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indeedcaptain · 25 days

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Regulatory Relations, chapter 16: The Admiral

Hello everyone I hope you are doing well and happy April!

Wahoo, this story broke 100,000 words with this chapter! That's an insane number to think about.

Chapter warnings: graphic depictions of violence :)

Also posted on AO3 here!

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Kirk materialized on a dusty, paved track in the center of what could charitably be described as the middle of nowhere. He coughed as Spock and April materialized beside him, and they moved out of the way as the security teams appeared, one after the other.

The area of Kindinos VI that they transported to was near colorless, infinite shades of gray-brown stretching to the staggering mountains breaking the near horizon. The star that served as the center of this solar system was a pale yellow dot in a pale gray sky, and though the climate could not be classified as cold, Kirk wasn’t sure he would consider it warm, either.

It was a profoundly unfriendly planet, and as he looked around, he noted uneasily that there was no sign of the miners that had called for their aid. The land around them was uneven but for the paved road leading to the mountain to the east, rising and falling sharply in a pattern like moguls on a ski slope. The security officers unholstered their phasers, setting them to stun and creating a periphery around April, Kirk, and Spock, and the only sound except their footsteps was the familiar humming of Spock’s tricorder.

Spock frowned slightly down at the screen as he turned slowly in a circle, scanning in every direction.

“Where are we, Mr. Spock?”

“It seems as though we are in the middle of the settlement, captain,” Spock said, and he lifted his eyes from the tricorder screen to look over the rolling micro-hills of the land before them.

“But where is it?”

Spock glanced over his shoulder at Kirk, and Kirk nodded before he approached one of the hills warily. Two security officers flanked him as Kirk and April followed a few steps behind, and Spock crouched next to the crest of the hill.

He reached out and yanked on something set into the ground, and stepped back as a hatch swung open, revealing a dark hole in the ground. He looked around him curiously, and stomped his foot: the sound his heel made against the ground revealed that he was standing not on hard-packed earth, but dust-coated plex. Gesturing to one of the security officers, who pulled a flashlight from his belt and flicked it on, Spock and the officer crouched again next to the open hatch and peered down into the darkness.

The other security officers broke off in groups of three and four, knocking on the other hatches set into the ground and pulling them open. Kirk came up behind Spock and leaned over his shoulder. The security officer--- a young human woman called Jackson--- shone the flashlight down into the hole. Buried beneath the ground was a self-contained unit, two meters by two meters, within which rested a single bed, a small desk, and shelving built into the walls approximating a kitchenette and bathroom. The bed was unmade, and a single, empty aluminum cup sat on the table. Lieutenant Jackson shone the flashlight around the border of the space, and the shaky light revealed that pieces of paper or plex had been stuck to the walls.

“Hold there,” Kirk said softly, and Jackson held the light steady on one of the pieces of paper. It was slightly yellowed, a little dusty, but it showed a simplistic drawing of a house, with two big stick figures and three small stick figures drawn in front of it. Kirk’s heart sank. Someone’s child had drawn them this picture, and they had taken it to this job with them, and kept it where they could see it at all times. He glanced at Spock, who scanned the little room with his tricorder but met his eyes.

“They may be in the mine itself, captain,” Spock said, and he and Jackson stood. Kirk straightened as well.

“Did you get any life signs? From any of these little bunkers?”

“Uncertain, captain. The scanner was unable to penetrate whatever matter makes up the soil of this planet. But my readings show a larger shelter just beyond our sightline,” Spock said, and indicated westward, in the opposite direction of the highest peak of the mountain range. “A larger domicile, or perhaps a central gathering place.”

“Alright,” Kirk said, and with a gesture recalled the drifting security teams back to his side. “We’ll split into three. Spock, April, and I will head to the larger building, see if anyone is there. Team A, open as many of these hatches as you can and search for anyone within who may be in need of acute medical assistance. Close them up when you’re done, though, no need to let the dust into these people’s things. Team B, head to the entrance to the mine and see if there are survivors there.” His people nodded around him.

“Remember, we don’t want to come in with accusations. We’re just here to check everything over because the comms went down. We’re here to help. Check in with the ship every---”

Tickatickatickatick. Kirk stopped as the noise echoed into earshot, drifting towards them over the dusty plain. Jackson turned over her shoulder, looking in the direction of the mountains, but nothing seemed to have changed. The ticking noise grew louder, and Spock started off suddenly towards the central road they had originally landed on. They followed Spock as he strode purposefully onto the road, and then scuffed at the dirt with his boot.

The dust cleared easily away, revealing a magnetic track set into the earth. He looked up, along the road, as a metal cart rolled into view from beyond the curve of the road, where the rise and fall of the bunker-hills had hidden it. Slowly it tickatickaticked down the road, hovering above the metal strip, the rotating magnets set into the cart itself scraping and shifting as it pulled itself along. Kirk and the away team watched as it trundled on its way, empty but for the dirt that had settled into the grooves of it, and passed them to continue through the wasteland.

“Perhaps the larger building is a storage location for the dilithium before it is shipped out,” Spock said quietly, as he watched the cart disappear around another bend.

“Maybe,” Kirk said, and when the cart had vanished from view he turned back to the away team. “Check in with us or the ship every thirty minutes. Dismissed.” The officers nodded, and team A peeled off to open hatches as team B started down the long and desolate road.

“Terrible day for a walk,” Kirk said as he, Spock, and April turned the other direction, towards where the other building waited for them. The wind had picked up around them, tossing the fine dirt in every direction, and there wasn’t a single tree to break the power of the gusts.

“I believe that they will be able ‘hitch a ride,’ as you might say,” Spock said, and they had only taken a few more steps when the tickatickatick began again. The cart lurched towards them once more, returning down its path from the mine to wherever its dropoff station might be and back again. They stepped aside to let it pass.

“I hope they catch it,” Kirk said. “No use walking if there’s a perfectly good cart going that way anyway.” He turned back to their road and continued down it. “What do you think of all this, Admiral?”

April walked alongside him, dark eyes scanning the horizon around them. “I don’t like that we haven’t seen a single person,” he said, and he gently palmed his phaser. “Alive or dead.” Kirk hummed in agreement, and Spock followed the two of them a few paces behind, sweeping from standing between him and April to fanning out beside him. The Spock rule, Kirk thought with a jolt. He hadn’t seen it in action since he learned its name. Spock had always hovered on away missions, orbiting him, but he had never thought anything of it until it had been brought to his attention. He smiled at his pacing husband before returning his attention to the road, and to April. When was the last time he had been on an away mission, had to make life-or-death split-second decisions? His hand on his weapon was making Kirk nervous.

They walked for another twenty minutes before a huge, unnatural curve broke the flat horizon. It rose up before them as they approached; it was a building made out of the same material and in the same design that the hatches and the bunkers were, but it stood twenty feet tall and double that wide. Kirk turned back to look over his shoulder, and then look around him.

“Mr. Spock,” he said quietly, returning his attention to the building. “Is there anything approaching this size, anywhere else within tricorder range?”

Spock turned slowly, scanning in every direction, before he shook his head. Kirk took in the shape of the building, the positioning of its details: there was a small rectangular door set dead center, with what looked like opaque windows alongside it, with a second row of windows higher above.

“This doesn’t look like a community center to me,” Kirk said, and Spock met his eyes as he spoke. “It looks like a house.” Spock considered it, as April’s breath left his lungs harshly. Kirk looked over his shoulder again at all the tiny, one-room bunkers, and looked back at the comparatively enormous structure. “Admiral, why did you call Dextrum’s owner unpleasant?”

April had pulled his phaser out, holding it loosely in both hands down in front of him, and he gazed over the building in front of them with a curl to his lip. “He’s a criminal ten times over, but we haven’t been able to pin him with anything. Then he showed up with proof that the government of Kindinos II sold him this planet, because they couldn’t be bothered to mine the dilithium themselves, and he badgered us into the worst deal we’ve ever cut just because he caught us at a bad time and we needed the dilithium for the new ships. He’s brash, and arrogant, and I have been waiting for something like this to happen for a year now.”

There was only one person that Kirk could think of who could possibly have made such a name for himself and pulled off such a ridiculous gambit, but there was no sense in focusing on that question now. “If I were a miner, doing the hard labor of pulling this rock out of the earth, and I live in a one-room hole in the ground and the big boss lives in a veritable mansion…” He trailed off, shaking his head. Spock’s hypothesis from the night before seemed more and more likely.

“Any signs of life inside, Spock?”

“None, captain.”

“We’re going in.” Kirk strode to the front door, Spock on his heels, and pulled the latch set into the metal of the door.

It swung open easily, revealing only darkness within. Spock flicked on the light set into his tricorder, and it shakily illuminated an entrance hallway with arches leading into other rooms on either side. Spock insinuated himself between Kirk and the doorway, and then crossed the threshold first. One hand floated towards his phaser, and the other held his tricorder light out. Kirk followed him in, and April brought up the rear. The hallway was garishly decorated, apparent even in the single weak light source. Enormous oil paintings of buxom women and exotic locales hung on every wall, and their footsteps were muffled by an oversized rug that stretched out into the darkness beyond them. Every step released a puff of the brown-gray dust that coated everything and the vibrant colors of the paintings were deadened by it. Spock turned curiously into one of the side rooms and aimed his light at the windows.

“I believe windows have been entirely coated by this dust,” Spock said.

“Cozy,” Kirk said, and he and Spock abandoned the room to continue deeper into the house. They passed two rooms with overstuffed couches built for lounging, and one with a dining room table and seats for twenty. The only place the dust had been disturbed was the head of the table, where one person had put a plate and glass and then removed them. April trailed behind them, peering dismissively at the evidence of a man who was unaccustomed to the hard life of living on an undeveloped planet.

Further in the house, there was a rickety metal staircase spiraling upwards, and the entrance to a kitchen.

“Choose your own adventure,” Kirk said, and peered upward into the darkness as Spock pointed their flashlight up into the second floor. April glanced up as well before he turned his head sharply, narrowing his eyes at the darkness hiding the details of the kitchen.

“Point that light over here, Mr. Spock,” he said, and Spock obliged. April gestured at the dust with his free hand. “Look at this--- it’s been disturbed more recently than the rest.” And so it was; there was a line in the fine, gritty dirt that was a slightly different color, as though something had been dragged across the floor and then the reclaiming dust had done its best to hide the evidence. The fine hairs on the back of Kirk’s neck stood at attention. He abandoned the staircase to follow Spock and April into the kitchen. Spock wielded the light as April followed the trail through the dust, ignoring the marble countertop of the island. But Kirk noted the island, and the expensive shine of the plates sitting in the open cabinets, and the heft of the ceramic utensil rest that he lifted off what looked like an induction stovetop. Someone had brought all the comforts of home to this mining town, and then had refused to share with his neighbors. Kirk banked the fire burning angrily in the pit of his stomach and turned to pay attention to Spock and April.

There was a door in the wall in the corner of the room, and April opened it as he raised his phaser. Kirk blinked, and for a moment Tommy looked over his shoulder at him as they both stared down into a cellar that smelled of death and rot, and then he blinked again. Tommy wasn’t there. April and Spock stood at the yawning threshold and stared down a set of untrustworthy-looking stairs that descended into pitch blackness. Kirk swallowed his sudden nausea and stepped up behind them.

“Cellar?”

“Perhaps,” Spock said, and he must have heard something in Kirk’s voice because without looking at him he reached back one hand with two fingers extended and stroked them along the side of Kirk’s useless hand before bringing it back to his tricorder. He aimed the little machine down the stairs and frowned. “But unlikely. This staircase leads down into a tunnel that extends further than a cellar or basement would.”

“How far?”

Spock looked back at him, liquid-dark eyes shining in the dim light. “At least two thousand meters beyond the boundary of this house.” The sense of unease that had dripped into his stomach at the disturbed dust intensified. He locked eyes with Spock, who gave one sharp nod, before he turned to April. “Admiral, I really appreciate you coming down here. But I don’t think the owner is still here, and I can’t guarantee your safety if we go underground.”

“Your concern is noted, captain, but I am going with you.” April’s tone brooked no argument, and his eyes were hard like flint. Kirk read his resolve in the lines of his face, and a level of apprehension that he didn’t understand, and he turned away from him and Spock to flip open his communicator.

“Captain Kirk to the Enterprise, come in, Enterprise.”

“I read you, captain, this is Enterprise.” Uhura’s voice came immediately, barely crackling over the comms.

“Checking in. We’re fine, but we’ve found something underground that needs looking at, so we’re going in. Any news from the other teams?”

“They called in just a few moments ago. Nothing yet, but they’re both fine.”

“Good, good. If we miss our check-in, ask Giotto to send another team down. We’re going beneath the big house.”

“Acknowledged, captain.”

“Thanks, Lieutenant. Kirk out.” He flipped his comm shut and turned to his companions. “Once more unto the breach, gentlemen?”

April exhaled heavily through his nose, the only sign he gave that he was tired of Kirk, and allowed Spock to cross through the doorway first with the flashlight before he followed down the stairs. Kirk brought up the rear, following the light bouncing down into the dark, and tried to remind himself that there would not be metallic blue sludge waiting for him at the bottom.

