of the destabilizing influence of the ne-hal-mazhiv vokaya and shamefully utilizing the lingering connection with Jim to center himself, calculates, accounting and discarding hundreds of variables in order to solve for his current needs. He is able to approximate a timeline.
7.3 minutes until the shuttle arrives. Escape. Safety. Both are a mere 7.3 minutes away.
Fettered as he is by the unconscious bulk of Stonn, Spock is unable to carefully negotiate the gap in the grating the way that prudence dictates. He is forced to clear it in a single, dangerous leap. The metal creaks ominously under his feet when he lands, but holds. After taking a few cautious steps forward, he adjusts the positioning of Stonn on his shoulder, reaches up to flick the light still affixed to his chest on, and begins to move.
Stonn breathes intermittently, deep in the healing trance, faint puffs against Spock’s neck. Again, Spock calculates, utilizing all the information of Stonn’s status at his disposal. His calculations receive an approximate return. 10.2 minutes until Stonn’s vitals plummet, his hold on his body fails, and his mind slips away into death, beyond the reach of any bond.
Stonn’s death is certain if Spock cannot deliver him to the emergency life-support inside the shuttle in time. The biobed the shuttle is equipped with has a 72.31% chance of keeping Stonn’s vitals stable until he can be delivered to the trauma team on board the Rineikau-Yehat.
Ahead, Spock’s eyes discern the dim glow of one of the primary tunnels. 9.144 meters ahead, precisely.
His lingering connection to Jim strengthens slightly. He is moving closer to Jim’s location, and a chance of a successful rendezvous jumps from an anemic 30.20% to a healthier 62.47%. Spock’s heart leaps wildly in his side, and he ruthlessly suppresses it. He is in control of his emotions.
As he exits the narrow connection tunnel into the wider tunnel beyond it, Spock looks up and sees through the metal grating above him a bundle of power cabling running along the ceiling, revealed by the dim glow of the emergency lighting that had been turned on…somehow. Exactly how that transpired is blank, missing from his previously flawless record of memories. Instead, a fragmented memory of walking through the tunnel above, lit only by the personal light sources of his companions comes to his recall.
Spock shakes his head. He may be free of the ne-hal-mazhiv vokaya now, but its legacy lingers. However, while it was not the memory he originally sought, it has still served a useful purpose. He has now orientated himself to the direction of the shuttle’s arrival. Though, unhelpfully, he cannot at this moment remember how it is that he knows the approximate location of the shuttle’s arrival. He turns to his right, and begins moving in the correct direction, eyes searching for an access ladder to the main walkway above as he does.
He feels—no! He does not feel. Spock is Vulcan and he does not feel. 5.2 minutes until the shuttle arrives. 8.2 minutes to deliver Stonn to life-saving treatment. There, set against the wall to his left, his light beam trails over the shape of a simple metal-runged access ladder. He draws closer to it step by step. 3.048 meters. 1.542 meters. 0.6096 meters. Spock begins to hoist Stonn’s weight over his back in preparation for the climb.
Abruptly, the resonant link in his mind to Jim begins to weaken. Spock gasps in reaction, and his body stills. Instinctively, Spock seizes the link, determined not to lose his connection to Jim. Jim is not close, not anymore, and the connection between them stretches and stretches, until Spock is certain it must snap entirely. He clings to it with all the strength of his telepathic abilities and it does not break. By the veriest thread of connection, it remains. Jim has been removed from Spock’s locale far more rapidly than should be possible for a human. There is only one explanation for Jim Kirk to be traveling away from Spock at that speed. Only one reason for Jim to be traveling away from Spock at any speed. He has been taken.
Calculations, one after the other, like pseth-pahz-sahriv in the desert, strike in his mind. He grits his teeth against them. A calculated timer sets itself in his mind, beginning its countdown for the time remaining to Jim. An approximate 64 minutes remain before a parasite form attaches itself to Jim’s face and implants the larval form. He has extrapolated this calculation from his own experience in the alien—but Spock should not think about that now.
Jim’s overall odds of survival have plummeted to…Spock refuses to acknowledge the number. Spock cannot accept this. Jim’s death, his permanent loss, is unthinkable. He shudders, and a wail of despair rises within him, desperate to be unleashed.
“I am,” he says aloud instead, through gritted teeth, “in control of my emotions.” If only it were true.
He finishes heaving Stonn over his back, and laboriously begins to ascend the ladder. Jim is gone, but Spock’s duty to Stonn remains clear. An animal groan escapes from between his lips, but still, rung by rung, he climbs.
The worst has happened. Spock is emotionally compromised. He understands it now, though he had always believed it would mean something…different. Emotion taking precedent over logic, or a complete loss of the ability to make logical choices. But logic remains. A lifetime of training has ensured it. His commitment to the way of logic is still inviolate. But now, in the place of the serenity of correct reasoning and the refuge provided by the truth of conclusions, now, he feels. He is unable not to feel. Fear prickles his skin. Dread churns in the pit of his stomach. Despair is a weakness in his limbs. Preemptive loss is the gathering of human tears in his eyes. It is unfamiliar and awful and wrong. Death would be a mercy rather than be subjected to this.
“I am in control of my emotions,” he sobs out loud as he continues to climb, driven to the mantra of his childhood. Eventually it had granted him solace, leading him to the higher levels of meditation. Here and now, it has no effect. Jim’s rifle smacks against his hipbone. It will bruise. Even this minor annoyance Spock is not free of. It is too much, it is all too much, and he longs to reach inside himself, piercing bone and sinew alike, and claw out these feelings. If such a thing were logically possible. Which of course, it is not.
Spock gains the upper level of the tunnel, and with great effort, levers the unconscious bulk of Stonn from his back to lie flat upon the metal grating of the upper walkway. A tear trails down his cheek. Then another. He pulls himself up as well, his limbs stiff and uncooperative as he emerges from the narrow gap between the wall and the walkway that houses the ladder. Jim. Stonn. The time remaining to them both ticks down in Spock’s mind. Stonn has less time. Stonn is here. They are close to the shuttle. The logical choice is Stonn, but the contradicting emotional desire to set out after Jim is sickening. It is not a metaphor. His body sickens with it. Nausea rises in his stomach, and he feels dizzy, weak, and cold.
Resolutely, he reaches down and hauls Stonn back onto his shoulder.
He swallows, his throat dry and tight. Humans do this every day. Live in the midst of these emotions. How can they stand it? Spock does not know how. But they do, and as he is half-human himself it is only logical to conclude that he can stand it as well, for as long as he must.
With a groan of agony, he orients himself once more and continues towards where he knows, somehow, the shuttle will be arriving in 2.7 minutes. 5.7 minutes to deliver Stonn to the life-support biobed.
