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“Hard to get a pattern match with all that noise down there and the Heisenberg compensator offline,” Scott crackled through the comm. “And we’re pushing the power too much as it is. We can only take two at a time.”
“All right, Scotty,” Kirk said, still nearly shouting to be heard through the steady thudding of fat raindrops. “Take Bevins and Chow first and then Carmichael and D’Angelo. Mr Spock and I will stand by until they’re aboard.”
“Aye, sir.”
The two science specialists, clutching tightly to their sample kits and tricorders, slowly dematerialized. The yeoman and security officer faded in and out once or twice, but soon they, too, disappeared from sight. Spock stood next to the Captain, trying not to shiver as they waited their turn, but after several moments went by with nothing happening, Kirk spoke into his comm again.
“Scotty?”
“Ach, it’s no good, Captain,” he said, a cacophony of beeps and hisses in the background. “That last beam-up’s blown the primary energizing coil.”
Spock watched Kirk’s expression flatten, rain running down from his hair and dripping off the bridge of his nose. “How long?”
“Five hours, four if we can get the Heisenberg compensator back up first— or the storm passes.” Kirk looked questioningly at Spock.
“Unlikely,” he replied, futilely trying to shield his tricorder from the rain, squinting down at the readout. “Barometric indicators show that the storm will worsen within the next two hours. Precipitation will persist for up to six hours, though its intensity may lessen some during.”
“Well, I’d certainly hope so,” Kirk muttered. “Make it four hours, Scotty, unless you plan to have Spock and me swimming back to the ship. We’ll try to find some shelter in the meantime. Kirk out.” He closed the communicator with a harsh snap.
Spock fussed with the settings on his tricorder. His fingers were clammy and growing stiff with cold. “My readings suggest there is a body of water, perhaps a lake or inlet, approximately two point four kilometres in that direction.” He pointed northwest.
“More water?”
“The change in topography could indicate a shielded ridge, perhaps a cavern. Though there is some risk of flooding, depending on the difference in elevation between the body of water and our potential source of shelter.”
“And that’s our best option?” Kirk asked, pointedly brushing water off his nose.
“The forest in that direction—” he pointed due east— “is also a possibility, though there are further variables to be considered, such as the potential hazardousness of the flora or fauna, or—”
“How far, Science Officer?”
“Approximately four point eight kilometres.”
“So a half hour’s walk toward a possible risk of flooding, or an hour’s walk toward a possible risk of man-eating plants?” Kirk said.
“I did not say—” Spock began indignantly, but Kirk stopped him.
“Let’s keep our fingers crossed and try for the shorter distance,” he said, nodding. “You must be freezing.”
“I assure you I am all right,” he said, valiantly managing to keep his teeth from chattering.
“Don’t be ridiculous, we’re both soaked to the bone. Lead on.”
They spoke little on the walk as the rain began to worsen, running down the back of Spock’s neck and inside his increasingly sodden shirt. The grass squelched wetly under their boots. When they were finally able to see the water beyond the plateau, Spock felt as though he might never be warm and dry again. Shaking the water out of his eyes— Vulcan eyebrow ridges had evolved to protect the eyes from sun, not rain— he tried to shake his dramatic thoughts away with it. There was a good chance they would find shelter if they could make their way down to the beach, less than two hundred metres below. And it would take only a few hours for Mr Scott and the engineering team to effect repairs on the transporter. He could manage until then.
“There, Captain,” he said at last, gesturing with his tricorder a little north of where they were standing near the cliff’s edge. “There should be a way down that is not so steep.”
Kirk nodded and followed him. The way down was rocky, and slippery from the rain. Spock had to pause if he wanted to check the tricorder readings; even with both hands out for balance he was still at risk of losing his footing. Indeed, at one point a rock shifted beneath him and rolled away, and Spock felt his left leg fly out from under him. But Kirk quickly seized him under the arms, strong hands keeping him from falling along with the loose rock, now clacking its way down to the beach below.
“You all right?” Kirk asked, still holding onto him. Spock could feel the human warmth of his body through their layers of wet clothing.
“Yes,” he replied, steadying his heartbeat and correcting his footing. He turned slightly until he could see Kirk, whose look of concern was etched around his eyebrows and mouth. “I’m all right, Jim.”
Kirk’s tight expression and grip on Spock loosened, but his hand lingered on his shoulderblade for a moment before letting go. “Better watch our step.”
“It will not be much further,” Spock said, continuing on. The areas of his body where Kirk had touched him buzzed with phantom sensation. He supposed he could blame their temperature difference for that.
The beach, when they reached it, was somewhat narrow, tapering from rock to pebble to coarse sand at the edge of the water. Clouds blocked their view of whatever was on the other side, and everything around them appeared the same shade of bluish grey. Small waves lapped choppily at the shore, adding to the noise of the rain slapping against the sand and splashing against the water’s surface.
“There?” Kirk asked, squinting as he pointed north, where the beach narrowed further as it curved outward and they could no longer see the shoreline. Spock fiddled with his tricorder.
“I should think so, but we will need to get closer to be certain.”
They trudged on. Spock’s fingertips had shrivelled from the moisture, his joints reluctant to move in the cold as he tried to get his device to provide a read on the cliffside. The way his soggy clothes were clinging to him was also deeply unpleasant. To his relief, the tricorder indicated there was a hollow beyond the bend in the shoreline. But it was within an erosional area, unlike the calmer, depositional section of beach they were on now. He hoped it would not be too cumbersome to reach.