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There was no sludge at the bottom; only a long strip of the same magnetic rail that they had seen on the road outside, and dunes of the same dirt that coated everything along the sides of the tunnel. The tunnel itself was tall enough to stand up straight in, but not wide enough to walk shoulder to shoulder, and the walls were carved directly into the earth. Kirk frowned as he dragged one finger along them. The dirt was silken, easily malleable; he didn’t trust the structural integrity of their underground avenue.

Spock walked ahead with the flashlight, but every ten steps Kirk saw the whites of his eyes glint in the heavy dark as he glanced back, as if to assure himself that he had not lost Kirk to the black tunnel. April walked between them, phaser held in one hand, eyes trained on the horizon of Spock’s light ahead of them. They walked through the tunnel for fifteen minutes; long enough that Kirk was beginning to lose track of the minutes, and the monotony of the path was easing his nerves.

Then Spock halted, raising one hand in a symbol for them to stop behind him. He stood stock-still, head cocked slightly to turn one ear down the tunnel, and Kirk could see the tendons in his neck in shadowy relief as he listened.

April opened his mouth, half a syllable emerging, before Spock whispered, “Hush,” and Kirk saw his stance shift from vaguely curious to high alert. He turned back to them, dropping his voice so low that Kirk could barely hear him, and said, “I hear voices ahead. At least ten, possibly more.”

“The miners,” Kirk whispered back, and Spock nodded.

“I heard one say ‘dilithium.’” Kirk gestured for Spock to continue on carefully. He glanced at April as Spock faced forward again, and blinked. For half of one second, before the light shifted and the moment vanished, Kirk could have sworn that April’s face was drawn down with a profound sadness. But when April met his eyes, the expression was gone, as if it had never been.

April nodded, and they followed Spock further down the tunnel. They crept forward more carefully, placing their feet gently, and Kirk unholstered his phaser to set it to ‘stun’ and keep it in his hand. Spock drew his, holding his tricorder in one hand and the phaser in the other. The tunnel started to grow wider, and as they continued, Kirk’s less-sensitive human ears began to pick up voices from further down.

He leaned forward and tapped Spock’s shoulder to get his attention, and when he had it, he purposefully reholstered his weapon. He stood for a moment as Spock analyzed him, considering his decision, before he decreed it logical and put his own away as well. April watched both of them unhappily.

“We don’t want to create a problem where there isn’t one,” Kirk whispered as quietly as he could.

“I feel certain there is already a problem,” April whispered back, and he kept his out. Kirk glanced at it. He didn’t like it, but again he was outranked.

The tunnel continued to widen, and the far-off voices grew closer and louder, and once he was able to do so he stepped up to walk next to Spock. Spock glanced sideways at him, and adjusted himself so that he was just slightly in front of Kirk, his shoulder edged in front. April walked alongside them, his shoulders square, eyes sweeping ahead of them. The tunnel curved sideways, and as they rounded the edge, they saw something up ahead: light. Spock dimmed the tricorder’s little light and turned to April and Kirk.

“There is a group of people approximately sixty meters ahead,” he said lowly. “We ought to proceed with caution. We do not want to startle these people into believing that we are a threat.”

Kirk nodded, and they proceeded. Closer and closer they crept, until the murmuring voices coalesced into individual words---packing, and careful, and dilithium, and mine---and the light ahead grew brighter and brighter. Ten meters ahead Kirk saw a standalone light source--- quite similar to the ones that they kept on the Enterprise for when they needed to provide high visibility on a mission--- facing away from them. He pulled up into the last patch of shadow with Spock, clinging close to the wall for any cover it would provide.

“Alright,” he said, and turned to April to discuss their approach. But April stuck his phaser back into its holster and stepped ahead. “Admiral!”

April ignored him. The harsh industrial lighting gleamed off his bald head as he walked straight into the center of the cavern that yawned open in front of them.

Kirk hissed, “Admiral!” He glanced despairingly behind him, back into the safety of the dark tunnel, and froze. A shadowy figure emerged from behind them. Spock slid between Kirk and the figure, drawing his phaser in one subtle, fluid motion. Kirk drew his own, pressing his shoulder to Spock’s, turning sideways to cover their backs as his heartbeat picked up. From the corner of his eye he could see the shadow of movement of others along the perimeter of the cavern, circling them.

“The admiral,” he murmured to Spock, and he felt, more than he saw, Spock’s answering nod. No one had fired on April yet, or even acknowledged his appearance in the room, and he was looking around at whatever he could see from his central position, but Kirk could still see movement---

April turned back to them, a curious expression on his face. The figure stepped out of the shadows and into the unforgiving light.

He was not a miner.

The world stopped spinning beneath them. Kirk’s heart stopped beating. His blood froze in his veins as he stared at a man in a uniform that he had not seen outside of his nightmares for almost twenty years. The Section 31 agent only spared them one glance as he strode from the tunnel behind them, a box clasped tightly in his gloved hands, and towards April in the center.

Kirk staggered forward one step, raising his phaser to protect April, to stun the agent---

“Good morning, sir,” the agent said as he passed April, and April inclined his head in greeting before clasping his hands behind his back and turning back to them. Kirk stood frozen, as stuck as if his feet had been cemented to the ground. April’s eyes flicked between Kirk and Spock, who sidled around him now to keep his body between Kirk’s and the agent’s, and he sighed.

“God damn it. So you both know.” He unclasped his hands to pinch the bridge of his nose between two fingers. The words echoed through Kirk’s head, shattering senselessly against the inside of his brain. April stared down at the ground, hand hiding his expression, before looking back up at them with undisguised grief.

“I tried everything in my power to keep us from this point,” April said quietly. “And you fought me every step of the way, Kirk. Why couldn’t you stand down?”

April knew.

April was part of it. April worked for Section 31. As a burning spear of betrayal struck through his stomach, and his heart hammered in his chest, the cold glassy pane of disassociation slid down over Kirk’s thoughts. Spock’s head twitched from side to side next to him, brown eyes assessing the cavern around them, the tunnel they’d left behind. Kirk slowly increased the power on his phaser by one level and gripped it tighter.

“That is not a wise idea, captain,” April said, glancing down at his hands. Kirk’s knuckles were white. Spock moved sideways, putting himself one step ahead of Kirk’s shoulder, his posture sliding from upright and stoic to that of a predator in the span of a heartbeat. Now that they were standing in the light, Kirk could see: a full team of soldiers in those black uniforms, gloved hands passing securely latched boxes from person to person, taking them somewhere beyond the edge of the cavern. “You will be coming with us regardless of your actions, so I recommend that you don’t do anything too brash.”

“Like hell we will,” Kirk said, and kept his phaser where it was. From over April’s shoulder he could see more soldiers approaching, and one from over Spock’s.

“Disarm them, please,” April said, and the soldier closest to Spock broke into a run. Spock slapped his phaser back into its holster and ran to intercept him. So fast that Kirk could barely track his movement, Spock shoved the man’s phaser-hand upward, grabbed the weapon, and tossed it behind Kirk where it slid up against the wall. He twisted the man’s arm behind his head. When his back was to him, his other hand dropped down onto the crook of his neck and pinched. The man slumped to the ground, incapacitated, and Spock spun with a snarl to the other two soldiers as they approached, more cautiously than the first had.

April raised one hand, and the two soldiers halted. “Mr. Spock, reports of your pacifism seem to be greatly exaggerated. But I think you’ll find that standing down would be more… logical.” He nodded to Kirk, and Spock’s head snapped to him. They both looked down at the small red dot that had appeared on Kirk’s uniform shirt, hovering over his heart.

Kirk looked up, past April, and saw a woman across the cavern from him, plasma rifle balanced carefully on a stack of boxes. She nodded in acknowledgement when his eyes found hers before slotting herself back to the sight on the rifle.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Spock,” April said quietly. “But I would recommend putting your weapon and your communicator down.” From across the cavern, Kirk saw the sniper’s shoulders settle. The red dot rested unwaveringly on his chest. Spock’s eyes were trained on it, and Kirk could see that great mind calculating percentages and statistics even before he raised his gaze to meet Kirk’s.

Spock pulled his comm from his belt and the phaser from the holster before dropping both to the dirt at his feet.

“Wise,” April commented, as Spock returned to Kirk’s side, angling himself so that the dot of the rifle’s laser sight rested on his shoulder instead of Kirk’s chest. “Yours too, please, captain.”

Kirk glanced at the laser sight on Spock’s shoulder before pulling his comm and phaser off his belt as well. “What’s going on here, admiral?” His voice sounded very far away, even to his own ears. His phaser and comms hit the dirt with a dull thud, and he nudged them away from him with his foot.

“Stupid doesn’t suit you, Kirk,” April said softly, and Kirk’s mind snapped back to a subspace call with April two weeks ago, when he had said that he was taking Spock away, that he was sending Spock to another ship---

“Come with me,” April said, and turned over his shoulder. “I’ll tell you as much as I can.” Kirk and Spock exchanged a glance, and he knew they were in agreement. They followed April through the cavern and stuck close to each other. By Kirk’s count, there were a few over twenty Section 31 agents milling through the cavern, disappearing into and reappearing from the tunnels that dotted the larger room. Two of them hefted the one that Spock had pinched over their shoulders and vanished with him down another tunnel straight ahead.

“You are both acquainted with Section 31,” April said. “But do either of you know what its actual purpose is?”

“I hypothesized that it was primarily dedicated to research,” Spock said, and he glanced at Kirk; Kirk nodded. Yes, that was the best option; keep April talking, get him to explain as much as they could while they sought another way out.

“That’s not untrue,” April said, and nodded to the scurrying agents as they shuttled those locked boxes deeper into the tunnels. No one spared them a glance, but Kirk was viciously gratified to see that no one was willing to pass within two meters of Spock. “But it does go a little broader than that. The Federation needs a variety of tools to protect the interest of its citizens and ensure that actors like the Klingons are not able to interfere with our affairs. Starfleet, as a whole, is a hammer, and to you, everything looks like a nail. 31 is a scalpel.” April glanced at them, and his hand rested on his phaser, as if they needed a reminder of who currently held the power.

“I do not understand your analogies, admiral. Please speak plainly,” Spock said, but the badly disguised anger in the set of his shoulders said that he very much did.

“Starfleet, and starships and their captains, tend to be loud and flashy. 31 is able to act with more subtlety, more… finesse. Part of its value comes from being able to operate without public scrutiny. 31 conducts research, develops technology, and asks questions, same as the VSA.” He nodded at Spock, as if they were now speaking the same language, and a minute muscle in Spock’s jaw twitched as if he were offended by the comparison. “But when something goes wrong, something that gives our enemies the opportunity to take advantage of a weakness, 31 is the best tool for mitigating that damage.”

April gestured around at them, at the contingent of individuals in black uniforms. “Dextrum wasn’t beholden to our labor laws, because it wasn’t a Federation company. When the conflict first broke out, there was a possibility that we would both lose our investment and face backlash on a galactic level from working with an organization that treated its workers like this. Section 31 was called in to make sure that, at the very least, we got the dilithium we paid for.”

“But we weren’t supposed to be here,” Kirk burst out. His fury was heavy on his tongue.

“Who is we, captain?” April asked, bemused. “You were not supposed to be here. I tried to keep you and Spock from ever seeing this at all. But then you answered that call for help, the one that was never supposed to have been sent, and I couldn’t stop you.”

They entered a tunnel, not as narrow as the first but still smaller than the cavern behind, and April strode ahead while Kirk and Spock walked shoulder to shoulder. For one second, in the darkness, Kirk grabbed onto Spock’s hand and squeezed, and Spock squeezed back. Then they reemerged into the light and he released his grip.

“Admiral,” Spock said, as he looked around at the lofty cavern around them, and the telescoping ladder leaning against the wall on the far side of the space. “Please clarify why you are willing to share this information now, when you would not before.”

For a second, Kirk watched as a muscle ticked in April’s neck, as he heard a soft clicking as April’s throat closed, as April turned his face away from them both. When he turned back again, even as his face remained neutral his eyes revealed his grief.

“You two never should have been allowed to serve on the same ship,” he said. “Regardless of what Pike thought of your potential together. I said the risks were too high, but others were so convinced that a Vulcan would never befriend humans that they were willing to ignore it.” April’s voice was profanely gentle when he continued. “Sometimes it felt like I was the only one who remembered S’chn T’gai Michael Burnham, and that she had been human.”

Spock’s eyes widened.

“I tried to separate you before it was too late,” April said, and his voice hoarsened. He pressed his hand against his sternum and closed his eyes for a second longer than normal. He clenched his jaw as his eyebrows pulled together. “But your damned Vulcan telepathy… the link to the ambassador, to Amanda Grayson, and to T’Pau, who already didn’t trust us…” April hissed a breath out through his teeth, and with every second, every secret, the wrinkles of his face and the dark circles under his eyes deepened. “I didn’t want to do this.”

“Then don’t,” Kirk said. In the space of those two words, he finally understood how Madeleine and Natalya had heard the unsaid threat in the auditorium on Tarsus. He felt the same burning clarity in his bones as he turned to Spock, felt electric fear skittering along his skin like lightning. Spock was turning to him, his apprehension plain in his beautiful brown eyes, reaching one long hand out for him, when April said, voice tight, “Make it look like an accident.”

Kirk heard the whine of a charging phaser behind him. He was standing in the auditorium on Tarsus, next to Tommy and the littles. He was standing in the cavern, hundreds of feet below the surface of Kindinos. He was standing in front of Spock on their wedding night as Spock reached out to take his hands.

