Inkblot Tests and Word Association (Part 1) for subterrain
Title: Inkblot Tests and Word Association, Part 1 (4000~ words)
Author's name: use_theforce_em
Written for: subterrain
Pairing/characters: the whole darn crew. nothing really blatant with the pairings, actually (though I encourage everyone to imagine whatever pairings they like in the story XD). there is some definite OT3ing starting here, but it's early on for these boys, so you can't expect much out of them just yet...
Rating: PG
Warnings: erm... Chekov being a bad child?
Disclaimer: Not mine, don't sue, you won't get anything anyway. ^_^
Note: I am so sorry this took so long. And that it's not even the whole thing; it's all done, but I want to get it checked by my betas before I post the rest. It should not take long, I hope. But I wanted you to know that the fic is here and it's done, and give you something to tide you over until the rest was ready. It turned into kind of a monster as I was writing, which I guess shouldn't have surprised me. XD I tried to give you some OT3, some crew hijinx and embarrassing alien things, so I hope you enjoy it!
"They sent up a package."
Kirk turned in his captain's chair to face the Chief Engineer. Though confusion had a tendency to resemble disgruntlement on the captain's face, the crew was beginning to learn the difference. "A what?"
"A package, sir," Scotty insisted, motioning vaguely with his head in the direction of the transporter room. "Said they 'ad some gifts for ye. I told them ye said thanks, figuring on bein' polite."
Kirk rose from the chair. It was relatively obvious who he was going to question next; in their first months out in space he seldom walked to any station on the bridge but one. "Mister Spock, is that normal behavior for the Haryllians?"
"Unknown, Captain. What little information we have on this planet has only been provided by traders, Tellarites and the odd research vessel. Their preliminary observations would indicate that the Haryllians are a very trusting and open people who value cooperation and honesty above all other values." The Vulcan tilted his head in consideration. "That this gesture would be in any way hostile seems entirely unlikely."
"Alright, then I guess--"
"Captain," Uhura interrupted, uncrossing her legs and turning toward him. "We're being hailed by the Haryllian Chancellor."
Kirk nodded. "On screen, Lieutenant."
A wide, good-natured face appeared before them. She had some of the biggest eyes he had ever seen. She was purple. Kirk smiled in spite of himself. "Chancellor, you delivered something to my engineer without letting me know. It's a good thing he's a level-headed sort of guy - you might have put the whole ship on red alert without intending to."
The Chancellor looked mildly alarmed. "That was naturally not our intention, Captain Kirk. But it would not have been a surprise if we had cleared the transport with you first."
"You could have waited until we came down to you, of course."
She seemed to twitch around the corners of her mouth. "We thought perhaps it would be best to begin on... happy terms?" Perhaps she was aware that the universal translator was not going to pick up the word she intended. "Before the tests. You are prepared to take them, as you promised?"
Kirk narrowed his eyes at her. "We said we would."
"Yes, of course. I... I do apologize if it is an inconvenience for you."
"No, no inconvenience. I look forward to completing these tests and meeting you in person, though." He smiled one of his more charming smiles.
He missed Uhura's eyeroll.
The Chancellor, however, smiled back in a way that anyone on the bridge would have labeled as 'coy'. "I look forward to it as well, Captain. You said you were bringing your first officer with you, if I'm not mistaken?"
"And my chief medical officer. If you don't mind," Kirk added as an afterthought.
"Not at all. Just realize that they will be subjected to the same treatment as yourself."
"Understood, Chancellor. We will be with you in the hour. Kirk out."
The transmission ended and the viewport once again showed stars and the outer atmosphere of the planet below. Kirk stared a while longer before turning back. "So. Speculation on these so-called 'tests', Mister Spock?"
Spock shook his head at Kirk's intent expression. "Insufficient data, Captain. All that we are certain of is that they require all strangers to take them if they refuse the alternative."
Uhura couldn't help but lean over and interject herself. "I'm sorry; alternative to what?"
Spock's eyes flicked to her, acknowledging the question. "Because they are such an honest people, the Haryllians often chemically induce telepathic abilities amongst themselves, particularly during political gatherings. They believe that they have nothing to hide from one another, and find it to be a pleasing bonding experience. However, they understand that other peoples and cultures might find this invasive, and accept their decision to refrain from participation. What they request in its stead is the completion of a series of tests, catered to the group or the individual, that allow them a better understanding of their guests. It makes it easier for them to trust."
"Which is just what we want," Kirk finished. "I think it's time we prepared to beam down, Mister Spock." Spock rose to his feet as Kirk looked to the communications station. "Lieutenant Uhura, if you would ask Doctor McCoy to join us in the transporter room immediately."
"Yes, sir." She watched the captain and first officer leave the bridge and turned back to her board, but before she could notify the CMO, Sulu's voice sounded from behind her -
"Did I hear that right? Did he say 'chemically induced telepathic abilities'?"