“Well,” Kirk said when they rounded the bend, staring along the narrow outcropping that snaked along the water’s edge, “no one ever said a career in Starfleet would be all sunshine and roses.”
They gazed up toward their prospective shelter. The cavern Spock had located on his tricorder readings was approximately twelve metres up from sea level, set slightly back from a ledge lined with persistent, windswept shrubs and long beach grasses.
“I think we’ll be able to climb up from that side,” Kirk continued, pointing. Cautiously they pushed forward, even more aware of the hazardous, slimy rocks beneath their feet. Spock felt an unexpected pulse in the back of his mind, the sensation of another presence humming its warning. He looked around and saw nothing out of the ordinary. In his efforts to keep his body temperature up, some of his telepathic controls must have slipped, he decided. So it was likely only his proximity to Kirk’s human mind that was causing it. Still concentrating on his footing, he attempted to strengthen his shields. Frustratingly, the feeling persisted.
Nearer to the cavern, Spock was able to see where Kirk had indicated they might make their way up to it. Normally, Kirk enjoyed this sort of rock climbing, but it was doubtful he would have chosen to do so of his own accord in such weather. His soaking wet hair clung to his forehead. It had relaxed back into the loose curls Kirk generally tamed down with hair oil, the fragrance of which Spock could often detect in their shared bathroom, or if they got into the turbolift together early in the day before it had dried. Spock had used this oil himself a handful of times when he’d neglected to procure more of his own— he knew it was synthesized, and therefore relatively valueless, so Kirk would not have minded. Spock hadn’t thought to consider why he’d not simply obtained his own bottle of the product if he enjoyed the scent so much.
“Give me a boost up,” Kirk said. “It’ll be too slippery to grab hold if I try to jump.”
“Yes, Captain.” Spock crouched slightly before somewhat awkwardly lifting Kirk by the waist, then shifting his grip to his hips once he was upright again. Kirk’s back was pressed against his face.
“That’s good, I’ve got it now.” Spock hesitantly let go with one arm, watching as Kirk flung one leg up onto the ledge. He pulled himself the rest of the way up and then leaned back over, extending his arms to Spock. “Grab on, I’ll help you up.”
Before Spock had the chance to process that he was certainly going to have to touch Kirk’s hands with his own, the feeling in the back of his head returned with the insistence of a red alert. He whipped around, eyes raking over the misty water.
“What is it, Spock?”
“There is something… something in the water,” he called over the din. “Something that is aware of our presence.” He knew it to be true. He just didn’t know how he knew.
“Better come on, then, in case it decides it doesn’t want us here anymore,” Kirk called back. Seeing nothing amid the small but choppy waves, Spock turned back toward him. But as he reached up toward Kirk’s outstretched arms, Kirk’s eyes widened. “Spock!”
The logical thing to do would perhaps have been to grab onto Kirk and allow him to swiftly pull him up. What Spock did, however, was turn around to see where Kirk’s eyes were pointing.
Emerging from the water was a long, purplish appendage, wending its way toward them with impressive speed and agility. Before Spock could do anything else, it had wound itself around his waist, and for a moment he was floating, weightless in the air with Kirk’s panicked voice in his ears, their hands reaching out and touching nothing but rain. And then, the creature pulled him beneath the slate of the water’s surface, into cold, salty silence.
Vulcan lung capacity and stamina was such that, if Spock managed to get a complete breath in before going underwater, it would take approximately four minutes and eighteen seconds for him to run out of air. He had been in some duress beforehand, however. The creature’s abduction had surprised him. And his general state after nearly an hour in heavy rain was already suboptimal. He’d therefore not managed to fill his lungs to capacity. Attempts to free himself using his own strength to loosen the being’s hold on him proved fruitless, too. As he was pulled down, he estimated he would exhaust his air supply within three minutes and twelve seconds, possibly less if he were forced to swim at top speed.
He opened his eyes, trying to get a look at his captor. It was dim, but his eyes adjusted, and he was able to make out the shape of a many-limbed creature swiftly and gracefully propelling itself along. Through his fear Spock felt a bubble of scientific curiosity; in another situation he would have appreciated the opportunity for study. It glowed with faint bioluminescence along its limbs and at the centre of its roughly torpedo-shaped body as it moved. Fascinating, he thought.
Thank you. A pleasant reply with an unfamiliar energy asserted itself in his mind.
Is it you? Spock projected back in his surprise, and then felt foolish. Surely he could have come up with a better way of asking if it was his captor who was speaking with him. The tricorder was still strapped across his body, and though he was unsure of its continued efficacy this far underwater, he nevertheless programmed it to continue its intake of data. He would retrieve what he could when he returned to the ship. If he returned to the ship.
Yes. I am Emvith-1. Quick and sharp as a hypo, yet with the purple-blue richness of velvet, foreign memory and understanding bombarded his psyche. Spock reeled a little as the contact lessened, catching hold of his own thoughts again. This was a matriarch of some kind, of a race of beings that called themselves the Satharene. I am sorry that it was necessary to do this so abruptly, but you did not respond to my earlier attempts to reach you, and I could not risk you going where I cannot follow.
I am Spock. My kind require touch in order to communicate effectively in this fashion, he explained. But I must warn you that if I am not returned to the surface within two minutes and forty-six seconds, I will lose consciousness and likely die.
I understand. We will be brief. But we must show you. So that you might help us.