“No,” he said, and he snatched Spock’s outstretched hand and yanked as hard as he could. The cavern lit up with the light of phaser fire. Spock stumbled against him, his breath leaving him in a rush as he collided with Kirk’s chest. They both rocked backwards. Kirk wrapped his arms around Spock and spun them both, Spock’s feet clumsy and dragging beneath them. Spock was warm in his arms. His breath brushed Kirk’s ear.

Kirk’s hand was warm and wet when he pulled it away from Spock’s back. He looked down over the planes of Spock’s shoulder to see green coating his palm.

“No,” he said again, and something vital inside him shattered. “No, hey, Spock, look at me. Look at me.”

From somewhere very far away, he heard an unfamiliar voice say, “Should I fire again?” April responded, “No. It’s just a matter of time. Leave them be, but grab Kirk before we take off.”

Spock leaned heavily against him, head resting on his shoulder, and his voice was low and weak as he breathed, “Captain.” His knees buckled. Kirk lowered them both to the ground, taking as much of Spock’s weight as he could, holding him close in an awful parody of intimacy. Spock slid sideways as he lost his balance, and Kirk caught his head in his hand before it could hit the ground. Spock’s hair was silky against his palm, but the blood on Kirk’s hands dampened the strands and made them stick to each other. It smudged against his forehead and drew little green lines over his skin. He coughed, sprawled on the ground where he lay, legs bent beneath him. The only things Kirk could feel were the weight of Spock’s head in his hand and the hard earth beneath his knees. Spock’s face was too pale, and his eyes were glassy as he looked up at Kirk bending over him.

“Captain,” Spock said, and he lifted one shaking hand to Kirk’s face.

“No,” Kirk said again, and ripped what was left of Spock’s shirt open. The phaser fire had torn through Spock’s chest, entering from the left side of his back and exiting near his sternum. The smell of burning skin turned his stomach, but he forced himself to look. It felt like one of his nightmares, but he couldn’t wake himself up. “It’s not so bad, see? It’s not so bad.” It was worse. The phaser had been set to kill, and it had seared Spock open. But, Kirk realized, as Spock’s cold hand landed unsteadily on his neck, that if he hadn’t pulled Spock towards him it would have gone straight through his spine and heart.

“Jim,” Spock said, and coughed again. There was a speck of green at the corner of Spock’s mouth, and Kirk wiped it away with his thumb.

“Hush,” he said. “You’re going to be fine.” He knelt over Spock, hands fluttering uselessly over the expanse of burned skin and wishing that he were Bones, and realized in horror that he could see Spock’s ribs inside his body. They rose and fell with his unsteady breathing. Spock’s hand groped for his and clasped it.

“My Jim.” Spock coughed. “Ashayam.” The Vulcan word slid like water, like blood, off his tongue, and Kirk’s eyes burned hot with tears as he remembered in a flash that first morning, sitting across from Spock in the mess, teasing Spock, watching him drink his tea as they planned their fake relationship. Beloved. Beloved. Beloved. He pressed their joined hands to his chest and leaned over him. Something dug into his stomach.

Something hard and metallic was digging into his stomach.

“You’re gonna be okay, honey, I promise,” Kirk said, and he reached one hand inside his shirt to pull out Scotty’s experimental comm. Spock’s eyes followed his hand lazily, and he shook his head.

“No, captain,” he said, and his voice was weak. “Use it for yourself…” He trailed off as his chest spasmed, and he coughed wetly. His blood seeped into the dirt beneath him, staining his shirt and Kirk’s pants.

“Absolutely not,” Kirk said fiercely, and he flipped the comm open in the space beside Spock’s body and his knees. Within it was one single red button. He pressed it.

Nothing happened. He slid it into the remains of Spock’s mangled shirt, where it rested on his stomach, and redoubled his grasp on Spock’s hand. “Hold on,” he said. “Scotty will get you out.” He had never prayed so hard for something to be true.

Spock’s eyes were trained on his face, as if he were memorizing the lines of it. “Why?”

“You have to ask?” Kirk shook his hand lightly before pressing it against his chest again, and slid his hand over Spock’s forehead, through his hair, smoothing it back away from his face. “I promised to keep you and protect you, didn’t I?” Kirk’s voice shook. Spock’s unfocused eyes searched his, but his eyelids were drooping.

Was it Kirk’s imagination, or was Spock starting to dissolve?

“For better and for worse, against all dangers, as long as I live,” Kirk said. The edges of Spock’s body softened, glowing golden with the molecular confusion of a transporter lock, and Kirk half-laughed as tears threatened to spill down his cheeks. Scotty, that mad beautiful genius. Kirk was going to owe him and Giotto whatever they wanted for the rest of their lives, assuming that he made it out in one piece.

Beloved. Beloved. Beloved. Spock’s eyes were locked on him, the warm brown that he had come to cherish over every other color, and he ran one hand over Spock’s cheek.

“I love you,” he said. “You’re my best friend, and my husband, and I want you to be both of those things for the rest of my life.”

Spock’s eyes refocused, hardening as he started to vibrate entirely into gold. Kirk heard someone from behind him yell out, but there was nothing that they could do to him now. The only thing that mattered was that Spock would be safe, that Bones would fix him, that he wouldn’t die here, bleeding out on the cold stone floor.

“I will come back for you, ashayam,” Spock said, voice harsh with the blood in his throat. Kirk kissed the back of Spock’s hand and laid it gently on Spock’s stomach. Then he sat back on his heels and watched in heartstopping relief as Spock shimmered entirely out of his vision and disappeared, leaving behind only the green bloodstain on the dusty stone floor.

April roared, “What did you do?”

“Protected my husband,” Kirk said, and he grinned ruthlessly at April from where he knelt on the ground. April frowned down at him before nodding sharply.

From behind him a phaser whined and discharged, and the world around him vanished into blackness before he had even hit the ground.

☆☆☆

Kirk’s face pressed against something cold and metallic. He could feel the rumbling of an engine reverberating through his cheekbone, rattling his skull and intensifying what was the beginning of a splitting headache. His hands were tied behind his back, and he lay facedown on his stomach. Behind him, he could hear murmured conversation; one deep and familiar voice, and an unfamiliar one. Where the hell was he?

April’s voice said, “Thank you. Dismissed.” His heavy footsteps rang against the floor, and Kirk felt each footfall through his bones.

April had fooled them, betrayed them. Someone had hurt Spock. And now, he was… where, exactly? The feel of the engine and the faint recycled smell of the air told him he was on a shuttle, but with no idea how long he had been out and no comm device to use for coordinates, he was lost. But Spock had gotten out. The Enterprise had beamed him aboard. That was what mattered.

April sat down somewhere in the vicinity of Kirk’s shoulders and sighed. Then he said, “Are you awake yet, captain?”

Kirk stayed still, weighing his options. He could pretend to be out still and wait until April left, or he could reveal his consciousness and see if he could get April to talk again. Any information would help him at this point.

He lifted his head, peeling his cheek painfully from the metal floor, and turned his head to look April’s way. “April,” he said, as coldly as he could manage. He thought he could be forgiven for abandoning his decorum at a time like this.

“I am sorry, for what it’s worth,” April said, and Kirk snorted. But April looked awful. His eyes were sunken in his face, dark circles beneath them, and the muscles of his face looked like he had forgotten what smiling was long ago. He met April’s eyes.

The other man shifted forward out of his seat and rolled Kirk onto his side before pushing him upright and retreating to his bench seat again. There was a secured stack of cases behind Kirk, and he leaned back against them, stretching his legs out in front of him. He was definitely on a shuttle--- a small one, by the width of the room they were in--- and the stars passed by the window over April’s shoulder at sublight speed.

April studied him for a minute before sighing again. “I knew this was going to end badly for you the day that you fought me to keep Spock. You should have let him go.”

Kirk resisted the urge to spit at him, but it was a close thing. He felt like a caged animal. It was only the restraint of his hands tied behind his back that kept him from throttling April. April, who had ordered the shot that had sprayed Spock’s lungs over the shirt that he still wore, who had pulled those horrible gasping breaths out of him as Kirk lowered him to the ground--- but he couldn’t think about Spock and that wound right now, or he would crumble. He pushed his thoughts behind the wall in his mind and focused on what was around him, before him.

“I was never going to do that,” Kirk said. “Not if he didn’t want to go.”

“So you married him?” April dragged one hand over his face. “I had hoped that it was all a ruse, just another one of your Corbomite maneuvers to outbluff me--- but. I do have eyes, after all. As soon as you responded to the distress call, I received my orders.”

“And what orders were those?”

“To make you my strategic extraction,” April said. He dropped his hands into his lap. “31 wants you, captain.”

Kirk laughed once, harshly. It grated on his throat. “I will never work for you. I wouldn’t have done it before, and I’m certainly not going to do it now.”

“Because we hurt Mr. Spock?”

“Because you hurt my husband,” Kirk snarled, leaning forward, and was gratified by April’s nervous twitch.

“I understand your reticence, captain, but your consent is not required.”

“Is that so? Are you going to track down Spock and put a phaser to his head every time you need something from me?”

April watched the stars go by the window over Kirk’s head for a minute before he said, “The solution is a little more elegant than that, and one that I believe you are already acquainted with.”

A cold line of fear dripped into Kirk’s stomach--- a method of forcing his hand that he was already acquainted with? What the hell could that mean? The door at the head of the room slid open, and a woman in the black 31 uniform walked in.

“Docking in thirty seconds, admiral,” she said, and he nodded at her before she disappeared back into what seemed to be the cockpit of the shuttle.

“I’m sure she’ll show you soon enough,” April said, and stood. He vanished through the door to the cockpit, leaving Kirk alone in the back of the shuttle. He staggered to his feet immediately, shoving himself upright as quickly as he could with his arms still bound. He pressed his face against the window, trying to see where they were docking---

A huge ship appeared out of the darkness before him as the shuttle swung around. It was nearly as big as the Enterprise, but a newer, unfamiliar design--- it was sleeker, and darker. To Kirk, it looked unfriendly. There were no numbers or names tagged onto the ship anywhere that he could see, but it was built in the same styles as other Federation ships. It grew larger and larger in the tiny window before the shuttle was entirely swallowed by the ship and the view was replaced by the docking bay.

The turbodoor slid open and Kirk shifted backwards, tensing. April stepped back in.

“Got a look at the ship, did you?” His voice was jovial enough, though it seemed like all of the little light remaining had left his eyes. “She’s gorgeous, and almost brand new. You might come to like her, after a time.”

“Somehow I doubt that,” Kirk said. “I’m a one-ship man, myself.”

April held his eyes, and there was nothing in his face of the man who had been on the Enterprise, harassing his crew, just days before. He was still flesh and bone, but the spirit had fled somewhere between Kindinos and this ship.

For a moment Kirk held his eyes, and April’s jaw worked, throat tensing, until he pressed a hand to his mouth and turned away. When he turned back, whatever he had wanted to say was gone.

“If you’d follow me, captain,” April said, and gestured in front of him. “There is someone who wants to see you.”

“I can’t shake any hands if you don’t untie me,” Kirk said as he passed. He got an eyeful of the cockpit as he stepped through it and down onto the runner along the shuttle. It looked like those on the Enterprise. If he could somehow steal one, he could fly it.

“We won’t think any less of you if you forget your manners,” April said, and followed him down. Kirk stepped down onto the shuttle bay floor and looked around him in abject awe. The hangar was enormous--- bigger than even the Engineering department on the Enterprise. There were six shuttles resting along the runway, two recently landed with crew streaming out of them, and room for more. An entire contingent of people in 31 blacks scuttled around: working on shuttles, or passing by on catwalks overhead, or flowing in and out of the doors dotted around the hangar.

“Where’d you get the money for a ship like this?” Kirk wondered out loud.

April smiled slightly, a horrible rictus, and said, “I can be very convincing when I need to be.” He walked towards one of the larger doors leading into the depths of the ship, and the shuttle navigator prodded Kirk forward with her drawn phaser. He followed April, memorizing the layout of the hangar and the catwalks above him as best he could. Maybe he could break his restraints and steal a shuttle. Maybe he could steal a comms unit and get Uhura’s attention on some radio frequency, somehow. Maybe he could---

The large door before them slid open, and the first thing he noticed was the shine of fluorescent lights on steel gray hair. A woman strode towards him and April, flanked by a retinue of Section 31 officers, and Kirk knew her. Her hair had been blonde, and her skin once had fewer wrinkles, but Kirk knew her: he knew her twinkling eyes and heart-shaped face and gentle posture. His feet stopped moving involuntarily. His hands went numb behind his back as he stared at her.

“Captain James Kirk,” Elise Darling called, and her voice was just as it had always been; warm and inviting and utterly undeniable. “Oh, I always knew that you were going to be special. Welcome to the headquarters of Section 31.”

#my writing #spirk #spirk fan fiction #k/s fan fiction #fake married #k/s #regulatory relations #wahoo here we go deep into act 3!#it's endgame baby!

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indeedcaptain · 3 months

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Regulatory Relations, chp. 13: The Children of Tarsus Redux

Hello everyone!! I hope you're having a happy Threshold Day!! Here is the big ole honkin monster of an installment for Regulatory Relations that has taken over my whole brain.

social media dry january was so much easier last year when i wasn't actively in a fandom. i just want to look at star trek memes so badly. see you all in two days!!!