*~*~*
Chekov was getting a little bored in the transporter room, but Mister Scott had asked him to keep an eye on things while the chief engineer did some 'tweaking' down in the engine room. What that 'tweaking' consisted of exactly, Chekov couldn't say. But he usually thought it best not to ask when it came to Mister Scott. And the captain. And Mister Spock. And that lady yeoman who liked to tug on his curls whenever she could sneak up behind him.
The comm beeped before Uhura's voice filtered in. "Transporter room, prepare to beam down landing party of three."
Chekov perked up instantly. The landing party. He would get to beam down the landing party. That was almost as good as being in the landing party. Well, not quite. But if you had any job outside the landing party itself, head transporter wasn't bad at all. "Transporter room, acknowledge."
The captain and Mister Spock were there in seconds, giving Chekov very little time to prepare the coordinates Uhura had given him, but he did his best to look at ease. "How are we doing, Mister Chekov?"
The ensign fought the urge to smirk. Kirk said that a lot. One day he planned to say something like 'Oh, ve are doing wery wery badly'. Just to see what Kirk would do. Today was sadly not that day. "Everyting is ready, sir. But zere is one more in ze landing party, Keptin?"
"There is... and he should be here any minute." Kirk leaned back from the transporter controls, where he was currently engaged in hovering over Chekov's shoulder, to glance at the doors.
"Captain, the gifts you received from the Haryllians are in that crate, if I am not mistaken." Spock was looking at a gray box resting in the corner by the platform, covered in simple illustrations and an abundance of something glittery. Kirk eyed it. "Right. Uh...."
Chekov had noticed lately that whenever the captain hesitated, Mister Spock seemed to take that as his cue to interject some form of advice. "Captain, perhaps you should send it to the science labs." It was a trend the first officer seemed intent on continuing.
Kirk stared at the package for another second or so. It almost looked as though he was attempting to employ some x-ray vision on the crate. "Yeah. Yeah, wouldn't want to open up some fancy hand cream and break out in hives or anything." Spock appeared to have an opinion on that too, but Kirk continued talking before he could begin. "Mister Chekov, if you could deliver that to Research Lab 6 after we've departed."
"Aye, Keptin."
The doors swished open as Doctor McCoy stalked into the room. And he really was. Stalking, that is. Chekov braced himself for a tirade or a scolding. Or both.
"You wanna tell me what sort of tests they're planning on subjecting us to? Or why you decided to mention that part of the mission to me only twenty minutes ago?"
"I don't know, and no, I think I won't," the captain answered in order, looking McCoy over briefly to make sure he had all of his away gear. "Relax Bones, it's probably just going to be some inkblot tests and word association, then we're on our merry way."
"Hate word association," the doctor grumbled, stepping onto the transporter pad where Commander Spock was already waiting (patiently, of course). "The first thing that comes to my mind always makes me sound like a drunkard or a neurotic mess."
Spock raised an eyebrow. McCoy was thankfully standing in front of him and didn't notice.
Kirk smiled, stifling a laugh. "I think you're man enough to handle it, Doctor." He nodded to Chekov. "Energize."
A few deft maneuverings of the controls and the party had faded from the pad. Chekov sighed and leaned back in his chair.
Then he glanced over to the captain's crate.
He should take it to the lab now. No reason to wait. It would only niggle at the back of his head until he did it.
But then what? The landing party wouldn't be back for hours, maybe even days depending on how well things went. And he had no idea when Mister Scott would return. So he'd deliver the crate and, what... wait another few hours? Until what? Why did they need him here right now? He should be allowed to go back to the bridge. At least he'd be able to talk to Sulu back at his post.
The lab wasn't even expecting the crate. They probably didn't know it existed. They'd never know if he opened the thing and touched every parcel. Or if he transported it out into space. Or if he--
Hang on, page back there. He could open it, theoretically, couldn't he? As long as he didn't disturb anything. He'd be lying if he didn't admit to being curious over what was in it. What sort of things did you give a starship captain if you were trying to earn his goodwill and friendship? You could tell a lot about people that way, and it wasn't like he was going to be able to learn firsthand this time around. He was stuck on board.
Chekov took his eyes off the crate and looked back to his console. He wasn't really seeing what was on screen, but it made him feel more responsible. He hummed a song his father used to sing every night when he was a child. He counted to ten. In English and in Russian.
...one quick peek couldn't hurt, though, right?
He was careful opening it, making sure nothing was smudged or torn or crushed. There was a lot of packing fabric in between jars and small pieces of artwork and something that looked like cotton candy, but Chekov was sure wasn't. They were all beautiful gifts, familiar yet undeniably alien, all unique and eye-catching by some account.
One more than the rest. It was an ornate bottle that appeared to have been carved from one piece of crystal. The stopper was encrusted with jewels in shades Chekov had never seen before.
Health tonic? Alcohol? Cologne? Chekov racked his mind, guessing at what the bottle could possibly contain, but even the color was hard to discern through the thick crystal. Sense of smell usually provided better clues, of course. But... ho no, Pavel, no way. Taking a peek was one thing--
Oh look, he already had his fingers on the stopper, and he was pulling, and there was a pop and suddenly thick blue smoke was coming from the bottle.