The tunnel stretches silent before him. The loss of Jim is torture, a painful seizing of his heart against his side. Spock’s inability to set off in pursuit of him is unbearable. His breathing speeds up until he is threatening to hyperventilate, but still he is unable to control it.
Step by step he carries Stonn, feeling in every step that he takes, and unable to take any action which might alleviate the symptoms of his uncontrolled emotions. His light, jerking side to side with his movement, reveals a pair of pried-open doors ahead in the gloom. They were pried open from the inside, he remembers in a disjointed flash, the accompanying memory there and gone too fast for even his Vulcan mind to pull detail from it. Sound reaches Spock’s ears through the gap. He hears wind and rain, and distantly, underneath that, just detectable to Vulcan hearing, the hum of a shuttle’s engines.
A beam of light flashes through the gap in the doors. Spock stumbles forward the last few steps.
The face of Private Rekan appears before him. “Zel-lan Stonn,” he gasps, the younger Vulcan reverting to their native tongue.
“Vesht svi-tor Stonn hakaya-tvikohlitak,” Spock tells him. Rekan nods rapidly in understanding, a human affectation, a legacy of Stonn’s Tihet Squad. Spock is unable to refrain from feeling the painful stab of grief that accompanies the knowledge that now, almost all of them have died. Rekan makes a last sweep of the area around him, then stows his rifle and reaches through the opening so that Spock may transfer Stonn through to him.
It is a notable disadvantage that Vulcan strength is really only applicable when dealing with non-Vulcans. Stonn is a full 30.48 centimeters taller than Spock, and (he calculates as he works with Rekan to push Stonn’s unconscious weight through the opening in the doors) 1.2 times the mass of both Spock and Rekan combined. With a stifled grunt, he heaves the full weight of Stonn through to Rekan, who receives him with a similar exclamation of effort.
Spock slips through quickly after.
Rekan, staggering slightly under Stonn’s weight, looks up at Spock, his face pale. “Tevakh-tor ish-veh,” he says.
“We have 3.3 minutes to stabilize him,” Spock informs him, returning to mission standard, and moves to take back the burden of carrying Stonn. When Rekan looks to be unwilling to release his hold on his commander, Spock reminds him. “Logic dictates that I carry Stonn, and you, as the military operative, cover us.”
Rekan swallows, nods, and allows Spock to take Stonn’s weight once more.
Rekan takes up his rifle, and sweeps the area once, his beam passing over Spock’s face, then begins to lead the way across the…shuttle loading bay? Spock is forced to guess. He cannot remember for certain. He suffers a new wave of emotion and feeling in response to his uncertainty. It is not enjoyable. Spock also notes Rekan will have obviously seen the still drying tear tracks on his cheeks, and shame, hot and awful, threatens to engulf him. Kaiidth, he reminds himself. What is, is. Spock is emotionally compromised. There will be no hiding it. And surprisingly, shame, that great nemesis from his past, is that easily dealt with. Spock has, relatively speaking, far more powerful emotions to suffer from at the moment. And Rekan, unlike many Vulcans, may not feel the need to pass judgment upon him anyway.
Rekan is alert to every possible threat, his light beam snapping around to every corner as they make their way across the shuttle loading bay, but nothing lurks in wait. For now. Spock notices several details they pass by that he is far too…upset, for lack of a better word, to fully assimilate. His only recourse is to hope that if he is granted the opportunity to engage in the series of extended meditation that he so desperately needs, that he will be able to recover those details once more.
The gloom of the shuttle loading bay, broken only intermittently by a flickering light here or there, lightens as they cross it. The sounds of what Spock now calculates to be a Class 12 extra-planetary cyclone grow ever louder. They step around the side of a large shipping container revealing a stretch of open ground terminating in—Spock experiences a moment of disorientation. Where he recalls a wall, instead sits a massive opening. Sheer cliff rises up across from their location. He blinks. They are set into the gorge. He calculates. Their location is approximately 500 meters west of the mine entrance, 127 meters lower down in the gorge, on the administrative side. The gorge here is wider at 90.83 meters than the narrow 16.54 meters that the mine entrance conduit had spanned. The Lewis & Clarke, which hovers just outside the open shuttle bay doors, has plenty of clearance.
Rekan runs forward across the open distance, and drops to his knees before the edge of the shuttle loading bay. Spock’s gaze follows him down. A roaring fills Spock's ears. Spots dance in front of his eyes. Logic. He must be logical. There is a terrifying moment where he fears his body will not respond to him, then he is moving forward. He brings Stonn, who has by Spock’s calculations a margin of life of only 56 seconds, into the scene before him. Facts are assimilated. Lying on the ground, 4.57 meters from the edge, is Palmer. There is a parasite attached to his face. Arev is crouched in guard position over him. An opened medpack lies on Palmer's other side. Several dispensed hyposprays have been discarded around it. There is a parasite attached to Palmer’s face. His memories of Tower 4 assault him and he—No. Facts. Logic. To succumb to a terror response here is to lose Stonn.
And…
Jim.
Unable to prevent his body from shaking from head to toe, nonetheless Spock kneels next to Rekan, and together they lay Stonn next to the medpack.
“The shuttle won’t break quarantine without mission command authorization,” Rekan yells as he begins administering first aid, removing the green-soaked temporary bandage from Stonn’s side, packing the wound with bio-bandages, and administering a series of emergency hypos. “They let me open the doors and jump the gap between the shuttle and the loading bay, but that is as far as they were willing to go!”
Arev looks at Spock, his eyes darting behind him, looking for someone. But Jim will not be appearing. Arev looks back at Spock, opens his mouth, but closes it upon sight of whatever expression Spock’s face is making. It is unfamiliar to Spock, but the sight of it has given Arev the answer to his unasked question. Arev turns his attention back to guarding, his stance rigid, his fingers white around his grip on his rifle.
Logic. Spock breathes in. Facts. Spock breathes out. Stonn is out of commission. Per regulations, Spock has now inherited the command of Tihet Squad for the duration of this mission. His stomach churns unpleasantly, his limbs tremble, and his breaths come in uneasy gasps, but logic remains. He clenches his hands behind him.
“Report!” Spock calls over to Arev. He must know what happened here. The shuttle cannot be authorized to break quarantine unless he knows it is safe to do so.
Arev swallows, a moment of vulnerability, then loudly answers, if not in perfect Vulcan calm, then at an acceptable level. Spock is certainly not going to judge him.
Keeping his eyes on the dark, cavernous space of the shuttle loading bay, Arev reports. “There were two of them, the parasites. They leapt at us from the dark. I did not react in time. Palmer shot the one that was leaping at me out of the air, but was unable to then neutralize the one aiming for him.”
Spock nods for Arev to continue, and Arev visibly struggles for .55 seconds to maintain control. Spock sympathizes, and…envies Arev, when he succeeds.