Emvith-1’s journey into the deep began to slow, and they slipped into a rocky crevice where the only light was from her bioluminescence. She twisted along, pulling Spock gently behind, seemingly careful not to bump him into any of the surrounding rock. Her energy continued to soothe him; he felt no fear. That again might have made him concerned that it was a trap, the telepathic contact lulling or even sedating him, but the fact that he was able to explore such a line of thought made that seem unlikely. He felt lucid and, aside from the chill in his bones and a lingering worry about his remaining two minutes and eight seconds of breath, like his usual self. He noticed a secondary source of light further on— another of the Satharene, surely.
The light grew brighter. The twisting tunnel opened into a larger chamber, and Spock saw that it was not just one other of the cephalopod-like creatures, but several— six at least— floating almost impatiently. Still others flitted into the chamber from crevices and holes in its walls. There was a nervous hum in Spock’s mind now; the collective energy of the Satharene altogether powerful enough to leach through his shields even without touch. They were worried, afraid. Angry.
Yes, Emvith-1 said, feeling his response. We are. [[Show him, Mnil-3.]] This last was directed to someone else, the expression of it wholly other, yet Spock still understood what was meant.
The being who must have been Mnil-3 floated forward from the cluster, holding something with one of their tentacles. Some robotic device that had been damaged quite significantly, from the looks of it.
Mnil-3 saw and had the good sense to destroy it. He and I had seen such a thing years before… but we know not whether this was its first survey, nor how much information it was able to transmit before it was destroyed. They will come. And our colony…
Another of the Satharene came forward, cradling a gelatinous-looking pinkish orb in two of its tentacles. An egg.
Our colony once numbered in the hundreds, Emvith-1 explained mournfully. Our reproductive cycles are not frequent… It is clear they have come in the past while we slept, and taken almost everything.
Taken…? Spock was infinitely curious, though he was aware that his time was running short, given how much of it would be needed to reach the surface again.
I will explain further as we travel. I sense you are concerned for your well-being. Emvith-1 had taken the broken device from Mnil-3. She swam out through the entrance again, holding the device in front of her and carrying Spock behind, as before.
We believe that this device comes first to deliver information to its operators, Emvith-1 continued as she deftly made her way back through the tunnels. Once it has gathered enough, it returns with a mate of some sort to assist in efficient thievery and transport of as many eggs as possible.
But why? Spock wondered. Thirty-one seconds.
We do not know. We have tried, but cannot glean knowledge from a machine.
You require my help, Spock replied, understanding, and trying to suppress the irrelevant fear of what would happen to him if they didn’t make it to the surface in time. To determine who is operating these machines, in order to stop them.
Will you do so? They exited the tunnel back into the open water, still far below the surface. Seventeen seconds.
Spock assumed she could feel his uncertainty, but if that were so, then she could also feel his resolve. No creature deserved to be driven to near-extinction for the benefit of another. He was certain the Captain would agree. His lungs felt tight, and thoughts of his Captain set his slowed-down heart thudding again. He didn’t like the idea that he might not be able to return to Kirk.
I will try, he promised Emvith-1, though it was Kirk’s face that appeared in his mind as he did.
Ah! There— he could see it, the faint light of the grey day where it penetrated the water’s surface, but it still appeared so far away. How fast could she swim, he wondered? He tried to slow his heart rate again, to give himself a few additional seconds.
Your loved one is concerned, Emvith one exclaimed in his mind, narrowing her body and propelling upward mightily. Please explain that no harm was meant.
Loved one? he thought, startled. There was no time to dwell on it further, however, as a moment later they broke through the surface, Spock’s tired lungs gasping for air, his ears ringing from the rapid pressure change. The storm, which had been dulled beneath the water, overloaded his senses once again, but when he’d finally caught his breath somewhat, he knew something was amiss. It took him several additional seconds to determine what it was.
Kirk was not on the shore.
Panic trampled his higher thought processes. Where was Jim? Had he, too, been taken? Had he, perhaps, slipped and fell? Or had he— please let him have— simply gone inside the small cavern, out of sight?
Do not worry, Emvith-1 soothed as she gently swam them back toward the cliff, placing the broken survey robot and Spock on the rock where she’d taken him from initially. If you succeed, return to this place. I will come.
Before Spock could reply, she’d let go of him, the tentacle that had held him slipping quietly back into the water. She was gone.
“Spock!” He heard the distant voice through the din of the rain and sea. Squinting, he spotted Kirk’s head and shoulders bobbing in the water some metres away. He felt his chest loosen in relief.
“Captain!” But Kirk seemed not to hear, and his head vanished beneath the surface again. “Jim!”
A moment later his head reappeared. “Spock!”
“Here, Captain!” Spock called. Kirk was some length from the rock yet, but he at least had heard him this time. Spock knelt down and stretched out his arms, hauling him up as soon as he swam within reach. They paused, panting and locked on each other for a moment before they stood up again. Kirk shook some of the water off himself like a dog, running his fingers through his hair to push it away from his forehead.
“Now how is it you’re pulling me out of the drink when you’re the one who got pulled in there in the first place?” He was looking at Spock somewhat accusingly, and Spock couldn’t blame him for being annoyed at having joined him in cold, wet, misery. “Matter of fact, how are you even still breathing?”
“My Vulcan lung capacity—” Spock began.
“Never mind,” Kirk cut him off irritably. It occurred to him then that Kirk must have only gone in the water in order to try to find him. Guilt twisted inside him, but he quickly dismissed it as misplaced; it was not as if he’d been dragged into the sea on purpose. A secondary emotion made itself known: pleasure, at the idea that Kirk had been concerned enough for him to search for him within the mercies of the sea. This was even less sensible. He worked again to dismiss it.
“Let’s get this— this, whatever it is—” Kirk gestured to the broken device— “up to the cave and try to warm ourselves up some. Then you can tell me what the hell happened down there.”