Chekov coughed, waving a hand in front of his face and abruptly jamming the stopper back into the bottle. The smell of stone and lilacs filled his nose, but it wasn't quite perfume-like or harsh the way a scented cleaning agent could be. The ensign looked down at himself to make sure there were no damages to his person or evidence on his uniform. Everything appeared to check out just fine. He gave a little sigh.
Perhaps it was time to close the box and resign himself to boredom. Before he really got into something he couldn't fix.
*~*~*
Kirk had expected to materialize in a council chamber room or outside a government building. However, upon completion of his transportation, he quickly noticed that the place where he had ended up looked more like the room of an old English castle than the brightly painted interiors the Haryllians were known for.
He also noticed that he was alone.
"Spock! Bones!" His posture hunched instantly in a ready position as he turned to examine every corner of the room.
"Captain?" Spock. He could hear Spock's voice, but it was coming from overhead, distant, like hearing it on a speaker. "Captain, your location?"
McCoy's voice sounded much the same, and began overlapping with Spock's as soon as the vulcan paused for breath. "Jim, Spock, where the hell are you?"
"Bones, calm down," Kirk demanded, trying to gather his thoughts. "Chekov obviously made a mistake, let's see if we can't get him to fix it for us." He tugged his communicator from his belt, flipped it open and hailed the ship. "Kirk to Enterprise, someone want to tell me what's going on up there?"
There was no answer.
"Kirk to Enterprise. Uhura, can you hear me?"
"Captain, I believe my communicator is not functioning."
"Jim, what in blazes is going on here? Why am I standing in some kind of labyrinth garden? It looks like something out of a bad fairy tale, all the greenery has barbs and thorns!"
Kirk's jaw tightened as he tried make sense of the situation. A little red spark (at least, that was how he had trained himself into prioritizing his thoughts) flickered in the back of his mind. "Did you say you were outside, Bones?"
"I am indoors, Captain," said Spock. "The room has an alarmingly low ceiling; I believe I am fortunate to be speaking to you now."
Kirk fought off a surge of unhelpful anger at whatever had caused his first officer's situation. "Is there a way out of the room, Spock?"
"Affirmative, Captain. It is directly ahead of me."
"Okay, we need to try and find each other. I'm indoors too, maybe we're closer. There's a giant tapestry covering these walls, it looks like it's depicting a hunting scene of some kind." Kirk considered the room, the large vase in the corner and the strange mirror propped up against the wall. "Bones, you wait where you are. Spock and I will try and come to you."
"The hell you--"
"Doctor, don't argue with me. Hold your position; we're coming to you." Ever since Kirk had become captain, he noticed that his friend took his orders more seriously when he called him 'doctor'. The very real edge in his voice didn't hurt either. He didn't like to use either of those tactics that often, but Bones could be such a stubborn ass when he got scared, and Kirk didn't know what was going on. "Mister Spock, I'm going to check the next room through the blue door in my room. It might help to know where each door is leading if we're going to try and converge here..." Kirk bounded into the next chamber.
The door slammed shut behind him.
He ran back to it and tried to open the door again. It appeared to be locked. He tried putting his weight against it, butting with his shoulder, but the hinges were sturdy, the wood was thick and nothing gave. Kirk heaved a long breath. "Spock? The door closed and I can't get back through." A few moments passed, but Spock's level voice did not call back to him. "Spock?" He stared nervously at the ceiling, well aware that his first officer wasn't there. "Spock, answer me, that's an order." Still nothing.
It appeared he was now truly alone.
And now there was danger. Because, in honesty, nothing worried the captain of the U.S.S. Enterprise more than being alone.
Kirk took stock of his new environment and found that this room was slightly bigger than the last, and it also had two doors. The one that he had come through was now red on this side, and the door on the other side of the space was blue. Okay, Kirk thought to himself, I've played weirder versions of Red Light, Green Light than this. Let's do it.
He crossed quickly to the other side of the room, but this new door wasn't budging either regardless of its incredibly ornate handle. Kirk bit back the urge to shout and gave the room another once over, more carefully this time. Upon looking up toward the ceiling (which was very far away in this particular room, about six meters or so), he found there was a gap in the wall big enough for a person to fit through. All right then, he was going to have to scale the wall. He could do that. Piece of cake.
His grip slipped not even four feet off the ground due to a jagged cut in one of the stones that he hadn't noticed. He felt skin tear before he landed neatly on his ass, breath ripped from his lungs. Though he found himself cursing less often these days, he felt this was a special occasion, made more humorous than he would have liked by the fact that he couldn't quite get enough air to speak. You can climb quarry walls, and trees, and damned walls of ice, and this is what's going to give you problems? Getting back to his feet, he drew a painful breath and dug his stinging fingers into wall again. This time he wouldn't make a mistake.
He only hoped that Spock was in the next room.
*~*~*
He was not in the next room. In fact, it had taken Spock much longer to get out of the low ceilinged cave-like space than he had expected; he presumed his ability to judge distance had been tampered with, perhaps through some visual illusion. He had to be on his guard.