“2.3 minutes later, the shuttle arrived and Rekan cleared the gap and administered a stasis serum to him.” Spock blinks, and turns to look at Rekan.
“I am unfamiliar with the ‘stasis serum’ that Private Arev has just referenced,” he says. If his voice quavers, there is nothing to be done. They are all shouting to be heard over the storm anyway. The gorge is sheltered from the full force of the extra-planetary cyclone, but it is a slight reprieve only. Gusts of wind, carrying rain, particulates of rock and dirt, and very likely matter from the defenseless administrative buildings above, whip at their backs, curling around the shielding bulk of the hovering shuttle.
Rekan, his hands not ceasing his work on Stonn, answers. “It is a joint effort by Chief Science Officer T’Pring and the Doctors McCoy and M’Benga. Its purpose is to halt the growth of an embryo implanted inside a host, and grant a more favorable window of time within which to conduct Doctor McCoy’s removal surgery. They sent me back with it on the shuttle.”
Rekan pauses, then gives an update on Stonn. “Commander Stonn’s healing trance is not stable. He needs the hookup to the emergency life-support on the biobed in the shuttle immediately!”
Spock must confer with the Rineikau-Yehat. Not in possession of a communicator of his own any longer, he holds out his hand to Rekan, who hands his communicator over to Spock at once.
“Commander Spock to the bridge,” he hails the Rineikau-Yehat.
“This is Saavik,” the Captain responds.
“Commander Stonn has sustained severe injuries. He has entered the healing trance, but his lifesigns are not stable. Lance Corporal Palmer has sustained contact with the parasite form of the creature. Private Rekan has administered the stasis serum provided by Doctors McCoy and M’Benga and Chief Science Officer T’Pring. Immediate transport for treatment in the Reinekau-Yehat’s Medbay is necessary if either of them are to survive.”
There is a brief delay of 1.6 seconds.
“What is Consultant Captain Kirk’s recommendation at this time?” Captain Saavick questions.
Her query hits Spock like a physical blow. His fingers clench around the communicator, and he can feel it threaten to crumple under his strength. The struggle to control his emotional response leaves him feeling drained; heavy and despairing. After an unacceptable delay of 3.5 seconds, he responds.
“Captain Kirk has been taken.” His throat closes. Spock can say no more.
A pause.
“What is your recommendation, Commander?”
“Dr. McCoy’s quarantine procedures were approved by yourself and Captain Kirk.” Spock’s voice falters, but he manages to finish with, “Use them.”
“It will be so ordered,” Captain Saavik replies formally.
Spock hands the communicator back to Rekan, and drops to his knees next to Stonn, reaching for the medpack. Behind him, he hears the whine of the Lewis & Clarke’s engines as it begins to maneuver closer for loading. Escape. Relief courses through Spock’s veins, where it clashes with his still increasing feeling of sickness. His gorge threatens to rise and his limbs ache. Logic. Action. Stonn must be secured to the emergency life-support biobed. He searches through the medpack, until he finds the compact form of the mobile stretcher. Thumbing the extension button, he sets it on the ground next to Stonn, shuffling out of the way as it unfolds. He feels dizzy, and faint, but he must continue. Logic. Action.
Together with Rekan, he transfers Stonn onto the stretcher. Above the cacophony of the wind and shuttle engines, he hears the whir of machinery. The shuttle doors are opening, and the ramp is extending. Rekan takes the head of the stretcher, and Spock secures the end of it, where Stonn’s legs hang off of it at the calves. As soon as the ramp has lowered enough, Rekan surges forward up into the shuttle. A flash of memory. Tolek being escorted up the ramp, descending into the plak tow, demanding Spock, fighting to return to the challenger, struggling mightily, a glancing blow from his elbow hitting Stonn in the eye.
Jim was the challenger, Spock remembers in a flash, there and gone. Logic. Action.
Working in tandem, Spock and Rekan activate the emergency life-support system at the back of the shuttle. As soon as the biobed is online, they move Stonn over and hook him into it. His vitals are weak, and threaten to plummet at any moment. As Spock and Rekan watch, slowly, incrementally, they begin to stabilize, creeping from the red up into the orange.
Logic. Action. Lance Corporal Palmer next. Spock glances to the front of the shuttle, confirming the cockpit is sealed and secure. He and Rekan return with the now empty stretcher for Palmer. They place it on the ground next to him, and Rekan brings his hands up to Palmer’s face, in a move that Spock calculates is intended to attempt a removal of the creature attached to him.
“Kryokah!” His voice cracks like a whip. Rekan freezes. “This eventuality is covered under Dr. McCoy’s quarantine procedures. Do not attempt forcible removal at this time!”
Rekan bows his head in compliance.
Spock and Rekan ready themselves to transfer Palmer to the stretcher. Spock bends over Palmer’s feet as Rekan mirrors him at Palmer’s shoulders. Movement in his peripheral vision. His head snaps up to the sight of an alien as it leaps at him from the gloom of the shuttle bay. Spock’s body shuts down, and all he is able to do is brace for impact. But impact never arrives. A shape crashes into the alien in midair, knocking it towards the ledge. The alien halts itself before its momentum can launch it free into the gorge, its claws and tail carving deep grooves into the stone of the shuttle bay floor. An undulating yell causes Spock’s telepathic nerve endings on the back of his neck to sing in instinctive warning. Enemy, his hindbrain identifies. Threat. Arev advances, loosing a second war cry, his bare hands held out before him. His rifle dangles forgotten at his side. Arev has lost himself, and descended into the plak reshan. Like the pon farr, it is another grim legacy of their genetic past.
Under the whine of the shuttle’s engines and the tumult of the storm, Spock hears a hissing. Another creature appears on the top of the empty shipping container and leaps down, landing behind Arev. The first scrambles to its feet in a flurry of hissing and tail whipping. As Rekan steps forward, his rifle raised, Spock rises to his feet, and awkwardly grabs hold of Jim’s rifle as well. Neither of them dare to shoot. Mere feet separate Arev from his assailants. The wind rips through in unpredictable gusts. Any injury to the creatures could spell death to Arev, or even themselves or Palmer, lying defenseless on the ground.
The alien in front of Arev tenses, and Arev lets loose another war cry. It is over almost as soon as it began, events happening so rapidly, even Spock’s Vulcan senses struggle to assimilate the data.
The alien behind Arev strikes with its tail, aiming low, but Arev is no longer standing there. In a blur of movement, he has darted forward to grapple with the alien in front of him. He gets one hand around the base of the tail and the other on a leg and dumps the alien back onto the ground. It scrambles widely underneath him, but before it can reorient itself to be a threat once more, Arev crushes its head underneath his boot with a savage cry of victory. The oblong head bursts open in a crunch of bone and flesh. The second alien shrieks and jumps at Arev, but in a burst of speed and reaction that Spock would not have believed possible were he not witnessing for himself, Arev dodges underneath the alien, yanks it out of midair by the tail, and tosses it across the open space where it crashes into the side of the shipping container.