Some things:

thank you so so so so much for reading. the response to this fic has been so joyful and supportive.

this story has gotten deeper and darker than originally planned, so I've officially changed the rating from "archive warnings not needed" to "graphic depictions of violence".

on that note: this is The Tarsus Chapter. content warnings for descriptions of violence, starvation, and death.

i wrote a song about Kirk and Kodos post-Tarsus :) if you're into that sort of thing I've reblogged it to this blog and the link is available here.

☆☆☆

At first, everything was dark. His room, the bed beneath him, even Spock’s hand in his--- all of it had vanished, replaced by the warm black nothing. He could not feel his body. He was not sure if he had one, here. But then he heard his name.

Jim?

Hello, Kirk said, or thought, and he sensed something that felt like Spock out in the darkness. It felt like his dry humor, his curiosity, the fierce energy of him coiled into waiting stillness. Can you hear me?

Yes, Spock said, and he sounded--- felt--- closer now. Are you in discomfort?

No, Kirk said, after a moment. But it doesn’t feel like the other times we’ve melded.

I guided your mind through what was necessary in previous circumstances. Here I have created space for you instead. Kirk felt the gesture of Spock’s mind, sweeping out around them. What you show me, I will see.

Cautiously, he thought of somewhere to start. Kirk cringed in anticipation of the nausea, the choking panic, but it did not arrive. He was uncomfortable, unhappy, flayed out and vulnerable, but he could physically continue. The Iowa farmhouse appeared, rippling out in vibrant color from the point that he thought he inhabited in this strange in-between space. The faded white wood paneling, the wide porch with the swing and its rusty chains, the windbreak row of trees, and the cornfield, stretching out as far as Spock’s mind allowed, were replicated as faithfully as if they were physically there. And then they were; Spock materialized at his side as his own body appeared beneath him.

Spock looked around. Is this where you were raised?

Yes, Kirk said, and as they watched, a child with sandy brown hair flung open the screen door, flounced down the stairs, and vanished into the cornfield. An older boy came out more slowly, accompanied by an adult woman with the same sandy hair. They talked on the porch, staring in the direction that the younger one had gone.

That was me, he said quietly. This is the beginning, I suppose. He had laid out in the cornfield for hours, watching the clouds pass through the sky as tears leaked from the corners of his eyes into the dirt beneath him. Kirk closed his eyes and pushed the memory forward, and when he opened his eyes again the sky had darkened and Jimmy was trudging out of the cornfield back to the farmhouse. He wiped the back of his nose with his forearm and let the screen door swing shut gracelessly behind him.

Akin to the strange logic of dreams, Kirk and Spock stood in the kitchen of the farmhouse without having moved. Jimmy sat at the wooden table, arms crossed protectively across his chest, as Winona Kirk pulled brochures out of a Starfleet-issue duffel bag.

“I don’t want to go to Mars,” Jimmy said.

“You don’t have to,” Winona soothed.

“I want to go with you and Dad.”

“I’m sorry, baby,” Winona said. “For this posting, that’s just not an option.” Jimmy crossed his arms more tightly across his chest.

“Can’t I stay here?”

“Not by yourself.” Winona found the brochure that she had been looking for, the glossy paper reflecting the warm light and fluttering with the movement of the ceiling fan, and pulled the chair out next to Jimmy. “Look at this one,” she said quietly, and placed the brochure on the table in front of him. He turned away, staring out the window over the sink. “It’s not like Sam’s school. It’s all hands-on, all learning by doing. You’d get to be on a farm, just like here, with other kids. Dad and I could come visit you when we get leave.” Jimmy kept his gaze locked on the window, and Winona stood after another silent minute. She kissed him on the forehead and exited. When she was gone, Jimmy turned to the brochure. He frowned at it, but he picked it up and opened it.

Kirk knew what came next. He had been enchanted against his will by the promise of the experiential Farm School, and it would become his home for two beautiful years.

I wish I could just show you the good things, Kirk said. There were good things, too.

I believe you, captain, Spock said. Show me whatever you need.

Kirk crossed to the table where Jimmy--- his younger self, and it was hard to remember that he had ever been so young--- sat, flipping through the brochure. He looked down at the shiny pictures. They didn’t do it justice. I just need--- I need you to see what I saw. I think that’s what all this is about. Spock crossed to him, standing next to him, and even in the meldspace Kirk felt the comfort of his presence.

Kirk laced his fingers through Spock’s and remembered.

☆☆☆

Tarsus IV was the fourth planet in a small system in the middle of nowhere, Beta quadrant. It was Class M, with mostly mild seasons, and by the time Jimmy arrived, it was populated with eight thousand others, entirely human. It was not a highly developed colony; humans had only been there for twenty years, and it was technologically delayed--- no replicators, no transporters, only one government-owned high-speed comms relay to the rest of the Federation. Those who lived there were agriculturalists; scientists and farmers looking to conduct their research or make a living selling crops to the traders who passed through on their way to the further-flung starbases. After Jimmy had set his narrow shoulders, gritted his teeth, and taken the brochure upstairs to his parents, they had bought him a physical copy of a traveler’s guide to Tarsus IV. He read it back to front, over and over, until the spine crumbled in his hands and they replaced it with a digital copy on his padd. Six months after he had stormed from the kitchen and into the cornfield, the shuttle containing a newly twelve years old Jimmy Kirk touched down on Tarsus. He was met at the shuttle pad by two women in their twenties. Their names were Madeleine and Natalya, and, as Starfleet Academy graduates who had elected to take elementary teaching posts instead of a commission on a ship, they were impossibly cool and rebellious to a child whose parents rarely spent more than eight months anywhere. They took him to Farm School, where he was given three rough-spun jumpsuits to wear on outside days and a tour of the grounds. There were fields, a big house that doubled as a cafeteria and dormitory, a school building with classrooms and a gymnasium, and a contingent of laboratories built for little scientists with child-sized hands.

“Do you know what you might want to study?” Natalya was tall, blonde, and strong, and she and Madeleine both had been science track at the Academy. She led Jimmy through the different buildings, wandered through a wheat field with him, and then took him to the highest point on the campus so he could look out and see the sprawl of Farm School and the town beyond.

“Everything,” Jimmy said. For the first time in his life, Jimmy was judged by his own actions and interests and not by the reputations of his family. He could raise his hand in class and be called on by a teacher who had never taught his brother. He could take extracurriculars in engineering and make mistakes without being asked, “Didn’t your mom explain this to you?” He could shadow his tutors and tell them that he wanted to be a scientist without any of them assuming that he would be a captain, like his dad. For almost two years, he learned and grew and made friends with kids who cared more about his first name than his last.

For almost two years, he was happy.

Jimmy’s second summer on Tarsus IV was the driest on record. The swimming hole where he and a few of his friends spent most afternoons after their classes were over had shrunk considerably since the spring. The sudden thunderstorms that he had grown accustomed to the previous year were few and far between.

In late August, when they were on a break from their classes, Jimmy snuck into the patch of field that they had given him for his summer project to check on his crops: a small growth, only a few square yards, of yellow corn. He had hoped to have enough to make cornbread for his classmates once it had all reached peak sweetness. He walked slowly though the fields, brushing his palms carelessly over the purple amaranth that was his friend Laika’s project, one eye on keeping his feet in the walkways and one eye on the clouds above him. The formerly teal-blue sky had darkened considerably, and though he didn’t mind the rain, the teachers got nervous when any of them were out in a storm. The soil of Tarsus had a considerably higher metallic content than Earth, and they weren’t keen on testing the survival rate of lightning strikes on the children in their care. He walked faster.

His corn had grown to the right height, but as he brushed his hands against the stalks, they bent in a way that was unfamiliar. He frowned. He had spent the first twelve years of his life running through farm fields; he had long understood the way that the laws of physics exerted themselves on the stalks of late-summer corn. The stalks moved ponderously, with less structural resilience than he was used to. The ears swung heavily and drooped down more than he had expected. Jimmy reached out and grabbed one, thinking to pull it off the stalk and peel back the silk to peer inside, but he froze when it landed in his palm. Rather than the bumpy firmness of corn, it felt as though there was goo trapped inside the shell. He hefted the mushy ear in one hand and poked at it with a finger. His finger left an indent, meeting virtually none of the expected resistance. A single drop of a deep, metallic, mercurial blue liquid oozed out of the top and dropped to the soil below. He dropped the ear, and it hung morosely from the stalk, dripping blue ooze onto the dirt.

Jimmy turned and ran for the safety of the main house as the sky broke open above him. By the time he got inside, Natalya was standing in the foyer with a towel for him.

“My corn melted,” he said, confused, dripping rain onto the pale wooden floor.

“We can check it out when the storm is over,” she said, scrubbing his drenched hair with the towel. But it was movie night, and one of the littlest kids got overtired and set off a giggling fit that derailed everyone’s attention, and by the time Jimmy laid down in his bunk bed he had forgotten about the corn entirely.

Ten days later, during their first class after the break, Madeleine took them outside to check on their summer projects. Jimmy had fallen to the back of the group, play-fighting with Tommy, when they heard a dismayed scream from the front.

Laika wailed, “What happened?” She knelt in what remained of her amaranth. The proud purple bushels had veered decidedly towards blue and lay in mushy puddles, the flower heads shedding off the stalk in her hands.

“Laika, don’t touch that, get out of the mess,” Madeleine said, and stepped away from the group to flip her comm open. She said something quietly into it, out of Jimmy’s hearing, but her face, normally split by her wide smile, was pinched with concern. Laika stood, wiping the remnants of her summer project off her hands and the knees of her jumpsuit, and frustrated tears glinted in her eyes.

“My corn,” Jimmy realized, remembering, and took off running. He heard Madeleine shout behind him, but he couldn’t hear what she said and therefore didn’t have to listen. He skidded to a halt in the dirt after a few more seconds anyway, his heartbeat pounding in his ears. The stalks still stood, half-bent, and the ears were still attached, in the loosest sense of the word. But whatever might have been growing inside had melted out, dripping down into the soil into noxious blue puddles.

Madeleine appeared over his shoulder and gaped at the oil spill that had been his summer project. “Let’s go, Jimmy,” she said, and steered him away, back towards the main house. They passed Natalya, standing with their biology teacher, Mr. Park, and the chemistry teacher, Mr. Lopez, talking next to the remains of the amaranth. Madeleine took them all inside and they played dodgeball in the gym until they were released for the afternoon. After dinner, Jimmy and some of the older kids played cards in the dorm until Madeleine called for lights out, and even Laika was pulled out of her mournful shell to play with them by the end of the night.

That was the last normal day.

One of the best parts of Farm School had been the food. There were no replicators on Tarsus, and Jimmy didn’t like the fake chemical aftertaste of most replicated food anyway. They bought food from the town and the other farmers, and got shipments from the traders that stopped through every month or so, but the majority of what they ate came from the farm itself. Over the next two weeks, the farm-grown food stopped appearing at mealtimes. Halfway through September, Natalya pulled all of the older children, thirty or so out of the one hundred at the school, aside before dinner.

“I think we all know that it was a very dry summer,” she said, and one of the boys started sniffling immediately in the back of the classroom. They had known that something was wrong after all their summer projects had died horribly, but Madeleine still showed them old Earth movies when they scored well on math tests and Natalya had taught the more flexible kids some of her gymnastics moves. The school schedule had marched on, and so, they had reasoned, things couldn’t have been too bad. But now Madeleine was here, her wide smile replaced by an unfamiliar strict line, talking to them without the littles present. It became impossible to ignore the changes that they had silently agreed not to discuss.

“Please, do not worry. We will take care of you. We’ve already talked to the governor, and help is coming, but until it arrives things are going to have to be a little different.”

The older kids voted to join the teachers in hiding the worst of the situation from the littles, and though it was not mandatory they joined the teachers in accepting limited rations to give the littles the last of the fresh produce. Jimmy sent a holo of his lab station to Sam with the caption, “still cooler than math school!!” and a message to his parents that said, “i miss you.” Over the slow civilian comms relay that the school had, neither of his messages would be received for a month at least. By then, Madeleine had said, Starfleet or one of the trade ships would have arrived and things would be back to normal. But it made him feel better to know that his messages were out in space, soaring from beacon to beacon towards his family.

“Summons from the governor,” Madeleine said cheerfully when she woke up the boys in Jimmy’s dorm room on a morning in late September. “Personalized invitations, too! Jimmy, your parents aren’t in the quadrant now, are they?”

Jimmy yawned, stretching, the morning sun warming the room through the white linen curtains. “Nope,” he said, half-asleep. “They’re still in Delta for a while, I think.”

Madeleine hummed, but she tapped something on her padd. “You and Tommy are coming with me and Natalya today.” Tommy hung his head down from his place on the top bunk.

“Me, too?”

Madeleine ruffled his hair, fluffy with gravity. “Better dress nicely. No holes in your jeans.”

“But they’re cool!”

“You say that now,” Madeleine said. “And in thirty years you’ll look back at holos of yourself and say, why was my clothing falling apart all the time?” She chucked him on the back of the head gently and left them to get ready. They rose, and dressed, and breakfast was sparse but Natalya snuck them each a cup of coffee and it helped to cut the hunger.