With difficulty, they’d managed to get themselves and the broken robot up to the cave, where it was no warmer than it had been outside, but blessedly dry. Spock fumbled to unstrap the tricorder from his body and set it down. Its scanner was nonfunctional at the moment due to its excessive intake of water, but it could be repaired, its data retrieved. The hardier communicators were unaffected. Kirk had already checked in with Uhura and was now using his phaser to heat a boulder near one wall.
“Get undressed,” he said, as the rock started to glow. “We can lay our things out here to dry.”
Spock was already stripping out of his clinging, clammy uniform shirt, his fingers so pruned and stiff that they felt vaguely as though they belonged to someone else. Water sloshed in his boots as he moved, and he sat down on a flattish rock nearby to take them off. The sound of Kirk’s phaser had ceased as he, too, began to remove his sopping uniform. He wrung his shirt out while Spock dumped what seemed an impossibly large amount of water out of his left boot. Eyebrows raised, he watched as it ran toward a crevice in the floor of the cave.
“I’m surprised you didn’t bring any fish back with you,” he said, nodding toward the floppy boot, still dripping onto the floor. Spock continued with the right boot, glad that Kirk’s tone had lightened some.
“I didn’t realise you wanted any.”
Kirk gave a half-hearted smile, and Spock’s heart lifted a little.
The rain outside and the soggy rustle of them peeling off their remaining articles of clothing became the only sounds as they moved about the cavern, laying items out near the heated rock to dry. Kirk stopped at his briefs, so Spock did too, though they were, of course, no drier than anything else.
“All right,” Kirk said, crouching down over the broken device, “care to explain?”
Spock started to relay what he had learned from Emvith-1 and the colony. He joined Kirk in looking over the robotic device, glad that they had something to focus on besides one another. This thought struck him as odd, since they’d seen each other in various states of undress before and had never been discomfited by it. But his telepathy and emotions were still a little off-kilter following the prolonged contact with Emvith-1. This could explain why he’d received flashes of Kirk’s emotions in the process of helping each other up the cliffside; his shields would not have been back to their usual standard, and the touch of their hands had been unavoidable.
He’d felt a relief so intense that it was near to pain, or maybe nearer to pleasure. A fierce desire to protect. Fear— fear of mortality, of death. All of which were focused on Spock. That must have been why he’d been able to sense them so vividly, as though Kirk had yelled them directly into his ear. At the time, Kirk must have believed Spock’s change in breathing and expression to be merely due to exertion, because he’d made no comment, leaving Spock feeling slightly guilty over having experienced his emotions with such acuity. Though of course it couldn’t have been helped. It was only now, however, that he was able to consider how the emotions he’d sensed from Kirk mirrored his own, when he’d resurfaced with Emvith-1 and found him missing.
He’d known for some time that his loyalty to the Captain often outstripped all other concerns, particularly in a crisis. This was logical: as first officer, it was his duty to act in the best interests of the ship, and of course, that generally included preserving the life of her captain. And he knew, of course, that Kirk cared for him; he valued him as an officer, trusted him as a friend. But this had felt… personal. Perhaps that was the real reason for his discomfort over their near-nudity— not the physicality of it, but rather that it reflected the uncomfortable baring of his own mind.
He continued to stare down at the device, inspecting its markings and controls with his hands as he spoke, even more glad of its distraction.
“Well,” Kirk said, when Spock was finished, “I don’t believe the Federation would look too kindly on the… theft?— or would it be kidnap?— of an intelligent race’s potential offspring, you’re right about that. Shame about the tricorder… any chance you recognise the language?” He traced one of the foreign characters, his fingers very near to Spock’s.
“Negative,” Spock replied, pulling his hand back, trying to avoid touching Kirk again accidentally. “Lieutenant Uhura, or someone else in communications might…”
“...though probably not without being able to see it,” Kirk finished. “Let’s try her anyway. Not like we have anything else going on in the meantime.” He stood, pacing the width of the cave as he called Enterprise. Spock sat back down near the glowing rock. His skin was beginning to dry, but his hair was dripping down his face and his feet on the dank cave floor felt like ice. Holding his shrivelled hands closer to the warmth of the rock, dimly he became aware that Kirk was speaking with Uhura about something other than the matter of the broken device. He tuned in properly as the tone of Kirk’s voice changed.
“But there shouldn’t be another Federation ship this close. Not according to our most recent fleet update.” He walked back toward Spock so they could both listen clearly.
“It’s not a Federation ship, sir,” Uhura replied. “Helm scans are reading a merchant class vessel of Ferengi origin.”
“And you haven’t been able to raise them?”
“No, sir, but their comm signal’s weak, they may just be too far away. I’ll keep trying.”
“All right. Put Scotty on.”
“Scott here, sir.”
“There’s a good chance that ship could be related to what Mr Spock and I have discovered down here, so I need you to keep trying to make contact. Keep scanning, see what more you can find out. Keep your distance. The Ferengi are reportedly reluctant to use weapons, but they will use them, if needed. I’m sure I don’t have to remind you of their technological prowess, and the fact that they’ll go to great lengths to get what they want.”
“Aye. I’ve heard enough about the sneaky little opportunists to keep me on my toes, don’t you worry.”
“Good. How’s the progress on the transporter?”
“I’ve got my best people on it. We should be up and running again in, oh, three and a half hours.”
Kirk’s nostrils flared as he sighed out his nose. “You said four hours an hour ago.”