Spock again raises Jim’s rifle, but is unsure of his ability to hit a target at such a distance with Arev half in his sights, especially taking into account the variable of the wind. Rekan has no such issues. He fires a short burst from his position next to Spock, and the alien’s head explodes in dull yellow blood and chunks of brain matter. Their two foes are dead, and the immediate area around their bodies is a smoking ruin, as the acid eats its way indiscriminately through solid rock and the side of the shipping container.
Logic. Action. A narrow avenue for an optimal outcome exists. Spock knows what he must do next. Arev tilts his head back and screams with his victory. Before he can turn his attention to his only remaining adversaries, Spock and Rekan, Spock drops the rifle on its strap, slinging it over his back, and launches himself across the distance between himself and Arev. Arev has speed, strength, and rage on his side, but not logical functioning. Spock has trained since seven years of age in Suus Mahna. He forms his body into the kwul-tor le-mataya and wraps himself around Arev, taking him to the ground. Spock rolls until Arev is on top of him, completing the form. Arev screams and thrashes, but Spock’s strength holds.
Spock looks up to see Rekan standing above them, poised to take action.
“Hold him,” he grunts, and readies himself for the next series of actions he must take.
Rather than drop his rifle and give up their only defense against more alien assaults, Rekan chooses to secure Arev by sitting on him. Arev bucks, but is unable to dislodge the weight of two fully grown Vulcans, one on top of him, the other below. Grimly, Rekan keeps his seat on Arev, and continues covering the back of the shuttle bay.
There is no time to worry if Spock is even capable of being successful in this next endeavor. Either he will, or he won’t. He grips Arev’s head tightly between his hands (utilizing the form of yokul selhat pi'yem-tukh). From here, he need only spread his finger slightly to initiate the meld.
Jim mind is a cistern, fathomless, as if it has been made for Spock to explore and discover. Arev’s mind is as the deep desert, and it rages at his intrusion in heat and stinging sand. Arev’s anger is a wild, ancient thing, but Spock strikes against it, visualizing the bells which toll at Gol. The peals reverberate. The plak reshan rises up, fighting, then subsides as Spock strikes against it a final time. Arev’s lucid mind presses against Spock’s, logic writ in the sinuous curves of the desert dunes once more.
Spock withdraws immediately, breaking the meld swiftly and as gently as he can under the circumstances.
25.7 seconds have passed.
“His boot,” he says sharply to Rekan.
Rekan, sitting easily atop Arev’s now calm body, looks down at the smoking boot on Arev’s foot.
Keeping one hand on his rifle, Rekan pulls out a combat knife, reaches down, and slices open the boot, and slides the pieces of it off of Arev using the butt of the knife. When the handle of the knife begins smoking too, he throws it away with a Klingon curse. Rekan reaches back down and peels Arev’s sock off as well, though it is unnecessary. The acid had not burned through the sole of the boot yet, though Spock calculates it must have been only by a few milliseconds.
In a small voice, Arev says, “I am myself again, Commander Spock.”
Spock breathes out a sigh of relief, which both Arev and Rekan surely feel, but neither of them choose to comment on. Rekan stands and Spock releases Arev from the yokul selhat pi'yem-tukh hold. Arev scrambles to his feet and tries to collect himself. Attempting to do much the same, Spock stands. Logic. Action.
“Guard,” He orders Rekan, and sharply gestures Arev over to Palmer. Working swiftly and without words, they move Palmer onto the stretcher. Spock, in a flash of insight, remembers the medpack, and grabs it, settling it on Palmer’s chest.
“Lift,” he says to Arev, and together they heft the stretcher and carry Palmer onto the shuttle. They secure his stretcher along the back row of seating.
“He must be monitored carefully,” Spock instructs Arev, who bows his head in understanding.
Spock turns and exits the shuttle, and Arev follows on his heels. Rekan has fallen back to the base of the ramp.
“Tell the shuttle to take off,” he orders Rekan, as he strides past him off of the ramp.
“Commander!”
Spock calls back over his shoulder, “I am returning for Captain Kirk!” His body wants the safety of the shuttle, it longs for the freedom from fear that would be granted by escape. But the mind controls the body. Spock is not leaving. Not without Jim. If he must tremble, vomit, scream, or cry, so be it, but his body will obey him. He will return for Jim.
Rekan opens his mouth, but before he can say anything, Arev charges down the ramp after Spock.
“I will go with you!” Arev announces, coming to a stop at Spock’s side.
With some regret, though not much, Spock administers the nerve pinch, and shoves Arev’s newly limp form straight back to Rekan, who catches Arev’s slender form far more easily than he had Stonn’s bulk.
“I believe I have somewhere in the area of 99 problems,” Spock explains to Rekan’s raising of both brows, “but a young Vulcan in the throes of the plak reshan is not going to be one.”
“Commander, are…” Rekan starts to ask, then trails off.
“I am emotionally compromised,” Spock informs Rekan calmly, though he is only 45.68% certain that that is what Rekan was going to ask. “I cede the remainder of the mission to you. Live long and prosper." He raises the ta’al then turns, and hefting Jim’s rifle before him, begins to head back through the shuttle bay.
Behind him, Rekan orders the shuttle to take off, and Spock hears the whine of the engines increase into a loud thrum, and the whir as the ramp begins to retract.
Spock is able to pick out Rekan’s parting shout of, “Good luck!”
There is no such thing as luck.
But if there were, Spock calculates that he will need it, desperately. His monitoring of the resonant link to Jim has not ceased, but now he turns his focus to it, caressing the slender connection in his mind. Jim is still alive. Spock will rescue him, odds of success be damned.
He creeps as fast as he dares back through the shuttle bay, as stealth will now be his only ally. There are indeed a plethora of problems Spock will be required to solve if he is to reach Jim. As the calculations for successfully reaching Jim are abysmal, and of no use to one who is making an emotional decision anyway, he is able to discard them cheerfully. The feeling is a welcome change from the sickness of his fear. He turns his mind to his first solvable problem.
As he squeezes himself back through the pried-open doors of the shuttle loading bay back into the tunnels that he believes (though he cannot remember for certain) connect back to the terraformer, he focuses on how it is that he will attempt to track Jim. The answer for that is happily something he has already determined once before. On Sevastopol, when Jim had fallen through open flooring, the most expedient way to reach him had been to simply jump after him.
Alone, and feeling very vulnerable, Spock resolutely retraces his steps, descending the ladder to the lower grating, and returning to the narrow connection tunnel. 4.2 minutes since he left the shuttle. Spock consults the internal timer he has calculated for Jim’s life. He is making excellent time, now that he is unburdened by duty. And Stonn’s incredibly heavy body. It is also growing easier to function in the midst of his emotions. While they continue to assault his body unabated, and he feels no less than before, it seems one can really grow accustomed to anything.