Farm School was on the side of a mountain, set above the main town, and its farmland was surrounded by forest. Someday, Jimmy thought, more people would live here, and there would be less forest, and Tarsus would feel less isolated from the galaxy as a whole. But he was glad to live here now, because Mr. Lopez sometimes led them on hikes deep into the woods to identify each of the birds by their song, and it was easy to forget that there was anyone else in the universe at all. Madeleine and Natalya led their parade of fifty down the hill, down the packed dirt road from Farm School that would meet the paved road that led into town. It was a familiar road; when there were holidays, or after the harvests, the governor’s office would put on festivals and the students would run down the road in packs of four and five to spend their credits on sweets and new books and clothing. The littles skipped between them, holding hands, but Jimmy and the other older kids didn’t want to waste their energy, not when they’d have to walk back up the hill in the autumn sun later.

They followed Natalya and Madeleine to the town hall. There was an auditorium there, in a drafty old hall towards the back of the brick building, where sometimes the local players would put on shows or traveling troupes would stage concerts. Today it would be nearly at capacity--- it sat almost five thousand people, and it was over half-full already. Madeleine narrowed her eyes at the presence of the governor’s security force, wearing their forest green uniforms, lining the walls and standing at the entrances, but she led them into a few rows near the back of the hall where they could all sit together. She and Natalya talked quietly with their heads close together while Laika pulled a deck of cards from her back pocket and dealt Jimmy and Tommy into a game of ratscrew. One of the littles, Kevin, stood over Tommy’s shoulder and asked too many questions, and two others, Ellie and Mira, slid themselves into Laika’s lap when it became apparent that Madeleine and Natalya would not be distracted from their conversation by their pleas for attention. The game devolved quickly from there, but the littles could be convinced to play Go Fish instead of the faster slapping game as long as the older kids pretended that it was cool. The other kids had distracted themselves similarly; a padd with books, a holofilm between two girls sharing a set of headphones, one of the younger kids with his ever-present sketchbook. The auditorium filled up around them, until the enormous wooden doors banged shut and Madeleine pulled them all to their feet to pay attention. The crowd fell silent.

A small door to the right of the stage opened, and the governor stepped out, flanked on either side by his green-shirted guards. Jimmy had seen him before, at the winter festival and harvest celebrations. He had wavy silver hair, and uncannily light brown eyes that Jimmy could see flashing in the stage lights even from where he stood in the back. Governor Kodos climbed the stairs to the waiting podium, and with a nod to someone offstage a microphone buzzed mechanically to life.

“Good morning,” he said, and gazed solemnly at them. “I appreciate every one of you taking the time to join us here today. It was short notice, but the community we’ve built here never shies away from pulling together for each other, does it?” Madeleine and Natalya exchanged glances over the heads of the kids lined between them. Madeleine rolled her eyes. Kodos continued, but Jimmy had a hard time focusing on his words. The auditorium was hot with the trapped body heat of four thousand others, and he wished that they had all sat before Kodos started talking. His attention drifted.

“...grateful for the sacrifices you have made thus far, and grateful for all those to come,” Kodos said. Madeleine’s head snapped up, and her eyes met Natalya’s. Jimmy saw, in the laser-focused line between them, that they had heard something that he had not, and the skin on the back of his neck crawled. Around them, the quiet listening stillness of the crowd shivered into an animal intensity, a predatory waiting. Natalya glanced around, and a muscle twitched in her jaw. She and Madeleine passed something invisibly, silently, through the air between them.

In the space between one breath and the next Jimmy watched as his teachers shed their masks of civility to reveal iron ferocity beneath. They might have been science track at the Academy, but they were still soldiers. The crowd’s discontented energy began to boil over. Natalya grabbed one of the littlest kids, hefted her into her arms, and marched straight at the nearest guard, standing in front of an exit. Madeleine swept backwards as she shoved Jimmy towards Natalya and the door.

“Start walking,” she hissed. “Get the littles, get to the exit, and get out!” Jimmy turned, on autopilot, and shoved at Tommy’s shoulder. Madeleine doubled back to push the second row of students towards the door, putting herself between them and the guards lining the back wall.

“Move,” he whispered to Tommy, and they shuffled towards Natalya and the guard.

“She had an accident,” Natalya said, smiling. “Excuse us. I need to change her before it starts to stink.” The little girl in her arms hid her face in her neck under the scrutiny of the guard. Their line bunched behind Natalya as the crowd behind them started to yell out.

“Quiet!” Kodos’s voice boomed out through the auditorium, and for a moment everything went perfectly still. “I have no alternative but to sentence you to death. Your execution is so ordered, signed Kodos, governor of Tarsus IV.” There was one heartbeat of pure silence.

A phaser whined and discharged on the other side of the room. Someone screamed. Then five, seven, twelve other phasers fired. Bodies dropped to the ground. The crowd surged forward, out, away from the guards or towards them, yelling and crying out. Natalya kicked her guard in the knee, grabbed for his phaser as he fell, and shot him point-blank. Even as two other guards from the back of the auditorium ran towards her, she shoved the auditorium door open, revealing the cement hallway beyond.

“Go!” Natalya roared in pain as she staggered forward, a phaser burn eating through the shoulder of her jacket and revealing the muscle fiber beneath her scorched skin. She shoved the little girl in her arms at one of the older kids pushing by and turned, raising her phaser. As Jimmy passed through the doorway, running after Tommy, his heart in his throat and the cacophony of phaser fire filling his ears, he turned back--- to look for other kids left behind, or to look for Madeleine and Natalya, he wasn’t sure. He saw the bodies of his classmates, unlucky enough to have been in the last row and in the direct line of fire of the guards lining the back of the hall, curled together on the floor by their seats. Madeleine was sprawled over them, covering them, unmoving. There were piles of people, twisted together in awful ways, in front of the guards still holding phasers. And at the head of it all, Kodos onstage, hands clasped together, watching over the scene with a terrible calm.

The last time he saw Natalya, she stood in the open doorway between her fleeing students and the advancing guards with a half-charged phaser in her hand, blood dripping down her useless arm from the hole in her shoulder.

She screamed, “Close the door!” as she fired at one of the guards. Jimmy grabbed the door and slammed it shut, and he felt the reverberation of impact as something--- phaser discharge or Natalya or both--- hit it from the other side. He backed away, watching the door, but Natalya held the line. The door didn’t open. He turned and sprinted in the direction that Tommy and the others had gone as muffled screams faded behind him.

The backstreet behind the town hall was bizarrely, unsettlingly quiet. Natalya was gone. Madeleine was gone. Half of the students that they had come down with, maybe more, had been lost to the chaos in the auditorium. As Jimmy pulled the last door shut behind him, he saw Laika’s little gasp of relief. There was a question in her eyes, but he shook his head. There would not be anyone coming out behind him. They were on their own. Jimmy wound through the crowd to stand with her and Tommy, brushing his hand over the head or shoulder of a sniffling little as he passed through them.

“We can’t stay here,” Laika whispered, and she glanced nervously over her shoulder. “Where…?”

“We have to get out of the town,” Tommy whispered back. Jimmy stared at the plain white door that separated them from the slaughter in the theatre. He saw Madeleine sprawled protectively, uselessly, over the bodies of his classmates, Natalya’s broad shoulders filling the last doorway like she could protect them all. His heart thudded painfully against his ribs. Inside his head, he was screaming and screaming and screaming, but it didn’t come out. He felt his soul splitting into two. One part of him shrieked and beat his hands bloody against the white door. The other part was as cool as porcelain, utterly disconnected from everything he had seen, unfeeling but for the desire to stay alive, to keep the last of his friends alive.

“We’ll go through the woods,” he said. Laika and Tommy looked at him, but he couldn’t meet their eyes. The white door burned in his vision. “We probably know the forest around Farm School better than anyone else. If we get into the trees we at least won’t be seen. Then we can go home and find Mr. Park and he’ll know what to do.” He finally looked at his friends, and when he met their eyes, they nodded.

“Hold hands,” Laika said. She raised her voice slightly. “Ten and ups, grab a little. Buddy system.” Their little crowd--- only thirteen of them left, out of so many more--- shifted, reaching for each other. Jimmy felt like his bones were vibrating with the effort of keeping himself steady, but a tiny hand slid into his, grabbing onto three of his fingers with a chubby grip and anchoring him. He looked down.

Kevin stared up at him with enormous brown eyes, and it was the first time that Jimmy had ever seen him at a loss for words. He squeezed, feeling the fragility of the younger boy’s hand, and settled his shoulders back, the way he’d seen his dad do, the way Sam did. If they could get back home, then Mr. Park or Mr. Lopez would be able to fix this--- whatever was still fixable. All they had to do was get home. They could do that.

“Ready?” Jimmy’s mind shut everything else out--- his own screaming, the white door, Natalya’s bloody braid, the bone of her shoulder--- except for the only thought that mattered, singing through him in time with his heartbeat: get home, get home, get home. Laika nodded. Tommy nodded, gripping the hands of twin girls who had only arrived on Tarsus a few months prior. “Let’s go.”

They ran down the back alley that stretched along the back length of the auditorium, and their footfalls echoed eerily in the silence after the deafening phaser fire. Laika, who had arrived on Tarsus before any of them and knew the town better, took the lead. They followed her sure, quick steps, and she zigged down another alley that would take them out of the town, away from the main road, into the forest. Jimmy could feel the effects of a month of rationing in the burn of his lungs and heart, the empty energy of his cup of coffee making him jittery on his feet. When Kevin lost his footing on the uneven stones, Jimmy hauled him up onto his back and stumbled on.

It was as Laika led them onto the narrow plain between the edge of town and the start of the forest that they heard shouts behind them. Jimmy whipped his head back, searching for the source, and the flash of a hunter green uniform made his stomach leap into his throat. “No, no, no, no, no,” he whispered, in time with each footfall, and sprinted as hard as he could after Laika and the others. Kevin’s arms were clenched around his neck, and he could hear the younger boy’s muffled cries against his neck. He was almost across the plain, almost to the safety of the trees, when he heard the whine and discharge of phaser fire. He flinched to the side, but he was still on his feet. He was still running. Phasers discharged again and again, and the dry grass around him caught fire as he ran haphazardly towards the trees, trying to make them both a moving target.

Jimmy flung himself and Kevin behind the trunk of the closest tree. Pieces of bark exploded around him as phaser fire hit the other side. Jimmy slid Kevin from his back, pressing him to the ground.

“Are you okay?”

Kevin nodded, eyes wide and face completely blank. Jimmy thought that his own face might have looked the same. He wanted his parents--- but, no. If he thought about them, or the farmhouse in Iowa, he would never survive. He couldn’t think about anything but getting to Farm School with the littles and finding Mr. Park. Far-off phasers fired again and again, but his tree still stood. He looked up, and Laika was there, and Tommy and two other littles.

“Where is everyone else?” Jimmy’s voice was hoarse, scratching against his dry throat. His lungs still burned from the exertion of their flight. Laika’s eyes flicked reluctantly over his shoulder, out to the bare stretch of earth behind him. He dared one look over his shoulder. There were a handful of the guards from the auditorium, their pursuers, pacing the outskirts of the town with rifles in hand, and a trail of seven little crumpled bodies between the last of the buildings and the first of the trees.

Jimmy’s stomach heaved, but nothing came up. Stomach acid burned his throat. Tears stung his eyes. He heard a thin wailing, coming from Laika. He didn’t think she was aware that she was making noise. He closed his eyes and let the stony, unfeeling half of his brain take over.

“Get home,” he said, and Laika stopped wailing with a hiccup. “All we have to do is get home. We can do that.” He took Kevin’s hand in his again and held Laika’s gaze, before holding Tommy’s. “We’ll get the littles home. Mr. Park will know what to do.”

For a moment they stared at him, and Kevin sniffled. But then they nodded, and Laika turned to look at the sun before turning back to the woods.

“You know the way best,” he said. Laika loved to go birdwatching with Mr. Park. She had spent almost every weekend wandering through the woods, even when it was cold or rainy. “You can do this.” She nodded again, and she took the hands of one of the littles, and she led them up the mountain. Far from the main road, every step took them deeper into the trees until they couldn’t hear any sound but the wind through the reddening leaves and their own unsteady breathing.

They walked for two hours, taking a meandering route as Laika cast nervous glances in the direction of what Jimmy thought was the main road. As the sun started to slide down towards the opposite horizon, Jimmy caught her eye.

“All good?”

She chewed her lip nervously, glancing over his shoulder, but then her eyes snagged on something. She nodded decisively and pointed. Behind him, high up in an enormous tree, was the Farm School treehouse. “We’re close,” she whispered, and she led them on.

Farm School was as silent as a grave when Laika led their pack of six through the back entrance to the campus. They glanced around, but there was no one in sight.

“Maybe they’re hiding,” Tommy said. “Should we split up to look?”

“No,” Jimmy and Laika said, in unison. Jimmy shook his head as Laika said, “We should stay together.” Tommy nodded, and redoubled his grip on Mira and Ellie’s hands.

“Big house first,” Jimmy said, and they scuttled across the campus, through the empty fields. The grass had been trampled down, and any remnants of the ill-fated summer projects had been ground underfoot. They slipped into the main house silently, through an unlocked backdoor. The big industrial kitchen was empty, with the cabinets and closets thrown open like someone had rummaged through.

Jimmy pushed ahead to cross into the cafeteria, but Laika slowed, considering the empty shelves. “Someone took everything that was left here,” she said. “I don’t think the teachers would have done that. There’s not even salt left.” She was right, but there was nothing else they could do. They continued on.