All the same, the appearance of a blue door was a welcome sight. If it was indeed real.
Touch seemed to indicate so, and the door gave easily. The room he arrived at was grey and glowed from the walls, granite rubble covering the floor. Trying the blue door at the other end of the space yielded no results; it appeared to be locked. Spock tried his phaser on it, only to find that it too, like his communicator, was out of power. Logically, he was forced to consider the room itself.
He began searching the rubble for anything useful - a rock sharp enough to be used as a tool, or (the Doctor would say he was engaging in human 'wishful thinking') the locking mechanism which was holding the door in the first place. What he found was a black piece of welded metal, contorted in a most unusual shape. A brief survey of the room revealed similar objects, but none with the exact same structure as the one he held in his hands. There was no discernible reason for these worked items to be littered so haphazardly across the ground, and Spock found that his inability to suss it out made the place unsettling. He thought perhaps his best course of action was to go back to his starting point and find another door.
Yet as he began pacing back, he found himself turning the hunk of metal over in his hands. There seemed to be a tactile recognition of it on his part that he had not registered mentally. His hands were intent on toying with the object, turning its knobs and laying soft fingers over creases until--
It was like a soft harmony of voices emanating from the thing in his hands. How could he have missed it? The instrument was beautifully crafted, superbly designed out of materials that Spock had never before seen.
It also seemed to have unlocked the door.
Soon he found himself in a room that was in concurrence with the captain's description; there was a large tapestry running the wall and a blue door on the other side. However, the mirror currently standing in the middle of the room was not something that Spock had expected to encounter. Surely the captain would have mentioned it had it held such a prominent position in the chamber?
Spock approached the guilded surface with caution, well aware that the only reason he was lingering over it was the superb craftsmanship of the thing. The glass itself had so few bends in it, the imperfections were scarcely worth noticing. His own reflection could not have been a more accurate presentation of his physical form....
"Spock, you have rejected your true self."
It was in this moment of utmost clarity that Spock found himself staring into the eyes of his mother. His dead mother whose genetics had so graciously awarded him the very same eyes staring back at her. She looked pale, drawn, tired. More than anything, the emotion of disappointment was what Spock recognized in her face. Though he may never have experienced it, he had long since learned to identify his mother's temperaments. He was her son, of course. "You have not been true to any heritage that you possess. Is that your desire? To make neither myself, nor your father honored to have you as our only child? You have left him in his time of need. Surely there's some part of me in you, a piece of you that carries enough human sympathy to care for your own father."
And she was right, as she often had been. He owed his family more than he had ever returned to them, yet that rash (and though he never wanted to believe that it was, he did know in those calm and meditative places of his mind that the choice had been a rash one) decision to join Starfleet had perhaps forever separated him from his father, his people, the memory of the only home he had truly known.
"Mother," Spock whispered, before freezing on the spot. No, his mother was dead. He had witnessed her passing and so had his father. Regardless of the Vulcan beliefs in the katra, there was no conceivable way that she could--
No matter what you chose to be, you will have a proud mother. He would be a fool and a disgrace to her if he neglected what true memories she had left him.
Spock shook his head and stepped around the mirror. It was more difficult than it should have been, regardless of what logic had indicated to him. The next door unlocked at least, and he found himself in a room with nothing more than a strange gap near the ceiling.
And a very intricate doorknob....
*~*~*
McCoy had every intention of doing what he was told. At least, that was what he told himself. Being best friends with the captain did not exempt him from his duty as a subordinate officer, and Jim had enough to deal with on a daily basis without having to worry about his senior staff following orders.
But damn if it didn't piss him off.
He could see some sort of building in the distance, over the walls of shrub and vine. He almost would have said that his eyes were going, but he couldn't help thinking it looked something like an old Earth castle. He tried to think of what Jim and Spock could possibly be getting up to in there. Maybe they had found the Haryllians. He wished he had found them first. They really would have gotten a piece of his blasted mind....
Pulling his tricorder off his belt, he began scanning the flora, the ground, anything to keep himself busy as he waited like a damned damsel in distress for the two valliant knights to come pick him up.
That is, until he heard someone scream.
He had no idea who the voice belonged to really, but that didn't stop him from sprinting full tilt toward it. The torturous sounds continued, guiding him through yard after yard of the maze, his heart pounding at the back of his skull. He tried not to think it was Jim. Or Spock. In fact, it was more likely to be Spock, if it was either of them; he had never heard the vulcan cry out in pain, so he wouldn't know what it sounded like. The thought made him sick to his stomach, but he kept moving.
And then the cries ceased.
McCoy called out to the air. Called on whoever was causing this to stop, told them they had no reason, but no one answered him. He stood panting, hands quivering at his sides as he attempted to draw himself back together. Looking up, he noticed the mysterious castle-like building was closer. Much closer than it had been.
And he wasn't about to keep waiting around now.
*~*~*
Chekov was still bored when Mister Scott finally returned to the transporter room, muttering to himself in something that sounded like another language, but definitely wasn't.