Spock pauses before the gap in the metal grating to calculate the precise angle from which Jim had fallen, and though his stomach seems to drop lower in his body somehow and his heart leaps against his side in anticipation, Spock steps out over the gap and allows himself to fall without hesitation.
He bounces off something solid and cold and after a brief 1.01 seconds of disorientation, rights himself feet-first, as he realizes he has begun to slide down some kind of manufactured tube. Up ahead, he sees a lighter glow, indicating that he will exit the tube momentarily. He devotes himself to the present moment, increasing his reaction time by a factor of three. Spock will catch himself on the edge of the tube and halt his forward rush out of the tube, and assess the area.
Metal grating above. Dim emergency lighting. Murky water below. A piece of tech hanging from the unfinished edge of the tube. Jim’s headset! Ah. A miscalculation. Spock’s focus at his current ability allows for an increase of his reaction time by a factor of only 1.3. Unfortunate. He is not able to brace himself against the edge of the tube and stop himself from shooting out into the flooded tunnel below. However, he is able to twist himself enough to grab Jim’s headset from where it is caught on the edge of the tube before he plummets like a stone into the water.
Vulcans, as a species, are not great swimmers. Spock, despite being half-human, is no exception. As the depth of the water reaches only 1.61 meters, Spock is spared from having to re-learn how to swim in the immediate moment. He is grateful. Those few lessons when he was twelve seem inadequate, and long ago.
He breaks the surface with a gasp, and with some effort, manages to still his instinctive thrashing as he gets his feet under him and stands. All that comes to his ears, other than the disruption of the water, is silence. He breathes, and turns his attention to the rifle. Admittedly, his knowledge of weapons such as this antique piece of Doctor McCoy’s is limited at best. It had functioned perfectly amidst the atmospheric content of Sevastopol’s reactor, he remembers. But, Spock does not wish to think about that now. Kaiidth, either it will continue to work, or it will not.
Spock turns in the water as he orientates himself once more as to his position. The shuttle bay is located off to his right. Jim will have been taken in the opposite direction. Spock faces left, and begins to force his way through the water. Distaste spreads through him. Ah yes. He hates water. That was why those swimming lessons were so few. He learned not to drown and was summarily done with it. Since he is unable to either control his reaction to being half-submersed in water or exit it entirely, he must resign himself to being miserable for the foreseeable future. At this point, Spock is used to it. This is the human experience. They spend their lives utterly miserable. If he survives, he will have far more sympathy for his mother’s people than before. They are to be commended.
Spock checks the area he is currently passing through, and finding no evidence of threats or of Jim, he turns his attention next to his prize, seized from the edge of the tube. Jim’s headset. Either it will work, or it will not. Spock’s fingers detect the presence of a coating. Omni-gel 42 he believes, a waterproofing agent, and a favorite of Keenser, Ship’s Mechanic for the Enterprise. Hope has his heart beating a staccato burst in his side. It will work. Ignoring his heart, he uses one hand to keep the rifle point up and the other to affix the headset, making micro-adjustments until the ear piece and microphone are in position.
There is a 95.20% chance that Specialist Uhura has encrypted a channel for Enterprise use during this mission. He further calculates that the crew of the Enterprise has been made aware of the status of Jim as reported by himself to the bridge of the Rineikau-Yehat. The care of Tolek will have been entrusted to specialized Vulcan medical staff, and Tolek’s long-haul partner. The shuttle with Dr. McCoy’s patients is still en route. There is a 99.56% chance (which Spock is willing to ‘round’ to one hundred) that Dr. McCoy is monitoring the frequency for contact with Captain Kirk.
Spock switches over to the channel that the Enterprise had used during the Sevastopol incident, and as he continues through the flooded tunnel back towards the terraformer, rifle first, he attempts contact.
“Dr. McCoy,” he says, as loudly as he dares.
2.3 seconds pass.
“Spock?”
Spock allows himself .56 milliseconds to savor his satisfaction at the accuracy of his calculations.
“Where is Jim?!" Dr. McCoy demands.
“I believe he is in the alien nest.” Spock’s voice tries to break as he answers, but he manages to complete the sentence.
A sick sounding moan follows this pronouncement, and Spock acts quickly to forestall the forthcoming emotional explosion. He is having more than enough difficulties with his own emotions, he cannot possibly be expected to handle the doctor’s as well.
“He is still alive. I am en route to the nest to retrieve him.”
“Spock what if he, if there’s one of those things inside—”
“I will know, and I will act accordingly and successfully, as I have before.” It is a relief to be able to respond logically to something. Some of the trembling in Spock’s limbs eases.
“Spock,” Dr. McCoy’s voice is tight with emotion, “those things grow fast, if it’s too big for a manual purge like on Sevastopol—”
“Doctor,” Spock attempts to speak, but McCoy’s monologue continues.
“They’ll never allow him back up on the Invincible, not even into the quarantine if it’s not contained! There is a serum we developed up here, I need you to get to a medical station and I will guide you through—”
“Bones,” Spock tries, an emotional appeal that would ordinarily have never occurred to him. It works. Dr. McCoy’s voice cuts off in surprise.
“I have already been introduced to the concept of the serum. I have a sample with me.” In fact, Spock had taken five vials and an extra hypo from the medpack as he had grabbed it and placed it on Palmer’s chest. If the serum developed by T’Pring and the two doctors did not work, it apparently wasn’t going to be because there hadn’t been enough supply.
Dr. McCoy takes 3.7 seconds to process Spock’s last statement.
“Where are you?” he asks, his voice rough with yet more emotion.
“I am proceeding through a series of underground tunnels which connect to the terraformer. The reactor inside the terraformer is the likely location of the nest. I will retrieve Jim from it, following the example he set forth on Sevastopol.” Spock is moving through the flooded tunnel as quickly as he is able to without creating the splashing sounds of a creature in distress that he calculates has a 75.02% chance of drawing unwanted alien attention.
“Are you armed?”
“I have a sidearm, issued by the Investigative Forces, and am currently in possession of Jim’s personally issued rifle, which I believe belongs to you, Doctor.” Spock’s light crosses a dark space, and Spock examines another open tube. Likely for runoff from reactor overflow. He contemplates it for a moment, then moves on. Logic dictates this decision. 35.84% chance that the tube leads up into an area of the terraformer that will grant him access to the reactor. 64.16% chance that it will not.
A voice cuts in on comms excitedly. Spock recognizes Montgomery Scott, Executive Officer and Engineer for the Enterprise.
“Commander, sir! Do ye know if there is ah,” Mr. Scott clears his throat, “an attachment, just on the side of the muzzle of that rifle?”