There was no one in the big house. Not even bodies. Half the students had stayed behind that morning; those who hadn’t received a specific invitation to the day’s event. Jimmy’s brain reared back from the implications of that idea, and he put it from his mind. One thing at a time. They had gotten home. Now they had to find Mr. Park.

But he wasn’t in the big house, and he wasn’t in the classrooms or gymnasium. Jimmy turned in a circle under the dying sun, considering the shadows sinking over the campus. “The comm system is in the labs. It was in Mr. Park’s office, I think. Maybe he’s there.”

Laika nodded. She and Tommy looked at each other, and Tommy said, “I’ll stay with the littles in the big house. We’ll be in our room. You guys go look.”

Jimmy opened his mouth, ready to stop them from separating, but Laika shook her head, almost imperceptibly. They left Tommy with the littles and stole across the darkening campus to the laboratory building.

“I thought we said we weren’t splitting up,” Jimmy hissed, as they pushed open the door into the building. Laika considered him for a minute before she said, “Just in case there’s something we don’t want the littles to see.” Jimmy’s stomach dropped.

The labs were as silent as everywhere else was, but Jimmy’s ears still rang with the echoes of the phaser blasts. They tread carefully, fearfully, but every lab was empty. Mr. Park’s door, at the end of the central hall, was ajar when they reached it, and they exchanged uneasy glances. Mr. Park was quiet, and private, and his door was never open. But the comms unit--- an enormous, outdated, clunky thing compared to the sleek Starfleet one that Jimmy’s parents had kept in their Iowa house--- was on a table within.

Laika pushed the door further open. Jimmy crept in first. There was no one visible, but the comms unit was on. The front screen emitted a soft green glow. Jimmy approached it and tapped the playback button.

Mr. Park’s voice, harsh with his labored breathing, filled the room. They both jumped. “This is Lieutenant Commander Ashton Park, retired, sending an SOS from Tarsus IV. Something--- ah--- has gone terribly wrong. At first it was just a food shortage--- they said it was some fungus, but it was nothing I’d ever--- god! I’d ever seen.” Mr. Park’s breathing grew heavier, his breath hissing between his teeth. “Kodos has the only real comms relay, and he said he called for help, but I don’t think--- I don’t think he did. I don’t think anyone’s coming. And they took the kids. God, his guards took the kids. They had a list.” Jimmy turned to look at Laika, horror building in his chest, stealing his breath, but she wasn’t looking at him or the comms station. “He’s doing something. Kodos is up to something.” Mr. Park wheezed horribly, something wet rattling in his lungs. “This is it for me, but if anyone’s out there, monitoring any of these frequencies… get to Tarsus as fast as you can. While there’s still anyone to save. Park out.” Jimmy turned around to look where Laika was looking. A pair of dirt-stained work boots and two denim-clad legs poked out from behind Mr. Park’s desk. Laika shook her head, mouthing, “No, no, no, no,” and Jimmy grabbed her by the arm, towing her backwards.

“We have to get out of here,” he said, and she let him turn him from Mr. Park’s body and away from the office. Jimmy left the comms relay on but shut the door behind them.

“We can’t stay here,” he said, as they crossed back to the big house. “Some of the guards saw us running. They’ll come back for us.”

“The treehouse,” Laika said. “We’ll take the camping stuff and stay there. We can--- there’s probably some stuff we can still forage, at least for a few weeks, and drink from the streams. We can stay out there until help arrives.” Jimmy nodded.

“We can keep the littles safe. That’s what Madeleine and Natalya would do,” Jimmy said, and Laika’s lip trembled, but she nodded too.

The sun had set by the time they returned to the big house. They told Tommy what they needed to do, took all the camping supplies that they could carry, and left Farm School behind. As the six survivors headed back into the woods, towards their treehouse, their former home receded into shadow and was gone.

The four in-between weeks were fuzzier in Kirk’s memories than the beginning and the end. Most of the days blurred together in a mess of hunger and sleep, of stripping the bark off of trees with a knife and digging out the soft wood inside to eat; of telling the littles that collecting acorns was a game and whoever found the most would win; of the bright sharp days after stealing something worth eating from the town when they were brave or dumb enough to risk getting caught by the guards who still hunted runners on the streets. Kirk let most of those memories spin by them in blurry streaks, waiting for the memories of the days that mattered.

There was the day that the littles were too weak to climb the rope ladder anymore, and the big kids were too weak to carry them up. Jimmy packed up their sleeping bags and iodine tablets and tossed them down out of the treehouse, and Laika led them to an old animal warren that she had found while scavenging. Whatever large creature had created the den in the roots of the tree was long gone, and they crawled down into it gratefully. If Jimmy was honest with himself, he wasn’t sure how many more times he could have made it up the ladder before eventually falling--- the exertion made him dizzy, and his hands were too weak to grip the rope ladder. The den was more dangerous than the treehouse had been--- closer to town, closer to the ground, and every once in a while they heard deep voices of adults echoing through the trees. But they didn’t say so out loud.

In the beginning, before there was only the hunger and then the numbness, Laika and Jimmy and Tommy had harsh, whispered conversations about trying to save their classmates. What had they been taken from Farm School for? If terrible things were happening to them, shouldn’t they try to help them? They had no weapons, no help, no way to fend off an army of Kodos’s murderous guards if they tried to free their classmates, but talking about taking action kept away the urge to lay down and die.

Then, three weeks after the massacre, Laika came back with one expired can of sweet potatoes and a haunted, ragged look that Jimmy hadn’t seen on her before. He dragged her down into the den, catching her when she stumbled on her feet. Tommy leapt up to grab her other arm, and even with both of them holding on she trembled so badly that Jimmy thought she would vibrate out of her skin and into a puddle. They set her on the ground, used one of their hunting knives to wedge the top of the can off, and split the meager amount between the six of them.

“I saw Gemma,” she whispered, later that night. Jimmy sat, back against the wall of the warren, watching the tunnel entrance. Tommy lay with his back to it, one of the littles curled up against him for warmth. Laika sat cross-legged between them, no longer shaking but with a thousand-yard stare that seemed to burn through the wall of their safe hidey-hole, like she could see all the way back to the town. “There was a house with all the doors open, and I could see the kitchen… I thought I might get in and out, that there was no one inside.”

“Gemma was in the house?”

“Her parents live here,” Laika said dully. “Or, lived. They were all dead.”

Tommy closed his eyes. Jimmy said, “Starved?”

But Laika shook her head. “I don’t think so. They didn’t have food either, like I thought they might, but there was something else wrong with them. Their skin was all gray.” Jimmy shivered. “I looked everywhere, but that was all they had,” Laika said, lifting her chin at the now-empty can. “But they weren’t going to eat it.”

They sat in silence, listening to the quiet rustling of the trees outside, until Tommy unscrewed the lid to one of their bottles of stream water and offered it to Laika. She shook her head. “I drank enough out of their faucet,” she said.

“Fancy-pants,” Jimmy said, and he took the bottle when Tommy passed it to him. Laika laid down where she had been sitting, between Tommy and the wall, and Jimmy squeezed both of their hands before moving to lay between the littles and the entrance to the den. His bones pressed uncomfortably against the ground, but he curled up next to Mira and Ellie and fell asleep.

Jimmy woke up a few hours later. It stunk of warm skin, of sickness and rot. The earth was hard beneath his body. It felt like his hip bones, his tailbone and shoulder blades, each of his knobby vertebrae, were pressing a bruise against the inside of his skin where they rested heavily against the ground. It was mostly dark out, no sunlight to illuminate the rabbit-warren tunnel, only the faint light of a waxing moon providing any visibility. The shadowed bodies of his pack lay alongside him in gentle repose. He counted them off: one was him, two was Ellie, three was Mira, four was Kevin, five was Tommy. At six, he jerked to a halt. Something wasn’t right. Before he was aware that he was moving he had scrambled across the dirt to her: Laika, her brown hair a rat’s nest of dirt and leaves, unmoving.

“No, no, no,” he whispered, and shook Tommy’s shoulder. “Tommy, wake up!” Her unnatural stillness had caught his attention: now that he was next to her, he could see more clearly the graying waxy pallor of her cheeks and lips, the immobile smoothness of her eyelids. Tommy woke with a jolt, rolling over immediately. He pushed himself up with one hand and shook Laika with the other.

“Hey,” he said, his voice growly with sleep. “Wake up.”

Jimmy grabbed her other shoulder, shaking her, the other hand coming to rest against her gaunt cheek. “Hey. Laika. It’s not funny. Wake up.” But Laika did not wake up. Her eyes did not open. Her chest did not rise.

“Jimmy, what happened?” Tommy whispered.

“I don’t know,” Jimmy said, disbelief raising his voice high like one of the little’s. “I just woke up, and I saw that---” He gagged, overwhelmed by the smell of dirty skin and death, sickness and rot. “Laika, wake up!” God, he was so tired, and so hungry, and there were only five of them now, and what would they do without her? She had been so brave, had stolen for them, had known the woods and the way around town better than anyone, and now she was so still and silent, and they couldn’t drag her back from wherever she had gone without them. He closed his eyes, and the cold, analytical half of him rose up and drowned the half of him that cried out at how unfair it all was.

“We have to move her,” Jimmy whispered as Tommy whimpered to himself, hand still mechanically rocking Laika’s shoulder.

“What? No! Why?” Tommy whispered back.

“We can’t let the littles see her like this,” he said.

“Where are we going to put her? We can’t bury her!”

“Down the mountain. Near the town. They won’t notice another body.” Jimmy hated the words as they came out of his mouth: practical, useful, awful. He wanted to lay down next to Laika, close his eyes, and follow where she had gone. But he couldn’t--- not with Tommy and the littles still here. Not with his last holo to Sam and his message to his parents still soaring through space. Tommy sniffled, wiped his nose with the back of his hand, and nodded. Jimmy nodded back and shoved Tommy gently. Tommy got up, stepping carefully around the sleeping littles, and gingerly picked up Laika’s ankles. Jimmy wormed his hands under her shoulders and bent his arms under hers, picking her up off the ground. They backed up to the entrance and Jimmy went as slowly as he could, arms burning with the strain of Laika’s weight, until he felt the cool air of the night outside of their den on his back.

Together they carried her down the mountain in the worst parade of two Jimmy had ever been a part of, and they left her on the outskirts of the town. Tommy kissed her forehead and cried. They held hands as they stole quietly back to their safe hole. They crawled back inside, each refusing to let go of the other’s hand, and fell asleep curled together.

When the littles woke up the next morning, and Jimmy pulled them all into the circle of his arms and told them that Laika wasn’t coming back, they were too tired to cry. But he felt their shoulders deflate, sinking further into themselves, and he held them closer. Tommy leaned against him, keeping Jimmy from tilting over, and their broken family of five slept most of that day away, letting the sun rise and set without them.

The next day, Tommy left them in the den to scavenge acorns. He came back as the sun slipped down below the horizon, staggering with exhaustion, his empty, distended stomach painfully visible as he held his bounty in the bottom of his shirt like an apron. Using two rocks and all the strength left in their arms, he and Jimmy cracked them open and scraped the meager meat out of the shells to distribute between themselves and the littles. The underbrush had died with the changing of the seasons, and Laika had held most of their knowledge about what plants were edible. Without her, they would have to survive on acorns and tree bark and water.

The morning after that, Mira cried and wailed and refused to open her eyes, curled around herself. Ellie moaned in sympathy, and Kevin sat next to them and talked incessantly about anything that came into his mind, just to distract them. But his eyes were dim and glassy, and more often than not his sentences trailed off before he finished them. The morning after that, all three littles refused to sit up and curled together with heavy-lidded eyes.

“I’m going into town,” Jimmy said. For a second, it seemed like Tommy would argue with him, to ask him to stay. But in the end he just nodded and pulled Mira against his chest, rocking her side to side. Jimmy left them like that. If Laika was right, and something other than starvation was killing the colonists, there might be something left for them to scavenge. He would find it and bring it back to them, and the littles would sit up and talk to them, and they would survive another few days.

The leaves had begun to fall from the trees. If he had counted the days correctly, and there was no guarantee that he had, October would start soon. Last year, that meant harvest festivals and a gourd that was certainly not a pumpkin but could be carved like one to be set out on every doorstep. Gemma had won the carving contest--- but he wouldn’t think about Gemma now. He dragged his legs, step after step, down the mountain to the town.

He didn’t see another living soul, but the bodies of the colonists were everywhere. On their front stoops, laying behind houses, on the main street, their graying, decaying corpses bloated and stinking. Some of them looked emaciated, their skin shrink-wrapped to their bones. But Laika had been at least partially right: not all of the dead looked like they had starved. Jimmy felt the knobs of his own knees knocking together as he passed the grayish-blue body of a man who looked like he should have been in the peak of health, except for the fact that he was dead.

He stole from doorway to doorway, peering around corners, moving as quietly as he could. But for the first time since the day in the auditorium, he didn’t see the green-shirted law enforcement agents prowling the outskirts of the town, nor guarding the waist-high iron fence that circled the governor’s house. He ducked around another corner, closer to the center of town, and stumbled over a pair of legs in dark pants.