"Sorry, Mister Chekov. The blasted warp core maintenance crew got some funny ideas about wirin' into their 'eads. Looks like they ran a wreckin' ball through mah wee bairns, an' it's takin' hours of cleanup by yours truly tah straight'n it out."
Chekov gave the Chief Engineer a small smile and shrugged to indicate an indifference that he was most definitely faking. "Iz no problem, Mister Scott."
Was looking forward to actually eating dinner at dinner time for a change, but no, I've got to keep this lovely girl on her toes while everyone else sits pretty after they screw up....
Chekov chuckled at Mister Scott's ranting, looked up from his console--
gonna have to crack into the scotch stores tonight, no mistake there...
--and realized that the engineer had not moved his mouth.
"Mister Scott?"
"Aye, laddie?" What's he looking at me like that for? Maybe he ate something funny in the galley. Poor son.
Oh, this was not good.
To be continued...
Author's name: use_theforce_em
Written for: subterrain
Pairing/characters: the whole darn crew. nothing really blatant with the pairings, actually (though I encourage everyone to imagine whatever pairings they like in the story XD). there is some definite OT3ing starting here, but it's early on for these boys, so you can't expect much out of them just yet...
Rating: PG
Warnings: erm... Chekov being a bad child?
Disclaimer: Not mine, don't sue, you won't get anything anyway. ^_^
Note: I am so sorry this took so long. And that it's not even the whole thing; it's all done, but I want to get it checked by my betas before I post the rest. It should not take long, I hope. But I wanted you to know that the fic is here and it's done, and give you something to tide you over until the rest was ready. It turned into kind of a monster as I was writing, which I guess shouldn't have surprised me. XD I tried to give you some OT3, some crew hijinx and embarrassing alien things, so I hope you enjoy it!
"They sent up a package."
Kirk turned in his captain's chair to face the Chief Engineer. Though confusion had a tendency to resemble disgruntlement on the captain's face, the crew was beginning to learn the difference. "A what?"
"A package, sir," Scotty insisted, motioning vaguely with his head in the direction of the transporter room. "Said they 'ad some gifts for ye. I told them ye said thanks, figuring on bein' polite."
Kirk rose from the chair. It was relatively obvious who he was going to question next; in their first months out in space he seldom walked to any station on the bridge but one. "Mister Spock, is that normal behavior for the Haryllians?"
"Unknown, Captain. What little information we have on this planet has only been provided by traders, Tellarites and the odd research vessel. Their preliminary observations would indicate that the Haryllians are a very trusting and open people who value cooperation and honesty above all other values." The Vulcan tilted his head in consideration. "That this gesture would be in any way hostile seems entirely unlikely."
"Alright, then I guess--"
"Captain," Uhura interrupted, uncrossing her legs and turning toward him. "We're being hailed by the Haryllian Chancellor."
Kirk nodded. "On screen, Lieutenant."
A wide, good-natured face appeared before them. She had some of the biggest eyes he had ever seen. She was purple. Kirk smiled in spite of himself. "Chancellor, you delivered something to my engineer without letting me know. It's a good thing he's a level-headed sort of guy - you might have put the whole ship on red alert without intending to."
The Chancellor looked mildly alarmed. "That was naturally not our intention, Captain Kirk. But it would not have been a surprise if we had cleared the transport with you first."
"You could have waited until we came down to you, of course."
She seemed to twitch around the corners of her mouth. "We thought perhaps it would be best to begin on... happy terms?" Perhaps she was aware that the universal translator was not going to pick up the word she intended. "Before the tests. You are prepared to take them, as you promised?"
Kirk narrowed his eyes at her. "We said we would."
"Yes, of course. I... I do apologize if it is an inconvenience for you."
"No, no inconvenience. I look forward to completing these tests and meeting you in person, though." He smiled one of his more charming smiles.
He missed Uhura's eyeroll.
The Chancellor, however, smiled back in a way that anyone on the bridge would have labeled as 'coy'. "I look forward to it as well, Captain. You said you were bringing your first officer with you, if I'm not mistaken?"
"And my chief medical officer. If you don't mind," Kirk added as an afterthought.
"Not at all. Just realize that they will be subjected to the same treatment as yourself."
"Understood, Chancellor. We will be with you in the hour. Kirk out."
The transmission ended and the viewport once again showed stars and the outer atmosphere of the planet below. Kirk stared a while longer before turning back. "So. Speculation on these so-called 'tests', Mister Spock?"
Spock shook his head at Kirk's intent expression. "Insufficient data, Captain. All that we are certain of is that they require all strangers to take them if they refuse the alternative."
Uhura couldn't help but lean over and interject herself. "I'm sorry; alternative to what?"
Spock's eyes flicked to her, acknowledging the question. "Because they are such an honest people, the Haryllians often chemically induce telepathic abilities amongst themselves, particularly during political gatherings. They believe that they have nothing to hide from one another, and find it to be a pleasing bonding experience. However, they understand that other peoples and cultures might find this invasive, and accept their decision to refrain from participation. What they request in its stead is the completion of a series of tests, catered to the group or the individual, that allow them a better understanding of their guests. It makes it easier for them to trust."