“Begging your pardon, sir, but my estimate was five hours an hour ago, and that was before I had to come up to the bridge to monitor this situation. Are you and Mr Spock all right?”
“We… had a bit of a mishap, but we’re holding up. Keep me apprised of any changes. Kirk out.” He snapped the communicator shut and swept his wet hair away from his forehead again. “We may as well get comfortable.”
“Indeed,” Spock said, unable to stop his shoulders from hunching up toward his ears as he shivered.
“You don’t appear very comfortable at all, Mr Spock.” He set the communicator down on another rock.
“There is little that can be done until our clothing has dried.”
“Starfleet training would… recommend sharing body heat in a situation such as this,” Kirk pointed out, a bit stiltedly. “Of course, that training did tend to imagine we still had our uniforms on. Usually an emergency blanket, too…”
A flush began to creep into Spock’s neck. “Unfortunately our emergency kit was with Lieutenant D’Angelo,” he said.
“Spock. I don’t want to impose. But for efficiency’s sake, I am offering.”
It was also not the first time they’d needed to share warmth on an away mission, and could agree it would be efficient to do so now. He turned to look at him again and nodded.
Kirk nodded back. “All right,” he said quietly. He looked away, sitting down near the heated rock with his back to the wall, hissing a little at the coolness of it. “You can sit in front of me here. Then you’ll have me to warm up your back and the rock to warm up your front.”
“Quite logical,” Spock said, getting up. Kirk sat with his knees bent, making space for him between them. Spock turned around, feeling rather awkward and conspicuous as he sat down on the cold floor of the cave in front of him, shifting toward the heat of Kirk’s body and drawing his own knees in toward his chest. The insides of Kirk’s thighs pressed lightly against the outsides of his, arms carefully circling around Spock’s chest, pulling him back against him, the smooth skin of Kirk’s own chest warm against his back. Spock could feel one of his nipples, pebbled to a stiff point, rub against his skin as they settled.
“That all right?”
“Yes,” Spock said, a little tightly. It was difficult to shield himself from Kirk’s emotions with so much bare skin touching. Kirk shifted position slightly and exhaled. The sensation of breath at the back of his neck made him shiver. Evidently Kirk thought this to be from the cold, because he began to rub Spock’s upper arms with his hands, and Spock couldn’t deny that he found this pleasant, considering he was cold, and a hum of approval formed in his throat without his permission. A subsequent satisfaction from Kirk waxed and waned against his mind, relaxing into something still positive, though more subdued and rounded, less focused. It felt sweet and familiar as its tender roots slowly extended into his consciousness.
Spock bit his lip, thinking of the red of Kirk’s iron blood, the wind brushing waves into the red sands of his homeworld. He was beginning to warm up some. Heat radiated toward him from the rock, into him from Kirk’s human body, accompanied by a low and steady current of emotion. It did not seem right to experience Kirk’s feelings, lovely though they were, without his knowledge.
“Captain…”
“Spock…”
They spoke at the same time. Spock cleared his throat. “Please, go ahead.”
“Is this… is it too much for you? I can’t tell if you’re not relaxed because you’re uncomfortable with us touching or if it’s because of the cold.”
Now was the time for honesty, Spock reasoned. “I am finding it— difficult to close my mind off entirely from your emotions.”
“Does that bother you?” he asked. “Feeling my emotions.”
“Not as such.” Perhaps Kirk would not notice the increase in his heart rate, since Vulcan hearts beat faster than humans’ already. “But I do not wish to invade your privacy.”
“Human emotions aren’t a secret, Spock,” he said softly. “At least, I don’t need mine to be a secret from you.” His hand slid down his arm to where Spock’s hand rested on his knee, clasping it lightly. Kirk must have been aware that touching hands would only increase his ability to sense his emotions. Overcome, it took Spock a moment to reply.
“Thank you, Jim.” His mouth was dry. He licked his lips. Boldly, and perhaps only brave enough to do so because his back was to Kirk, his eyes focused on the orange glow of the rock in front of him, he spoke again. “You feel… affection… for me?”
“I feel… a great many things for you, Spock. Affection. Curiosity. Frustration. Pride. Friendship. Desire.” His voice lowered a little on this last. Spock felt as if he was back underwater, as if he could not draw air into his lungs, as if he might drown if he attempted it. He thought of Emvith-1 again. Your loved one.
“That’s why I was hesitant to suggest this— touching you like this, I mean,” Kirk went on. “It didn’t feel like an entirely selfless act.” His lips were nearly touching the back of Spock’s neck.
Kiss me, Spock thought fiercely, suddenly, the thought arriving almost as a surprise to him.
Behind him, Kirk sucked in his breath. “Did you just think that, or did I?”
“I— did not realise I was projecting so strongly.”
“And you… really want me to?”
“Please,” Spock whispered. “If you wish it.”
Kirk’s happiness flared with the bright warmth of the morning sun, but his lips brushed the nape of Spock’s neck with all the softness and caution of one trying not to frighten away a wild animal. When Spock leaned into him, he kissed the same place again, less cautiously, the warm moisture of his mouth contrasting against the cool of the rain and seawater still in Spock’s hair. The kiss trailed onward, lips closing on the soft skin beneath Spock’s left ear. It was unexpectedly sensitive. A small noise rose up in him at the sensation, and Kirk’s hand tightened against his.
It had been some time since anyone had kissed him in the human way, though he remained confident enough in the basics. The angle was slightly awkward as Spock turned toward him, but Kirk met him there, noses touching for a moment in understanding before they proceeded.
He could taste the salt of the sea on Kirk’s lips. But that was the only strange thing.