He reared back, his heart in his throat at the forest-green jacket on the torso, before he registered the sickly gray pallor of the body’s skin. This guard looked like Jimmy imagined he did; sunken cheeks, deep circles under his eyes, and the bones of his knuckles jutted out of the skin like mountains. “Not even guards get fed,” he muttered to himself, and he felt a savage relief that those who had not been sacrificed, who had done the sacrificing, had not been spared the horrors that they had endured. He moved to continue onward before pausing. The guard’s phaser was still tucked into his holster.

Jimmy held his breath and bent over the body. It was stiff, unmoving, as he reached with shaking fingers to unclip the strap and slide the phaser out. He watched the body nervously, but it did not awaken to grab him. He glanced at the settings on the phaser, but he didn’t know what they meant, so he left them as they were and stuck the weapon in the waistband of his ratty jeans.

He had only taken one step away from the body when there was a crackle. He spun, horrified, but the guard still hadn’t moved. The crackling noise came again.

“My chosen ones,” Kodos rasped. His voice came through an ancient portable radio, clipped on the other side of the guard’s belt. Jimmy froze as that voice pierced through the fog of hunger and exhaustion, lighting up his brain with fear and anger. Why had so many people died, why had Laika died, and Kodos still got to live? Kodos coughed. “The grand experiment must end here. There is no path forward. Forgive me.” He wheezed again, voice quieting. Jimmy hunched next to the corpse and the radio, ears straining. “If anyone is out there, heed me. We must burn it down.” He reeled back.

“Burn it down. Destroy the evidence. Cleanse this place.” Kodos coughed, and then the crackle of another radio breaking through the static interrupted him.

“I hear you, sir,” someone else’s voice muttered, weak and ragged. “I can do it.”

“I owe you… a debt of gratitude,” Kodos said. Then the radio went silent. Jimmy froze on his haunches, consumed by his anger, replaying Kodos’s message in his head. Then something clicked, and he staggered to his feet. Blood dribbled slowly back into his weak limbs, but he forced them into movement. He turned back the way he had come and heaved his starving body back home. Kodos had called to burn it all, and someone had responded.

It had been a dry summer. It hadn’t rained in weeks. His friends were in the woods.

Lungs aching, muscles cramping, swollen stomach pinching in pain, he ran. Against the wishes of every bone in his body, he ran as hard as he could, straight down the center streets of the remains of the town, back towards the den and Tommy and the littles. He had to warn them. The woods were going to light up like a matchstick after the summer they’d had. They couldn’t have starved and survived for so long for Kodos to kill them like this, impersonally, anonymously. Madeleine and Natalya didn’t die in the auditorium so that Kodos could have the final word. Jimmy broke from the town and sprinted flat-out for the cover of the woods.

Stealth didn’t matter anymore. He screamed, “Tommy!” He sucked in huge, gasping breaths as his stomach threatened to rebel and his legs cramped and his knees ached. “Tommy! Get up!” He staggered through the woods, his vision going black at the edges as his body tried to collapse, but he shoved himself up and kept going, screaming for his friend.

Finally, up ahead, the enormous tree that had sheltered them--- and from the roots of it, an addled Tommy and littles emerging into the sunlight.

“Jimmy?” Tommy rubbed one eye, dizzy in the sudden brightness. “What happened?” Jimmy opened his mouth to respond when they heard it. Further up the mountain, something snapped and popped, then rustled, then roared. The fire caught.

“Run,” Jimmy said, grabbing Kevin and swinging him onto his back as Tommy grabbed Mira and Ellie’s hands. “Run!” His body protesting every step, his spine bending under Kevin’s weight, Jimmy and Tommy fled. Something cracked, and a hot gust of wind pressed them forward, singeing their hair and burning their backs. Mira started to cry. It was still somehow better than her half-dead silence from that morning.

“What---?” Tommy gasped out, footsteps pounding in time with Jimmy’s.

“Kodos,” Jimmy spat. “Fire.” Tommy moaned with fear, but when Ellie stumbled at their speed he hefted her onto his back. Behind them, the woods that had been their shelter and salvation erupted into an inferno. The flames caught the few leaves that hadn’t fallen and spread in a crown fire over their heads as they pelted out of the forest. Out of the corner of his eye, Jimmy could see it racing down the hill, almost even with them. Tears streamed down his face from fear and the smoke, which caught in his lungs, stung his skin. He could see similar tracks running down the dirt on Tommy’s face.

They had the littles. They had each other. They broke from the cage of the treeline as the fire leapt at their heels and caught in the dry autumn grass of the open plain between them and the town. The grass blazed up immediately, and Jimmy’s legs, his hips and back and shoulders burned with it. Tommy cried out and swung Ellie up too, away from the fire, her screams drowned out by the roar of the crown fire above.

Ahead, there was one patch of unburned safety that Jimmy could see. He cut towards it. “The road!” Tommy followed him, coughing as he ran, and they covered the distance to the hard-packed dirt as fast as they could. They staggered onto the dry earth as the plain behind them sparked and hissed.

Mira moaned, and the pathetic little sound broke through Jimmy’s panic as the pain of their exertion set in. He let Kevin slide to the ground, and the friction of the little boy’s clothes against his scorched skin was like being burned all over again. Ellie had gone very, very pale, the only shock of color on her skin the angry red of her legs and feet.

Tommy wobbled, and Jimmy grabbed his elbows, keeping him upright.

“Stay with me, okay?”

“It hurts, Jimmy,” Tommy said, and Jimmy didn’t dare look down over his shoulder to his back. His clothes were sloughing off of him, destroyed. Kodos couldn’t have him like this.

“Just a few steps more,” Jimmy said. He took Kevin’s hand in his and gently picked up Mira. “Can you walk with me? Just a few more?” Tommy wavered on his feet, but Ellie slid her hand into his and he nodded.

“It’s just a little further,” Jimmy said. “Then you’ll feel better.” There was a reservoir on the other side of town; even the farm’s irrigation system had been hooked up to it. Jimmy had never prayed as hard as he did that moment for there to be water in the reservoir still. Step by excruciating step, he led them down the road for the first time since the massacre day. Tommy fell silent and his eyes sometimes slid shut, but he held Ellie’s hand and walked on. Jimmy lost the feeling in his legs, but Mira let him put her down after a few minutes and she limped alongside them. The fear of guards or Kodos never really went away, but they didn’t see another living being on the road. The fire burned on the other side of the town, its roar muted by blessed distance and halted by the paved roads. Minutes later, or maybe hours, he was peering over the stone lip of the reservoir. The drought had done its damage, but there was a few blessed feet of water within. He found the stone steps leading down into it.

Jimmy walked the littles down into the water. They stood still and quiet as he stripped their burned clothing away from them before stepping into the water with them. Then, once they were carefully ensconced in the water where it was shallow enough for them to stand, he stripped his own clothing away. The phaser he had stolen, somehow still in his jeans despite his pell-mell flight, got dropped on top of his pile of clothes along with his t-shirt before he followed the littles into the water. He didn’t know if it was clean, but he couldn’t bring himself to care: it was cool, and there was enough to stand in, and it felt like heaven. Tommy’s clothes dripped off him, shredding as he pulled his shirt over his head, and his back was a mess of dirt and singed skin. But he sloshed into the water, eyes closing in relief, and the five of them drifted as the fire burned itself out on the other side of town. Smoke billowed overhead, clouding the teal sky with the angry black smog of organic matter. The ash fell like dirty snow. They still didn’t have anything to eat, but they filled their bellies with water, and it almost felt like being full. As the sun slipped down behind the horizon, they piled together on the day-warmed terrace steps and slept.

A high, distant droning woke Jimmy from his restless sleep, early the next morning. It wormed into his dreams, filling his mind, before his subconscious recognized it and he jolted awake. Kevin tipped away from him as he shot upward, scrambling for his jeans. Tommy’s eyes opened slowly.

“Where’re you going?” His words were slurred, but Jimmy didn’t have time to wait for him to wake up. If he was right, it wouldn’t matter.

“Shuttle!” Jimmy grabbed the phaser and his t-shirt, jabbed it into the waist of his pants and dragged it over his head. “I’ll be back!” His whole body felt alight with something he almost didn’t recognize--- hope, a hope so big that it hurt to breathe. He sprinted up the terraced steps, cocking his head to one side and scanning the sky as he ran. It was just past daybreak, the true teal of the sky still warming up from the inky black of night. He ran towards what he thought was the source of the sound, straight up the road from the reservoir towards the town. Maybe he could shoot the phaser in the air and get the attention of the pilot? They had to be looking for the colonists: whether it was a trader or a rescue shuttle or even just a random traveler, they had to be looking for the people who lived here. It must have already landed; he didn’t see anything in the sky. He followed the high humming of an active engine through the town square, past the cursed town hall, past the burnt husks of houses unlucky enough to be built from wood instead of brick. The land to his right was scorched black earth, ash as far as the eye could see. Eerie black fingers of burnt trees reached for the sky. He tore down the road towards the song of the engine.

“I’m here! I’m over here!” He hollered as loud as he could until his throat burned, but he didn’t see anyone. There was no movement, but the roar of the shuttle was growing so loud that it was vibrating the air around him. A shuttle meant people. People meant help.

Jimmy skirted the outer fence of the governor’s house, running along the northernmost edge. His hand brushed the iron of the latticework, and it trembled with the force of the engine. It had to be closer. He passed the back edge of the house and skidded to a halt.

The governor’s backyard was an enormous expanse of burnt grass and bushes, and parked in the center was a black shuttle. As Jimmy’s heart pounded and he cried out in outrage and disbelief, he registered three details in stark relief.

The first was that the Kodos’s guards had exchanged their hunter-green uniforms for black ones. Two of them held up a sagging gray body between them, and a third circled them with a plasma rifle in hand.

The second was that the shuttle door was open, and a fourth guard leaned out of it, reaching for the body.

The third was that the body was staggering to its feet, lifting its head. It was Kodos. He was alive. His horrible uncanny eyes were alight in his gaunt and crevassed face.

This was a mistake. This had to be a mistake. Help could not have arrived for him, after what he had done. What about the littles? What about Tommy? What about him?

He screamed out, “Hey!” The procession of guards and the devil himself paused, all four of their heads turning to look at him. “Help us!”

Time slowed as the guards looked at him, on the other side of the fence, then looked at each other. Jimmy grabbed the fence between them, shaking with the force of his hope and disbelief, and watched as they looked away from him and kept walking.

They kept walking. They were going to put Kodos on the shuttle and take him away and leave them here. Fury like Jimmy had never felt before rose like a tsunami within him, drowning out all reason and leaving only the knowledge that Kodos did not deserve to be rescued from the ruins of the colony that he had destroyed.

There was a phaser tucked into the back of his jeans. The cool metal of the barrel dug into his back. He took it out and, like he was shooting skeet back on the farm with Sam, sighted along it. He saw Kodos’s fine gray hair and craggy face on the other side.

He fired.

The head of the nearest guard snapped up at the whine of the weapon. He locked eyes with Jimmy and, without hesitation, stepped directly in front of the bolt of energy meant for Kodos. Jimmy watched in frozen horror as the phaser fire hit the guard and tore him open. He spun and dropped to the ground. Kodos glanced blankly at the body on the ground, just another sacrifice for him, and allowed the guard in the shuttle to grab his arm and haul him in. The guard with the rifle pointed it directly at Jimmy.

He had shot at Kodos and missed. The shuttle and the people on it weren’t going to help them. Jimmy stood his ground, phaser still raised, and glared at the guard, refusing to look at the rifle aimed at his head. He was going to die, but he was going to do it without flinching. In his periphery, he saw the last guard drag the body of his comrade into the shuttle. The blood from the wound glinted against the dirt in the early-morning sun.

The other guard came back around and pushed the barrel of the rifle down. “Leave it,” he said. “Look at him. He’s almost dead anyway.” With a final sneer the rifleman turned away. They swung themselves into the black shuttle, and the door slammed shut behind them.

Jimmy watched numbly as the shuttle lifted off vertically, soaring higher and higher until it was just a black dot against the blue sky. Then it was gone. He looked down again, and saw the blood of the man that he had killed drying on the hard-packed earth.

He threw the phaser as far as he could away from himself and, turning from the scene of his violence and failure, vomited up all of the water left in his stomach. He leaned back against the sharp metal of the fence and slid to the ground, staring blankly at the blackened edge of the prairie beyond the town. He didn’t know how long he sat there for before Tommy’s voice broke through his reverie.

“What happened?” Tommy was shaking him, panic on his face, and Jimmy felt guilty. He had meant to go back to them, but he couldn’t seem to shake the whine of the phaser out of his ears. It was hard to hear anything else over it. The littles hovered over his shoulder, their drawn faces pinched with worry.

“Nothing,” Jimmy said, with a glance at the littles. He coughed, stomach acid burning in his throat, and let Tommy help him up. “I think this house is empty now, though. Let’s see if there’s anything in there to eat.”

“Isn’t this the governor’s house?” Tommy dropped his voice low as the littles straggled behind them in a line. “You don’t think he’s…?”

“He’s gone,” Jimmy said, and his own voice was rough and unfamiliar.

“What do you mean?”