"Which is just what we want," Kirk finished. "I think it's time we prepared to beam down, Mister Spock." Spock rose to his feet as Kirk looked to the communications station. "Lieutenant Uhura, if you would ask Doctor McCoy to join us in the transporter room immediately."
"Yes, sir." She watched the captain and first officer leave the bridge and turned back to her board, but before she could notify the CMO, Sulu's voice sounded from behind her -
"Did I hear that right? Did he say 'chemically induced telepathic abilities'?"
*~*~*
Chekov was getting a little bored in the transporter room, but Mister Scott had asked him to keep an eye on things while the chief engineer did some 'tweaking' down in the engine room. What that 'tweaking' consisted of exactly, Chekov couldn't say. But he usually thought it best not to ask when it came to Mister Scott. And the captain. And Mister Spock. And that lady yeoman who liked to tug on his curls whenever she could sneak up behind him.
The comm beeped before Uhura's voice filtered in. "Transporter room, prepare to beam down landing party of three."
Chekov perked up instantly. The landing party. He would get to beam down the landing party. That was almost as good as being in the landing party. Well, not quite. But if you had any job outside the landing party itself, head transporter wasn't bad at all. "Transporter room, acknowledge."
The captain and Mister Spock were there in seconds, giving Chekov very little time to prepare the coordinates Uhura had given him, but he did his best to look at ease. "How are we doing, Mister Chekov?"
The ensign fought the urge to smirk. Kirk said that a lot. One day he planned to say something like 'Oh, ve are doing wery wery badly'. Just to see what Kirk would do. Today was sadly not that day. "Everyting is ready, sir. But zere is one more in ze landing party, Keptin?"
"There is... and he should be here any minute." Kirk leaned back from the transporter controls, where he was currently engaged in hovering over Chekov's shoulder, to glance at the doors.
"Captain, the gifts you received from the Haryllians are in that crate, if I am not mistaken." Spock was looking at a gray box resting in the corner by the platform, covered in simple illustrations and an abundance of something glittery. Kirk eyed it. "Right. Uh...."
Chekov had noticed lately that whenever the captain hesitated, Mister Spock seemed to take that as his cue to interject some form of advice. "Captain, perhaps you should send it to the science labs." It was a trend the first officer seemed intent on continuing.
Kirk stared at the package for another second or so. It almost looked as though he was attempting to employ some x-ray vision on the crate. "Yeah. Yeah, wouldn't want to open up some fancy hand cream and break out in hives or anything." Spock appeared to have an opinion on that too, but Kirk continued talking before he could begin. "Mister Chekov, if you could deliver that to Research Lab 6 after we've departed."
"Aye, Keptin."
The doors swished open as Doctor McCoy stalked into the room. And he really was. Stalking, that is. Chekov braced himself for a tirade or a scolding. Or both.
"You wanna tell me what sort of tests they're planning on subjecting us to? Or why you decided to mention that part of the mission to me only twenty minutes ago?"
"I don't know, and no, I think I won't," the captain answered in order, looking McCoy over briefly to make sure he had all of his away gear. "Relax Bones, it's probably just going to be some inkblot tests and word association, then we're on our merry way."
"Hate word association," the doctor grumbled, stepping onto the transporter pad where Commander Spock was already waiting (patiently, of course). "The first thing that comes to my mind always makes me sound like a drunkard or a neurotic mess."
Spock raised an eyebrow. McCoy was thankfully standing in front of him and didn't notice.
Kirk smiled, stifling a laugh. "I think you're man enough to handle it, Doctor." He nodded to Chekov. "Energize."
A few deft maneuverings of the controls and the party had faded from the pad. Chekov sighed and leaned back in his chair.
Then he glanced over to the captain's crate.
He should take it to the lab now. No reason to wait. It would only niggle at the back of his head until he did it.
But then what? The landing party wouldn't be back for hours, maybe even days depending on how well things went. And he had no idea when Mister Scott would return. So he'd deliver the crate and, what... wait another few hours? Until what? Why did they need him here right now? He should be allowed to go back to the bridge. At least he'd be able to talk to Sulu back at his post.
The lab wasn't even expecting the crate. They probably didn't know it existed. They'd never know if he opened the thing and touched every parcel. Or if he transported it out into space. Or if he--
Hang on, page back there. He could open it, theoretically, couldn't he? As long as he didn't disturb anything. He'd be lying if he didn't admit to being curious over what was in it. What sort of things did you give a starship captain if you were trying to earn his goodwill and friendship? You could tell a lot about people that way, and it wasn't like he was going to be able to learn firsthand this time around. He was stuck on board.
Chekov took his eyes off the crate and looked back to his console. He wasn't really seeing what was on screen, but it made him feel more responsible. He hummed a song his father used to sing every night when he was a child. He counted to ten. In English and in Russian.
...one quick peek couldn't hurt, though, right?