Spock blinks. There is indeed one. A detail he had overlooked until it was brought to his attention. Such a lapse is unacceptable. He must do better if he is to rescue Jim.
“I believe so. A cylinder, approximately 13.2 centimeters in length,” Spock answers.
“Yes!” Mr. Scoot whoops in triumph. “It’s a canister of compressed diethyl ether, with an uh, engineered ignition system, designed to integrate into the onboard rifle systems.”
Spock’s insides begin to feel disconcertingly liquid. He stops moving, the water lapping at his chest. Spock intakes a careful stabilizing breath. Either it will explode, or it will not. So be it. He resumes forward movement. If Spock’s father ever discovers all of the logical decision-making he is willfully ignoring here on the surface of Acheron, Spock will likely be disowned. He briefly checks the ammunition count on the rifle’s readout. The bar he had previously attributed to stylistic design now has new meaning.
If the diethyl ether canister explodes, Spock supposes his troubles will be over. If it does not…Spock feels the edge of his mouth curve up into a smile. If it does not, his odds of successfully rescuing Jim have increased by a pleasing margin. It’s still not a number he is willing to acknowledge, but…all gains are good gains? Does he have that right?
“Er, Commander Spock?” Mr. Scott prompts in Spock’s ear.
“Understood,” Spock replies seriously. “I now have a flamethrower at my disposal.” He identifies three more runoff tubes, but bypasses all of them, as the logic guiding his decision remains unchanged.
“It really is just a wee bit of fuel, but it should be quite long lasting!” In the background of Montgomery Scott’s connection, Spock identifies the voice of Keenser, but is unable to determine exactly what is said.
Mr. Scott then hastily adds, “But I cannae say with any accuracy how long lasting.”
Another burst of indistinct words from Keenser.
“The range is a good 4 meters, pinpoint accuracy if I do say so meself, but best used in short bursts, Commander.”
“Acknowledged,” Spock replies.
His light beam illuminates something, a glint on the edge of an upcoming runoff tube. It is set lower in the side of the tunnel wall than the others had been. As Spock draws nearer, he identifies what it was that had first caught his attention. A glistening strand of saliva. Here. Jim was taken through here. He allows himself 1.2 seconds to bask in the resonant link to Jim’s mind. It is stronger.
With a grunt, he levers himself out of the water and up into the tube. It is angled at a far shallower gradient than the previous tubes he had passed. Yes. It is this way. 86.78% chance.
The flooded tunnel has slowed his progress. 30.6 minutes have now passed since Jim was taken. The timer is counting down. Spock selects the next problem on his list.
“Stand by, Enterprise,” he says, “I am going to communicate with the Rineikau-Yehat.”
Specialist Uhura’s professional voice cuts off protests from both McCoy and Mr. Scott. “Understood, Commander.”
The size of the tunnel forces him to proceed in a half-crouch that does not lend itself to swift traversal. Frustration builds in his shoulders. He longs to…punch something. How satisfying that would be! Spock will not punch something. The only things available to punch are himself or a solid concrete wall. Either of those targets would be both illogical and stupid. He is not stupid. Gritting his teeth in irritation at himself, he reaches up and switches the headset over to the mission channel.
“Spock to the bridge,” he says.
“Commander,” Saavik answers instantly. “What is your status?”
“I am en route to the terraformer’s reactor to recover Captain Kirk.”
“Why?” Her voice is implacable.
It seems she is going to cut him ‘no slack’ as he has heard Montgomery Scott grumble on occasion.
“Captain Kirk was successful in rescuing me from an alien nest located inside a reactor.” He dodges the question.
The tube stretches before him, dark, and inclining ever upwards. His body aches with the cramped position he is forced into, and complains at him incessantly. Oh, how he will take pleasure in bludgeoning his body back into submission when he meditates. Or rather, he will not, because that would be illogical. But if he cheats, and takes pleasure as he imagines doing so, oh well.
“Commander, be aware, even if you are successful in your retrieval of Captain Kirk, the Rineikau-Yehat is unable to provide a means of egress from the surface of Acheron. The Lewis & Clarke received damage upon its exit from Acheron's atmosphere. Though we expect a successful docking and quarantine of the patients, I cannot authorize the shuttle for a return trip.”
That is not good news. The extraplanetary cyclone must have intensified again. It is likely a Class 13, perhaps even 14 now.
“Could another shuttle be made fit for Acheron’s atmosphere?” He knows the answer, but must ask anyway, his mind desperately trying to calculate a scenario of survival for himself and Jim.
The gregarious voice of Chief Engineer M’Mett B’rrown sounds over comms. “We have the materials, Commander Spock m’boy, but it will take at least 24 hours for construction.”
Spock shudders as his calculations return the odds of survival of lasting a further 24 hours on the surface of this moon. It is only technically non-zero.
Spock is wet. Spock is cold. Spock is suffering from no less than five separate emotions at once. Spock is angry. Now six emotions. He wants to scream. Unvoiced, it burns in his chest.
A young voice breaks the silence on the comms. “Ze Enterprise is rated up to Class 15 Ion storms.” Spock blinks, and reviews Pavel Chekov’s schedule in his head. A bridge shift. Which means that Warrant Officer Sulu is present as well. A plan begins to form. To be accurate, it is less of a plan and more of a pathetic last hope. Spock’s only ally right now is a flamethrower which may or may not detonate him into tiny atoms. He will take the hope.
Chief Engineer B’rrown questions, “Are you sure, Pavel m’boy?”
“Yes sir, Mr. Scott has gone over ze specifications wis me many times during my Engineering lessons.”
Spock recognizes the voice of Executive Officer Anauk next. “It would still need a pilot with the ability to negotiate the Enterprise through such a storm, as well as a navigator—”
“Mr. Sulu is ze finest pilot in all ze Federation!” young Chekov declares hotly.
Undeterred, Executive Officer Anuak says, “The Enterprise will still require a navigator for in-atmosphere—”
“I am ze Enterprise navigator!” Spock’s devoted student interrupts once more.
Captain Saavik speaks, her words careful. “I am unsure I am willing to authorize a minor to participate in such a mission.”
Spock is unsure as well. But it seems unlikely that any other qualified navigators are going to volunteer.
“Mr. Sulu,” Saavik says, “Captain Kirk assigned you to the charge of Mr. Chekov’s welfare during his time here on the Rineikau-Yehat.”
“It will not be necessary to land,” Spock says, knowledge of the terraformer’s construction deposited into his head by some unknown memory. “There is a shuttle landing pad only 200 meters below the terraformer’s apex. Once I have retrieved the Captain, we would be able to rendezvous with the Enterprise there, via the cargo bay main ramp.”
Warrant Officer Sulu speaks, sounding troubled, “I don't think the captain would authorize it.”