“I’ll tell you later,” Jimmy said, and glanced down at the littles as Kevin snagged two of his fingers in his weakened grip. He led them into the empty house, and they walked quickly past the rooms where the bodies of guards decayed on couches and seated against walls, until they arrived in an enormous kitchen. It seemed to be made entirely of ceramic and aluminum, with two huge ovens set into the wall and a stovetop built directly into the counter. It was so different from the industrial-sized kitchen at Farm School, which managed to feel warm and cozy despite being built for mass production. This kitchen was cold and clinical. They opened all the cabinets and drawers, finding only utensils and pots and pans, before Tommy noticed a narrow door set back in a corner. He opened it, and revealed stairs leading down into a darkness that smelled like soil and rot. They both looked mistrustfully at it.

“I’ve got this one, Jimmy,” Tommy said finally, and left him standing in the kitchen with the littles. Jimmy continued to open cabinets and drawers, finding nothing but kitchen utilities, until Tommy climbed back up the stairs, wiping his hands on his already horrible pants.

“It’s awful down there,” Tommy said, but he clutched a can in his hands victoriously. “Like the summer projects all over again. But I did find this.” He wiped oily blue smears off the label, revealing a label for baked beans that had expired the year previous. They heated the beans up in a pot on the stove, reveling in the warmth from the electric burner, and the five ate directly from the pot with wooden spoons, just because they could. They dumped the pot and spoons in the sink without cleaning them.

They scavenged through the house, stealing blankets and pillows off of couches that were unoccupied, and found a room that didn’t stink too badly of decay--- a sunroom near the back of the house, through the windows of which Jimmy could see the flattened, desiccated grass where the shuttle had been. As the littles slept, their bellies not empty for once, Jimmy told Tommy, quietly, shamefully, what he had done. The sun was setting by the time he finished.

Tommy considered what he had said, turning the embroidered edge of a blanket over in his hands. Jimmy picked at the burned skin on his hands and tried not to think about the blood against the dirt.

Finally Tommy looked up, eyes flashing in fading light, and said, “Fuck ‘em. He probably deserved it.” Something in Jimmy’s heart unclenched. He and Tommy fell asleep facing each other, with a roof over their heads and the littles between them.

He awoke the next morning to shouting and movement, adults in red and blue and gold swarming into the room with phasers and comms. Jimmy flung himself upright, crouching over the littles, baring his teeth at the intruders before he recognized the familiar uniforms.

“Oh, my god,” the closest Starfleet officer said, a whirring tricorder in her hand. “You’re alive.”

The memories of the next month were a blur of pain and space. Jimmy and Tommy and the littles were beamed up together to the U.S.S. Valiant, where they were poked and prodded and tied to biobeds with IVs of fluids and nutrients. They were scanned with every machine in Medbay, it seemed, while the doctors spoke quietly to each other and refused to tell them anything about what the scans said. Not a single one of them stopped shaking for the first seventy-two hours.

After living feral for a month, adjusting to the sterility of a starship was excruciating. The littles screamed shrilly when Jimmy or Tommy were out of their vision. Jimmy ate a meal from the replicator and threw it up immediately. Tommy had to be sedated and restrained after the doctor tried to put him in the metal box of the dermal regenerator for his back. They refused to sleep apart from each other, and the whirs and beeps of the unfamiliar ship made it impossible to pretend that they were in their treehouse or the den. Jimmy whispered to Tommy that he was afraid of Kodos coming to find him, and Tommy held his hand in the dark of the room that they all shared. Under the harsh lights of the starship and after the dirt and blood and soot was washed away, their skin was an unhealthy gray, and every day medical staff took their blood and patted their heads and made nervous eye contact when they thought the children weren’t looking.

In the end, the captain and the first officer told Jimmy and Tommy, it was Lieutenant Commander Ashton Park’s last desperate call that got the Valiant to Tarsus in time. Kodos had never used the government relay to call for help, not even when the harvest first started dying.

Then there was the journey back to Earth. Tommy and their littles were shipped off to what remained of their families, and no one would tell Jimmy where they went. Jimmy’s own parents were waiting for him when he got to Earth. A week after he arrived home, Sam kicked his hospital door open and set up shop next to his bed while he slowly ingested three months’ worth of nutrients through an IV and finished regrowing his skin. Every night, he woke up screaming Kodos’s name, and his parents looked nervously at each other, and Sam stopped going home with their parents and instead dragged a cot into Jimmy’s hospital room.

Then Dr. Johns replaced the familiar Iowa family doctor that he had been seeing. Jimmy confessed that he wasn’t sleeping, couldn’t bear to be the only person breathing in a room, and he told Dr. Johns that all he could think about was Kodos coming back for him.

“Kodos is dead, Jimmy,” Dr. Johns had said kindly, reading the screen on the machine hooked up to Jimmy’s arm.

“You found him?” Jimmy sat up so suddenly he got dizzy, the hospital room swirling around him. Dr. Johns gave him an odd look.

“Governor Kodos died on Tarsus, Jimmy. In the fire that claimed everyone else.”

“No,” he said. “No, he didn’t. I told you, and I told the doctor on the Valiant. There was a shuttle! It came and got him!” Dr. Johns sat on the edge of his bed and pushed him back against the headboard with a gentle hand.

“Please, calm yourself,” he said. “You are very upset. You survived something awful. It is only natural that your thoughts are confused at this time.”

“I’m not confused,” Jimmy had insisted. “I know what I saw. And he got out.” Dr. Johns had a conversation with his parents outside his hospital room, and through the little window set into the door he saw his mother stare haughtily out the hallway window as his dad wiped a hand across his devastated face. Sam held his hand and said, “I believe you, Jimmy.” But Sam couldn’t convince their parents or Dr. Johns, and then Jimmy woke up from the same awful nightmare to find his old friends from his elementary school in Iowa standing behind his mom with balloons. They sat around him as he tried to sit up straight and felt the weakness in the muscles along his spine, and then after a painfully awkward hour they left, and he did not see them again until he started back at school the following year, when he only had to check in at the Dr. Johns’s clinic once a week for blood testing and dialysis. They said hi, and they signed each other’s yearbooks, and Jimmy skipped the school dances and football games and a lot of his classes to climb up to the roof of the high school and stare at the stars instead.

Then he got to the Academy, and he met Elise.

“We’ve been keeping an eye on you,” she said to him during their first meeting, her eyes twinkling. “We knew you were going to be special.” He talked about Kodos and Tarsus, and it helped, until it didn’t. She taught him how to hide the parts of him that the IVs and dialysis and dermal regenerators didn’t fix. He met Bones, and made friends, and he was surrounded by people who didn’t know where he had been and what it had done to him, and he was happier than he’d been in years, despite the nightmares and the panic attacks and the grief. He missed Tommy and the littles, but Elise said that she’d checked in on them and that they were doing well, and at the Academy he got to learn by doing and experimenting for himself the way he had at Farm School. Then he’d graduated, and worked his way up the ranks despite the ceaseless fear that Kodos would hunt him down someday, and eventually he became a captain and was given the Enterprise. The ghosts of Tarsus lived in him, but he had bricked them behind a wall that got thicker and thicker with every passing year.

It wasn’t until he had gone and fallen in love that he had been forced to reckon with the fact that he still carried those ghosts at all.

☆☆☆

The memory-stream faded, leaking away into the abyss. Kirk stood in the black of the meldspace. His whole soul ached with grief and remembrance, but there was a clarity to it. There was still a wound in him, one that had healed poorly, but in the telling, some of the rot in him had been finally cleaned away.

Jim, Spock said, and it was with a slight jolt of surprise that Kirk remembered that he wasn’t alone. Spock’s voice was ragged. I grieve with thee.

Kirk bowed his head, and he sensed Spock’s mind curled around his, protective, comforting.

I will take us from the meld now, Spock said. You will rest. And then we must talk about what you showed me. The rough edges of Spock’s voice were smoothed over as he reasserted his control, and Kirk felt a flicker of unease at his words. He had tried to convince the rest of the world that Kodos had escaped, and had failed each time. But then Spock said, without preamble, I believe you, captain, and one more piece of Kirk’s anxiety melted away. There was a sense of rising, as if coming up from the bottom of a deep pool, and the blackness lessened until Kirk felt himself reemerge from a very long tunnel back into his own mind.

He still lay on his side, Spock’s hand pressed to his face and clutched between his own. His arm was numb beneath him, and his eyelids were sticky with stillness. He opened his eyes as Spock pulled his hand back from his face, extending and clenching his fingers. Spock’s eyes opened as the familiar noises of the Enterprise around him floated slowly back into his awareness: the hum of the warp drive, footsteps in the corridor, faint beeping from far away.

“That’s what I saw,” Kirk said. “That’s what I did.” He rolled over onto his back and stared up at his familiar ceiling. He was tired, all the way down to his bones. He felt as though someone had wrung his brain out like a sponge. “Can we discuss this in the morning?”

“Certainly,” Spock said, after hesitating only for a second. His voice was deep with disuse. Kirk closed his eyes and waited for him to get up.

He did not get up.

Kirk opened his eyes and turned his head. Spock still lay on his side, watching him. Rather than the pity or disgust Kirk expected, Spock’s face was open and warm.

“What?”

Spock hesitated, before reaching across the space between them and resting his hand on Kirk’s bicep. “I am disquieted by the possibility of you having died before I knew of your existence in our universe.” His fingers flexed, tightening on Kirk’s arm. “I have never been more grateful for your refusal to submit to the law of large numbers.”

Kirk closed his eyes, feeling the warmth of Spock’s palm on his skin. He brought his other hand to cover it, his fingers brushing the back of Spock’s wrist. They lay next to each other, their breathing slowing until they were inhaling in tandem. The post-meld exhaustion pulled at Kirk’s mind, the gentle rhythm of Spock’s breathing lulling him to sleep.

“Jim,” said Spock quietly. Kirk forced his eyes open again, fighting the weight of his eyelids. “Would you like me to stay?” Kirk looked at him, trying to read his expression--- the Vulcan’s face was neutral, watching him in kind. But his arm was still stretched across the distance between them, his hand steady against Kirk’s arm. Spock had walked unflinchingly beside him through every memory of the worst days of his life; he did not think that he would begrudge him his company now.

“Please,” Kirk said. Spock’s hand pressed against his arm before he sat up swiftly and stood.

“I will return momentarily,” he said, and Kirk nodded. Spock crossed the room, retrieved his clothing from his half of the closet, and vanished into the bathroom. Kirk heard the air recycler kick on at his entrance, and he pressed his hands to his eyes.

Despite everything, despite his grief and trauma and the ghosts and his failures, he felt the irrepressible start of a crooked smile forcing its way onto his face. He felt lighter. He felt free. He had shared everything that Elise had told him could never be shared, and Spock had not run screaming from the room or removed him from duty. He had told Spock about Kodos and the shuttle, and Spock had believed him. Showing Spock what he had done, what he had failed to do, hadn’t been the end of the line. It was only the beginning of the conversation. And then Spock had reached out to touch him. He wasn’t alone.

Spock reentered in the tunic and pants he slept in, with his makeup gone and smelling faintly of mint. Kirk sat up. Spock met his eyes.

“You know,” Kirk said, before he could chicken out. “That couch is not the most comfortable piece of furniture to sleep on.”

“I did not object to it,” Spock said, but he clasped his hands behind his back and cocked his head slightly.

“It’s not awful, but the bed is better for a proper rest.”

“Indeed,” Spock said slowly, and Kirk saw a hint of that daring steal into his eyes, glinting in the half-dark. “What do you propose, captain?”

“I think the most logical course of action is to share the bed,” Kirk said. “It’s been a long night. And we’ve got a big day tomorrow.”

“I had assumed the day would be the same size as all other days, but I am curious to hear why you think otherwise,” Spock said, and he crossed the room to the bed. Kirk scooted backwards so he could slide beneath the comforter, and Spock joined him.

“Computer, lights to zero,” Kirk said. He tried to steady his breathing, sink into the sleep that his exhausted brain wanted, he couldn’t. Though his brain unhelpfully, unsurprisingly supplied him with the image of the shuttle taking the governor away again, and he could still feel the lingering dread and exhaustion in his limbs, the fear that Kodos would hunt him down had lost a little of its strength. Even if Kodos did find him out here, he was only human, and there was a Vulcan laying in Kirk’s bed. Spock would tear Kodos apart if he came anywhere near him again. The thought was comforting, but he still couldn’t convince his mind to rest. His memories were too close to the surface. He lay in the darkness instead, listening to Spock breathe.

“Jim.” Spock’s sudden voice spooked him.

“Yes?”

“You are unable to sleep.”

Kirk huffed out a laugh. “Something like that.” He heard Spock shift, the sheets rustling against his sleep clothes. Then a long, hot arm snaked around his torso and pulled him backwards, until he was pressed with his back to Spock’s chest, Spock’s arm over his waist.

“You find physical contact soothing,” Spock murmured, and his breath ghosted over Kirk’s ear.

“But you don’t,” Kirk said. He should pull away, allow Spock his space, but---

“I do when it is you,” Spock said, and Kirk was shocked into silence. “I appreciate the confirmation that you are near and safe.” The warmth of Spock’s chest, the steady beating of his heart against Kirk’s spine, and his even breathing against his neck was doing more for him than Bones’s sedatives ever did. His eyelids grew heavy, and the whirling images through his mind slowed and dimmed, losing their sharp edges, as he breathed in time with Spock.

“Rest now,” Spock said softly, and he did.

#spirk #spirk fan fic #k/s fan fic #star trek fan fiction #fake married #regulatory relations #my writing

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