He was careful opening it, making sure nothing was smudged or torn or crushed. There was a lot of packing fabric in between jars and small pieces of artwork and something that looked like cotton candy, but Chekov was sure wasn't. They were all beautiful gifts, familiar yet undeniably alien, all unique and eye-catching by some account.
One more than the rest. It was an ornate bottle that appeared to have been carved from one piece of crystal. The stopper was encrusted with jewels in shades Chekov had never seen before.
Health tonic? Alcohol? Cologne? Chekov racked his mind, guessing at what the bottle could possibly contain, but even the color was hard to discern through the thick crystal. Sense of smell usually provided better clues, of course. But... ho no, Pavel, no way. Taking a peek was one thing--
Oh look, he already had his fingers on the stopper, and he was pulling, and there was a pop and suddenly thick blue smoke was coming from the bottle.
Chekov coughed, waving a hand in front of his face and abruptly jamming the stopper back into the bottle. The smell of stone and lilacs filled his nose, but it wasn't quite perfume-like or harsh the way a scented cleaning agent could be. The ensign looked down at himself to make sure there were no damages to his person or evidence on his uniform. Everything appeared to check out just fine. He gave a little sigh.
Perhaps it was time to close the box and resign himself to boredom. Before he really got into something he couldn't fix.
*~*~*
Kirk had expected to materialize in a council chamber room or outside a government building. However, upon completion of his transportation, he quickly noticed that the place where he had ended up looked more like the room of an old English castle than the brightly painted interiors the Haryllians were known for.
He also noticed that he was alone.
"Spock! Bones!" His posture hunched instantly in a ready position as he turned to examine every corner of the room.
"Captain?" Spock. He could hear Spock's voice, but it was coming from overhead, distant, like hearing it on a speaker. "Captain, your location?"
McCoy's voice sounded much the same, and began overlapping with Spock's as soon as the vulcan paused for breath. "Jim, Spock, where the hell are you?"
"Bones, calm down," Kirk demanded, trying to gather his thoughts. "Chekov obviously made a mistake, let's see if we can't get him to fix it for us." He tugged his communicator from his belt, flipped it open and hailed the ship. "Kirk to Enterprise, someone want to tell me what's going on up there?"
There was no answer.
"Kirk to Enterprise. Uhura, can you hear me?"
"Captain, I believe my communicator is not functioning."
"Jim, what in blazes is going on here? Why am I standing in some kind of labyrinth garden? It looks like something out of a bad fairy tale, all the greenery has barbs and thorns!"
Kirk's jaw tightened as he tried make sense of the situation. A little red spark (at least, that was how he had trained himself into prioritizing his thoughts) flickered in the back of his mind. "Did you say you were outside, Bones?"
"I am indoors, Captain," said Spock. "The room has an alarmingly low ceiling; I believe I am fortunate to be speaking to you now."
Kirk fought off a surge of unhelpful anger at whatever had caused his first officer's situation. "Is there a way out of the room, Spock?"
"Affirmative, Captain. It is directly ahead of me."
"Okay, we need to try and find each other. I'm indoors too, maybe we're closer. There's a giant tapestry covering these walls, it looks like it's depicting a hunting scene of some kind." Kirk considered the room, the large vase in the corner and the strange mirror propped up against the wall. "Bones, you wait where you are. Spock and I will try and come to you."
"The hell you--"
"Doctor, don't argue with me. Hold your position; we're coming to you." Ever since Kirk had become captain, he noticed that his friend took his orders more seriously when he called him 'doctor'. The very real edge in his voice didn't hurt either. He didn't like to use either of those tactics that often, but Bones could be such a stubborn ass when he got scared, and Kirk didn't know what was going on. "Mister Spock, I'm going to check the next room through the blue door in my room. It might help to know where each door is leading if we're going to try and converge here..." Kirk bounded into the next chamber.
The door slammed shut behind him.
He ran back to it and tried to open the door again. It appeared to be locked. He tried putting his weight against it, butting with his shoulder, but the hinges were sturdy, the wood was thick and nothing gave. Kirk heaved a long breath. "Spock? The door closed and I can't get back through." A few moments passed, but Spock's level voice did not call back to him. "Spock?" He stared nervously at the ceiling, well aware that his first officer wasn't there. "Spock, answer me, that's an order." Still nothing.
It appeared he was now truly alone.
And now there was danger. Because, in honesty, nothing worried the captain of the U.S.S. Enterprise more than being alone.
Kirk took stock of his new environment and found that this room was slightly bigger than the last, and it also had two doors. The one that he had come through was now red on this side, and the door on the other side of the space was blue. Okay, Kirk thought to himself, I've played weirder versions of Red Light, Green Light than this. Let's do it.
He crossed quickly to the other side of the room, but this new door wasn't budging either regardless of its incredibly ornate handle. Kirk bit back the urge to shout and gave the room another once over, more carefully this time. Upon looking up toward the ceiling (which was very far away in this particular room, about six meters or so), he found there was a gap in the wall big enough for a person to fit through. All right then, he was going to have to scale the wall. He could do that. Piece of cake.