The comms crackle with the squawk of outrage that Chekov makes.
“But,” Sulu continues, “as he’s not here, he can object later. We’re going to go get him.”
Patched into the main mission comms (no doubt due to the superior capabilities of Specialist Uhura), the Enterprise’s Montgomery Scott speaks. “My wee assistant and I are already warming up the Enterprise’s engines.”
“I have submitted the unlocking request to the Rineikau-Yehat’s mainframe,” Specialist Uhura announces. Spock feels his lips shape into the curve of another smile. The Enterprise’s crew is the finest crew he has ever had the privilege to work with. Dr. McCoy’s illogical idiosyncrasies notwithstanding.
The warmth of feeling aroused by these thoughts dissipates abruptly. There is an opening ahead. Spock has reached the terminus of the tube.
“Be advised,” he murmurs into his microphone, “I am approaching ingress into the terraformer. No comms over the mission channel unless I initiate.”
Spock flexes his grip around the rifle, and cautiously covers the last 7.01 meters to the opening. He crouches on the edge and surveys the area. A network of metal grating rises above him and continues below, branching out across a deep reservoir, stretching farther than his light can reach. Spock breathes. He shudders. Reactor overflow. He is…underneath the reactor. 47.56 minutes since Jim was taken. The area looks clear. He eases himself out from the top and tests the integrity of the metal walkway the tube connects to. Keeping a hold on the edge of the tube, he places his whole weight on the walkway, and stands. Spock breathes. Either it will hold or it will not. If it does not, he must be prepared to jump to another section.
It holds. It is time for the next problem. Where, precisely, is the nest located? Spock has access to very few memories of the terraformer. The ne-hal-mazhiv vokaya had begun to compromise his logic almost completely when he had first seen the shape of it on their approach and deduced the presence of an internal reactor, though of course, he hadn’t realized it at the time. When he had realized, it had been far too late to escape from its effects.
Spock scans through his memories, seeking some way to orient himself as to his position inside the terraformer. He burns with shame anew as instances where he forced his calculations and deliberations to serve his own desires, and keep the investigation from moving to the terraformer are revealed to him. Spock hid behind untruths and false logic.
A commonality in his memories demands his attention, and breaks through the shame. He remembers...being needed. Attached to every clear memory he has access to, is a sense that Jim…had need of Spock. It appears that he had drawn strength from this, used it to focus and instinctively resist ne-hal-mazhiv vokaya. Spock’s brow creases as he struggles to ascertain the correct timeline. But then…they had been forced to the terraformer, despite his efforts to keep the investigation away? He cannot remember!
5.2 seconds have passed. Spock must glean something from his recall, there must be some useful piece of information he can access!
One memory finally emerges from the horrifying blankness of his time in the terraformer. Jim's face, his eyes locked on Spock's as doors...elevator doors had closed between them. That…that had been? They were leaving, yes. Descending from the control room. Because he had done something? Or not done something.
Tears of frustration gather in his eyes and he swallows with difficulty. Spock wants his mother. She is not here. Spock also wants his father. His father is also not here.
Where is the location of the reactor?! He screams at himself internally, a behavior that he cannot once recall having engaged in in his life.
Finally, almost grudgingly, the answer comes to him. 100 meters below the Control Room. Which they had accessed via an elevator and along a series of interconnected hallways. A map, tentative, but accurate, he believes, resolves in his mind at last. He orients himself. The reactor is located northwest from his current position, above overflow control. He must head to the right, and ascend.
Spock snaps his focus back to his presence on the walkway. A further 1.5 minutes have passed. Absolutely unacceptable. A snarl at himself forms on his face. He turns to the right.
An alien hisses violently, a mere 0.975 meters in front of him, its features cast directly in his light beam. Its lips curl, revealing the blunt silver teeth inside the mouth, from which saliva pools. It begins to reach for him.
Terror. Death. Ne-hal-mazhiv vokaya.
Jim.
He squeezes the trigger for the secondary fire on the rifle. A burst of flame catches the alien directly in the face, in a shock of heat and light. It shrieks, and in a whirl of elongated limbs, turns and flees, leaping up from walkway to walkway away into the dark.
Spock gasps, his heart thundering in his side. There had been no logic. Only fear, and emotional turmoil. But Jim was there too, and Spock had just…reacted. And Spock—he had—felt—no, no time.
Spock must move. Now. He pushes his body immediately into a sprint down the walkway, his light beam dancing over metal railguards as the walkway branches off to his left. He will keep straight. Overflow controls will be located directly west, in the direction he is currently heading. From there, he will be able to deduce the location of reactor access. Distantly, off in the darkness above, he hears another shriek. The creatures do not retreat for long.
There! He sees it. The frame of a localized control room, the glass of its windows reflecting the light from his chest mount. It is shaped like a box, and it sticks out from the wall of the reservoir, likely for surveillance purposes. Spock skids to a halt in front of a door. It does not open. It should be receiving power, and there is no reason for these protocols to be locked. Another cry behind him. Above him. Closer. There is no access panel.
The door has a shape on the right side. A distant memory from his childhood comes to him. A history museum on Earth? It is a handle. Spock reaches forward and pulls. The door opens. The door is flimsy, made of cheap metal alloy. It will not hold. He looks quickly around the room he has entered into. A localized map and directory are set on the back wall. Spock is Vulcan. A glance of 1.3 seconds is all he needs to memorize it. There! He knows the way.
His body cringes in reaction as he hears a crash and then a scrambling on the roof above him. The door he needs is set into the wall right next to the map. Pull for entrance, push to exit. He bursts through the door into a narrow hallway. Vents line the ceiling. Spock sprints straight down the hallway, counting the turnoffs to the left as he passes them. One. Two. Three. Turn!
He pushes his body for all it has to give. If his legs wish to collapse in terror, they are welcome to do so. In the elevator. Which lies at the end of this hallway. In the vents above, he hears the distinctive sound of an alien as it crawls through them. Behind him. Above him. In front of him.
Spock skids to a stop just before the next vent opening and angles the rifle up at the vent. The alien inside hisses. Strings of clear saliva drip down. He pulls the trigger on the alternate fire. Flame jets up into the vent, illuminating the form of the alien for .55 seconds before it screams and contorts itself violently to escape from the heat and light. The metal of the air ducts squeals as Spock hears the alien retreat back the way it came.
The elevator doors are visible at the end of the hallway. He hurtles down the remaining distance and hits the call button with his elbow, already turning around to guard the hallway behind him as he waits.
One second.
Silence.
Two seconds.
Silence.
Three seconds.
Distant sounds of crawling, echoing in the vent nearest him.
Four seconds.
The elevator chimes.
Five seconds.
An alien shriek.
Six seconds.
The doors open.