How was it he never considered the possibility of kissing Kirk until now, when his mouth seemed to fit so perfectly against his? How had he failed to recognise the exquisite beauty held within the soft strength of Kirk’s mind and body? How had he managed to ignore the way his own body thrummed with desire when Kirk touched him?
He no longer cared about his wet hair, about the odd angle at which his neck was bent, about the uncomfortable tingling of his toes as they finally began to warm up properly. Kirk kissed him harder. Spock kissed him back fervently, as though to compensate in the present for all the times they might have kissed in the past and hadn’t. And his emotions, still fluttering against Spock’s telepathic senses, indicated he too did not care about much currently beyond their mouths. The press of their bodies together. Spock’s hand in his.
The chime of the communicator drew them apart as if by force. Kirk groaned, burying his face in Spock’s neck briefly before reaching over to grab it.
“Kirk here.”
“Captain,” Uhura’s voice came through. “The merchant ship’s finally made contact. Their captain says they’ve tracked an electronic survey device of theirs to your location.”
“I’ll bet they have,” Kirk muttered. “Did they happen to mention the purpose of this device?”
“No, sir. But considering this is a merchant ship, I can’t imagine its objectives being motivated by simple scientific curiosity.”
“Well put.”
“Mr Scott was able to negotiate about a part he needed to repair the transporter more quickly. He’s gone to meet their engineer in the transporter room now.”
“I’m afraid to ask what he offered them in return for such a trade,” Kirk said.
“Well, he did have to remind the Ferengi captain that women of the Federation aren’t property,” she said, sounding both amused and exhausted, “but as it turns out, they were eager to make a deal, because they’ve got an injured crewman aboard.”
“And no medic?”
“No, they’ve— hold on, I’ve got Mr Scott trying to patch through for you.” There was a click as the connection changed.
“Scotty?”
“Captain,” he said excitedly. “If this little devil’s not toying with me, we should have you back on board within thirty minutes. They’ve got a whole stash of—”
“Better you don’t tell me what that ship’s carrying, Mr Scott,” Kirk interrupted. “I’d hate to have to put your fellow engineer in the brig if they’re smuggling contraband through Federation space.”
“Ah, yes, sir,” Scott said quickly. “Well then, I’ll give you back to Uhura.”
Uhura proceeded to explain to Kirk about the injured man and the ship’s medic. Apparently, a ship that was meeting them for refuelling was also someone to whom the two owed a sizable gambling debt. The medic was taken, ostensibly to work off the debt, and they’d broken the other crewman’s ankles for good measure. At the captain’s urging, the engineer had later— and inexpertly— used a bone knitter on him so that they could continue with all of their pickups, but it had not held for long and the man was now in considerable distress. Spock marvelled in a rather horrified way at their determination in acquiring currency.
“Dr McCoy’s seeing to him now,” she finished.
“And I’m sure he’s getting an earful from the good doctor at no extra charge,” Kirk replied.
“Captain… they do seem quite eager to retrieve this device.”
“Tell their captain I’ll meet with him to discuss it once Scotty beams us back aboard. And I’ve gotten a change of clothes,” he added.
“Acknowledged. Enterprise out.”
Kirk flipped the comm shut and set it down again. He kissed Spock’s neck several more times before prompting him to get up by patting the back of his hand.
“I suppose it is rather too soon for our clothing to have dried,” Spock observed as he reluctantly got to his feet.
“I think ‘damp’ might be about the best we can hope for,” Kirk agreed, “but that’s still an improvement on ‘sopping’.”
“I must commend you on your optimism.”
They faced each other for the first time since they’d sat down. Much had occurred in a short time, and yet, little seemed to have changed between them. Kirk brought a hand to Spock’s jaw. He stroked it with his thumb before drawing him in and kissing him on the mouth, and Spock opened to him almost without thought, as if his body knew better than his mind what it wanted and how best to achieve its goals, pulling them closer together, chest to chest, his hand reaching again for Kirk’s hand. Kirk made a pleased sound at the sparking touch of their fingertips, but he cut short the kiss, squeezing his hand briefly before letting go.
“To be continued,” he said, smiling. “Wouldn’t want Mr Scott and his new Ferengi friend catching us with our pants down.”
“It’s malfunctioned!” the Ferengi captain squawked as he entered, rushing to the instrument where it sat on the table, a small pool of water collecting beneath it.
“No,” Spock said. “It has been purposely destroyed.”
Their clothing had indeed still been damp when they’d beamed unsteadily back to Enterprise, and Kirk had handed the broken device off to Scotty with instructions to beam over the Ferengi captain and have him join them in Briefing Room Two in ten minutes. Spock had been in the bathroom combing his hair back into place when Kirk came in to do the same, spilling some of the familiar oil into his hands and running his fingers through his hair to arrange it the way he liked. The scent of it filled Spock’s nostrils, mingling with the salt-brine of the sea still clinging to both of them, and something of Kirk’s natural scent, detectable even in his clean clothes. Kirk caught his eye in the mirror and winked before straightening up and tugging his uniform shirt back into place. “Shall we?” he’d said, gesturing to the door.
“What? Destroyed?” The diminutive and large-eared man gathered the ruined device to his chest as though it were an injured child, turning his narrowed eyes accusingly on Spock. “I hope you’re ready to explain why you’ve cost me a fortune in latinum, you pointy-eared f—”
“He didn’t destroy it,” Kirk said authoritatively over him, “and I’ll thank you to keep any threatening language about my first officer to yourself aboard my ship, unless you’d like a taste of the air in the brig.”
His tone worked, as it usually did. The man was quiet, though the fury in his eyes remained.
“I’m Captain James T. Kirk,” he continued, lowering his volume a little, though his firm captain’s voice remained. “This is First Officer Spock. Also our science officer. And if his information is accurate, which it usually is, I believe you’re the one who’s got some explaining to do. Let’s start with what brought your ship and this device to this planet.”
“Same as anything else,” the Ferengi said, his pointed teeth forming a sinister grin. “Business.”
“So it’s business to participate in the abduction of another species, is it?”
The Ferengi frowned, twisting a finger inside his ear. “Something must be wrong with my translator, because I got ‘abduction’, but I thought we were talking about fishing—”
“‘Fishing’?” Spock repeated, as he and Kirk looked at each other. “You consider it acceptable to utilise the offspring of intelligent beings for such a purpose?”
“Oh, spare me your vegetarian moralising!” he said. “Anyway, I don’t even like the things myself— outer skin’s too soft for my tastes, you understand— but some consider them a great delicacy, and those restaurateurs are willing to pay through the nose for them, considering how rare they are, and also considering they can charge through the nose for ‘em, and—”
“This has nothing to do with vegetarian or omnivorous diets,” Kirk interrupted again. “These beings have come to us for assistance after you and whoever else is selling these eggs for profit have brought their species to the brink of extinction!”
“Come to—” He blinked. “How’d they do that?”
“They asked,” Spock said simply. He began to explain further.
They learned over the course of the conversation that the Ferengi captain’s name was Zram. He claimed to know nothing about the race of aquatic beings, other than the facts that they were large, binaural, lived for many decades, and produced eggs on a twelve-year-cycle. He’d inherited the secret from a relative who’d run the same trade route. They’d send the survey scout down to map the area and count the eggs, then return with a collection device and a diver to monitor its progress from a safe distance.
“I don’t understand: how is it that they remained unaware of your presence until only recently?” Kirk said. “According to Spock they were well aware of mine even from above the surface, and I’m no telepath.”
“Oh, most telepaths can’t read Ferengi. Try it if you don’t believe me,” he said defiantly to Spock, who’d raised his eyebrows, unable to verify this claim with either personal or scientific knowledge. Spock glanced at Kirk, who indicated he should proceed.
He lowered his shields a little, stopping once he could feel the light energy of Kirk’s mind. But Kirk was familiar to him; obviously his thoughts would reach him more easily. He lowered them further, feeling the clarity of Kirk’s mental presence increase slightly, and he could now also sense the security guard standing outside the door. He felt nothing else. Standing up, he placed a hand against Zram’s wrist, and still felt nothing aside from the comparative warmth of his skin. Frowning, he touched his fingers to where he’d normally expect to find a humanoid’s facial psi-points, closing his eyes to centre his kash-tepul.
It was nothing like any meld he’d experienced, if it could even be called a meld at all. It was like trying to connect mentally to a tree, or a fungus, or something else clearly alive but whose modes of communication were so foreign as to be impossible to touch. He pushed a little harder, distancing himself even more from the outside world as he employed some of the skills he’d acquired from melding with non-humanoids like the Horta and Nomad, his mind straining as its telepathic energy flowed through his qui’lari and back into him, finding nowhere else to go. At last he detected a spark of kash-tepul, very faint, as though someone had turned the sound down to its lowest level on a holoprogram playing several rooms away. Just enough to indicate the presence of a living, sentient being. No clarity of thought. No distinct emotions. No memories. He let go and opened his eyes.
“Fascinating,” he said. Apparently his efforts had left him somewhat breathless, and Kirk had stood up, his hands protectively at Spock’s shoulders as he guided him back into his seat. It was not the first time he’d done this, but for the first time, Spock was fully cognizant of the comfort he found in the warmth from Kirk’s mind, the way the touch of his hands served to ground him in reality again.
“What did you see, Spock?”
Still disoriented, Spock turned toward the sound of his voice, looking up at where Kirk was peering down at him with his brow furrowed. He shook his head. “Nothing, Captain. I saw… nothing.”
Slowly Kirk’s hands slid off of him, though he held his gaze a moment longer, and nodded, before returning his attention to Zram.
“All right,” he said. “So we can agree that the Satharene hadn’t attempted to contact you. Now can we agree it would be unethical to continue harvesting these eggs considering it not only goes against their express wishes, but puts the survival of their very species at risk?”
“I can’t believe this! After we, in an act of pure selflessness, parted with several incredibly valuable materials to help your engineer repair your transporter!”
“To hear Dr McCoy tell it, you were willing to give just about anything if he could get your injured pilot to stop his howling and get back on his feet to finish your run,” Kirk reminded him.
“But now what am I supposed to tell my clients?” he protested. “They’ve been preparing for the arrival of these eggs all season long! It’s a huge event for most of these places—”
“I don’t consider that my problem,” Kirk snapped. “You seem like a smart man, I’m sure you’ll think of something.”
“Once we have completed our biological and geological survey of the planet, and submitted reports of our findings, it is almost certain this world will be protected and monitored by the Federation,” Spock added. “You would therefore risk being tried as criminals if you were to return here without statement of intent, and submission of your ship’s manifest, including a list of vendors as well as the projected value of—”
“All right, all right, I get the picture.” Zram rolled his eyes with an exaggerated sigh. “I don’t suppose you hu-mans happen to have any of those delightful little crabs they eat on your planet that you’d be willing to part with? I could probably fetch a good price on those…”
“We could give you the synthesizer code to create some of the meat,” Kirk said. “No shell, though.”