Spock backs into the elevator and hits the floor for reactor access, located exactly where he expects it to be.
A crash from the vents, and three vent openings down, the alien descends into the hallway.
The elevator doors close.
“Fuck you!” Spock crows at the closed doors as the elevator begins to ascend, filled with euphoria.
The next second he is doubled over, the nausea in his stomach overtaking him at last. He heaves up the scant contents of his stomach, then regains some control.
Like a vine struggling towards water, Spock reaches for the resonant link he still shares with Jim. It is much, much stronger now. It should not exist at all, but that is a mystery for another time. Jim is alive, and Spock is close to him now.
A flash of heat, another memory of an elevator ride, Spock cannot accurately place when. Jim pressed against him, full length, his chest to Spock's arm. Spock had yearned to thrust Jim against the wall and bury himself inside his willing body.
Spock blinks, and struggles to retain the memory. That cannot be right? It slips away despite his efforts. Well. It seems he had been more than willing to use sexual desire as a way to escape from dealing with the fear attendant to the realities of his situation. He can only hope he was not given an opportunity to completely embarrass himself.
The elevator chimes. Spock focuses, bearing all of his attention and his wandering thoughts on the here and now. He breathes in, and readies the rifle. The meter indicating the fuel level for the flamethrower attachment has decreased by 1/5th. Spock has shaken his pursuer for the immediate moment, but it will catch up with him. Spock must reach Jim before it is able to alert any other creatures.
The doors open, and Spock is cast back into the ne-hal-mazhiv vokaya as if he had never left.
The unknown material, most likely secreted by the creatures using a mechanism Spock’s team has yet to uncover, spreads across the walls, floors, and ceiling of the hallway he finds himself in. It is shaped into strange spirals and knobs, obviously formed with intent, but to what purpose, he still does not know. A monitoring station half covered with the strange growth sits dark and cold off to his right, and he understands he must be somewhere adjacent to Sevastopol’s reactor.
No. Not Sevastopol. He is on Acheron. Accessing the terraformer’s reactor.
Corpses line the walls, just as he himself has been secured, he feels, struggling against his restraints. The chests of each corpse have burst open, their faces frozen forever in their last moments of agony and horror. He knows exactly what has happened to them, and the fear threatens to overwhelm him entirely.
He is not restrained, because Jim had freed him, and these walls are bare of corpses!
His grasp on his internal timekeeping has failed him as it did inside Tower 4 of the towing rig—no! 58.15 minutes since Jim was taken!—but he is certain by now Jim will have returned to Dilithium Storage for him—incorrect!—found him taken, and with no way to trace or track him, and with knowledge of the presence of more of the creatures, he will have been forced to return to the Enterprise—False! Even now, he is likely traveling away at warp speed.
Spock will never leave this place.
Spock left that place 30 days 2 hours 21 minutes and 36.4 seconds ago. 37.2 seconds ago. 38 seconds ago.
Spock breathes in. The scene before him is very similar to the one that had greeted him when he had opened his eyes in Sevastopol’s reactor maintenance area. But this hallway is not that intermix chamber room. He is not trapped in a memory, he exists in the present moment. Spock breathes out, his exhale leaving him shakily. He adjusts his grip on the rifle, and listens intently. Hissing from pipes venting steam. Dripping from improperly maintained coolant pipes. An intermittent rustling from the walls. Underneath all of that, a faint hum. The power of an active reactor. One step at a time, his eyes darting at every dark corner or space that could conceal one of the creatures, Spock advances. The ridges and loops on the floor of the secreted resin he negotiates with care. Tripping now would be…unwise.
There are no eggs lining the floor of the hallway, and despite what the terror-induced recall of the ne-hal-mazhiv vokaya had tried to convince him of, there are no corpses caught into the structure of the resin on the walls. Spock must enter the realm of supposition, but he believes he may be in the outer environs of the nest. There is likely a central location from which it spread out from. Jim will be located nearer to that. He must press forward.
Spock swallows, his throat clicking. His body pleads for water like a child. Spock is Vulcan. He can live off of his internal stores for three weeks at a time. The mind controls the body. Spock follows the hallway until it leads him to a junction. The hallway to the left is almost completely sealed by the secreted growth, and Spock is forced to proceed right. His worry that he has been forced to travel away from Jim is thankfully short-lived.
He arrives at a walkway which wraps around a gap of 6.09 meters. He looks up. 54.23 meters above him, he identifies the underside of what are most likely (86.54%) the coolant towers for the terraformer’s reactor. His gaze travels down, following the line of pipes and connections which feed into it as they descend for five more levels below him. There. Down there. It will be darker. Cooler. Far more moist. That will be the heart of the nest. Jim is there.
Spock examines the walkway, searching for the stairwell access he knows must be present. Logic dictates it. Alien growth. Leaking connection pipes. There, off to his right, he spots the distorted shape of stairs, covered over in the shapes of the alien resin. Logic has not failed him.
He moves easier now, adjusting to his environment. All is quiet, and calm. It will not last. Spock must recover Jim. He descends down the stairs, and at the third level down, spots the first corpse. It is difficult to identify either the species, the gender, or even a relative time of death. Spock had researched what little information there was available on the decay rates for Acheron, but he is unable at this time to postulate a theory for decay rates inside of this alien nest. He must guess. 25 days.
He gently strokes his link to Jim. Spock is closer, much closer now, but he senses that Jim is…below him still. Spock almost exits the open stairwell on the fourth level down, as the corpses lining the walls seem…newer, but he knows that several members of Tihet Squad were taken, and he sees no sign of them. He descends to the fifth level at the end of the stairs. His feet splash gently into ankle-deep water.
Spock turns, and the first face that greets him in the light belongs to Private Blain. His face is frozen in a rictus of horror and pain, and his chest has exploded open in the manner of the completion of the alien’s embryo life cycle. Spock is very, very close to Jim now. The connection thrums between them. Where? Which direction? It has been 62.55 minutes since Jim was taken. Spock is running out of time.
Suddenly, terror, through the link, and Spock hears Jim’s voice. A yell of fear, rage, and helplessness.
No! He will not allow it, no! He turns and runs through the maze of piping and growth of the bottommost level in the direction of Jim’s voice.
Spock turns a corner, and it is as if he has seen what is happening a full 1.5 seconds before it has occurred. Spock’s focus is complete. His reaction times are now operating at a factor of three. He is already aiming the rifle in advance of the parasite as it crawls forth from an egg across from Jim and leaps. The blast from the flamethrower catches it in the air, knocking it off course. Making a high pitched squealing noise, it drops to the floor of the nest amidst the curves of the growth. The flames consume it quickly, crackling and distorting its shape.
“Spock,” Jim gasps, struggling against the resin that restrains him against what was once a supporting pipe. “Spock!”
Spock has made it in time.
End Chapter THIRTEEN