“But cracking into it with your teeth is the best part! Don’t you people have taste?” But suddenly his expression changed, and he grew thoughtful, then excited. “You know, I wonder if you and your science officer might be willing to make another deal…”
When the storm at last had ceased, Spock and Kirk beamed back down to where he’d first been taken by Emvith-1. It was only a few minutes before he sensed her presence again, and he crouched down at the edge of the rock, waiting. One long tentacle slid out of the water, gently wrapping around his hand and wrist.
I have good news for you, he explained, and allowed her to access the rest of his relevant memories. He felt her gratitude and relief first, then a puzzled amusement.
I must admit I do not understand, but the colony owes you a debt of gratitude, regardless.
Their ways are foreign to me as well, Spock agreed, but I am pleased a solution was found without further harm or conflict.
You are happy, Emvith-1 observed, and Spock, understanding she did not refer to the arrangement involving the Ferengi merchants, felt himself blush. But since she was touching his mind, there could be no denying it.
I am.
I wish you and your… captain is what you call him?— a long life and many healthy offspring, she expressed joyously. Spock’s blush deepened.
It does not work that way between my kind and his, he explained, but the sentiment is appreciated.
Goodbye, Spock, she continued, unruffled. You are welcome to visit us again. Her tentacle released its cool, wet grip, bending in what was unmistakably a wave before disappearing beneath the water again.
“What’d she say?” Kirk asked as he helped Spock to his feet.
“She finds the Ferengi’s plan most peculiar, but she remains grateful to us for our assistance.” He didn’t mention the personal observation she’d made, as it did not seem pertinent.
“Scotty and the Ferengi engineer must be almost done with that data transfer and programming now, incidentally, and the sooner we can send the merchant ship on its way, the better, in my opinion.”
After beaming back up, Kirk briefly checked in on the bridge, and Spock made contact with the new away team on the surface, but it was indeed not long before Mr Scott and Zram appeared in the transporter room as well. “Any problems?” Kirk asked.
“Not a one, sir,” Scott said, holding up the small crate in his arms. “These’ll be very handy next time the transporter’s got a disobedient spirit. And a very interesting synthesizer setup they’ve got over there, too—”
“I look forward to hearing about it in your report, Scotty,” Kirk said. “Dismissed.” Scott nodded and left, and Kirk turned to Zram. “Indulge my curiosity, Zram: humans often find synthesized versions of the foods we love the most simply don’t measure up to the real thing. What’ll you do if you make all of those eggs and it turns out your clients feel the same?”
“I wonder if those hu-mans would feel that way if they didn’t know their food was synthesized,” Zram said, grinning toothily. “Rule of acquisition number two-thirty-nine: ‘never be afraid to mislabel a product’.”
“No honour among thieves, I see.”
“Lots of Ferengi don’t pay enough attention to rule number eight: ‘small print leads to large risk,’” he said, unconcerned. “And if my crew and I continue to be the sole suppliers, well, I see no reason it ought to decrease in value, do you?”
Spock tilted his head at the dubious ethics of this. “A rhetorical question, I gather.”
“In fact, I guess I may as well see if some of those eggs will be enough to trade me to get my medic back,” he said, as though Spock hadn’t spoken.
“Forgive my saying so, but that doesn’t seem in line with the rest of your Ferengi code of conduct,” Kirk said. “Don’t you have a saying about latinum weighing more than blood, or something like that?”
“Of course! If he weren’t my brother I’d certainly leave him there,” Zram said casually, “but this’ll put him in my debt for a considerable amount of time, and I won’t have to deal with the hassle of interviewing a replacement for him. It’s just good business.”
“How fortunate for him, then.”
“For me, you mean,” Zram said. “Well, it’s been a pleasure working with you. I look forward to never seeing you again.” He saluted them ironically.
“The, ah, feeling is mutual,” Kirk said, sharing a glance with Spock. Zram returned to the transporter pad. “Energize.” When he was gone, Kirk exhaled with tired amusement. “Care to get in some choice words about how your people never engaged in such petty and materialistic endeavours, my Vulcan friend?”
“On the contrary, Jim,” he replied. “Though capitalism is foreign to my world, there was of course a time when my people were every bit as emotional and barbaric as we find the Ferengi to be now, or would have found the humans of Earth’s near history. We simply arrived at our own solution sooner, and without the threat of nuclear war.”
Kirk laughed as he left the transporter room, Spock keeping pace at his right.
“Away team two should complete their work in regional biome three within four hours as expected, sir. Do you wish me to monitor their progress from the bridge?”
“Let Sulu and the beta shift crew handle it,” Kirk said. “They just came on duty, and we’ve had rather enough excitement for one day, don’t you think?” He halted in front of the turbolift. Spock had believed Kirk would return to the briefing room to complete his report, as he often did, but clearly this was not the case, and he felt anticipation tighten in his chest as they entered the lift together. Once they were on their way, Kirk brushed his knuckles against his. The feather-light touch produced a miniature explosion that bolted up his arm and into his mind.
“Captain…”
“Mr Spock,” Kirk said, “would you accompany me to my quarters?”
“Of course.” The lift doors opened to the busyness in the corridor which always followed the end of alpha shift, and Spock fell into step beside him again.
“I do feel I should tell you, my request isn’t entirely professional in nature.” Kirk glanced at him, eyes sparkling the way they did when he was teasing, green-gold beneath long eyelashes. “In fact I think you’d consider it decidedly unprofessional.”
Spock fought the corners of his mouth as they twitched with a desire to turn upward. “I shall accompany you, nonetheless.”