His grip slipped not even four feet off the ground due to a jagged cut in one of the stones that he hadn't noticed. He felt skin tear before he landed neatly on his ass, breath ripped from his lungs. Though he found himself cursing less often these days, he felt this was a special occasion, made more humorous than he would have liked by the fact that he couldn't quite get enough air to speak. You can climb quarry walls, and trees, and damned walls of ice, and this is what's going to give you problems? Getting back to his feet, he drew a painful breath and dug his stinging fingers into wall again. This time he wouldn't make a mistake.
He only hoped that Spock was in the next room.
*~*~*
He was not in the next room. In fact, it had taken Spock much longer to get out of the low ceilinged cave-like space than he had expected; he presumed his ability to judge distance had been tampered with, perhaps through some visual illusion. He had to be on his guard.
All the same, the appearance of a blue door was a welcome sight. If it was indeed real.
Touch seemed to indicate so, and the door gave easily. The room he arrived at was grey and glowed from the walls, granite rubble covering the floor. Trying the blue door at the other end of the space yielded no results; it appeared to be locked. Spock tried his phaser on it, only to find that it too, like his communicator, was out of power. Logically, he was forced to consider the room itself.
He began searching the rubble for anything useful - a rock sharp enough to be used as a tool, or (the Doctor would say he was engaging in human 'wishful thinking') the locking mechanism which was holding the door in the first place. What he found was a black piece of welded metal, contorted in a most unusual shape. A brief survey of the room revealed similar objects, but none with the exact same structure as the one he held in his hands. There was no discernible reason for these worked items to be littered so haphazardly across the ground, and Spock found that his inability to suss it out made the place unsettling. He thought perhaps his best course of action was to go back to his starting point and find another door.
Yet as he began pacing back, he found himself turning the hunk of metal over in his hands. There seemed to be a tactile recognition of it on his part that he had not registered mentally. His hands were intent on toying with the object, turning its knobs and laying soft fingers over creases until--
It was like a soft harmony of voices emanating from the thing in his hands. How could he have missed it? The instrument was beautifully crafted, superbly designed out of materials that Spock had never before seen.
It also seemed to have unlocked the door.
Soon he found himself in a room that was in concurrence with the captain's description; there was a large tapestry running the wall and a blue door on the other side. However, the mirror currently standing in the middle of the room was not something that Spock had expected to encounter. Surely the captain would have mentioned it had it held such a prominent position in the chamber?
Spock approached the guilded surface with caution, well aware that the only reason he was lingering over it was the superb craftsmanship of the thing. The glass itself had so few bends in it, the imperfections were scarcely worth noticing. His own reflection could not have been a more accurate presentation of his physical form....
"Spock, you have rejected your true self."
It was in this moment of utmost clarity that Spock found himself staring into the eyes of his mother. His dead mother whose genetics had so graciously awarded him the very same eyes staring back at her. She looked pale, drawn, tired. More than anything, the emotion of disappointment was what Spock recognized in her face. Though he may never have experienced it, he had long since learned to identify his mother's temperaments. He was her son, of course. "You have not been true to any heritage that you possess. Is that your desire? To make neither myself, nor your father honored to have you as our only child? You have left him in his time of need. Surely there's some part of me in you, a piece of you that carries enough human sympathy to care for your own father."
And she was right, as she often had been. He owed his family more than he had ever returned to them, yet that rash (and though he never wanted to believe that it was, he did know in those calm and meditative places of his mind that the choice had been a rash one) decision to join Starfleet had perhaps forever separated him from his father, his people, the memory of the only home he had truly known.
"Mother," Spock whispered, before freezing on the spot. No, his mother was dead. He had witnessed her passing and so had his father. Regardless of the Vulcan beliefs in the katra, there was no conceivable way that she could--
No matter what you chose to be, you will have a proud mother. He would be a fool and a disgrace to her if he neglected what true memories she had left him.
Spock shook his head and stepped around the mirror. It was more difficult than it should have been, regardless of what logic had indicated to him. The next door unlocked at least, and he found himself in a room with nothing more than a strange gap near the ceiling.
And a very intricate doorknob....
*~*~*
McCoy had every intention of doing what he was told. At least, that was what he told himself. Being best friends with the captain did not exempt him from his duty as a subordinate officer, and Jim had enough to deal with on a daily basis without having to worry about his senior staff following orders.
But damn if it didn't piss him off.
He could see some sort of building in the distance, over the walls of shrub and vine. He almost would have said that his eyes were going, but he couldn't help thinking it looked something like an old Earth castle. He tried to think of what Jim and Spock could possibly be getting up to in there. Maybe they had found the Haryllians. He wished he had found them first. They really would have gotten a piece of his blasted mind....
Pulling his tricorder off his belt, he began scanning the flora, the ground, anything to keep himself busy as he waited like a damned damsel in distress for the two valliant knights to come pick him up.
That is, until he heard someone scream.
He had no idea who the voice belonged to really, but that didn't stop him from sprinting full tilt toward it. The torturous sounds continued, guiding him through yard after yard of the maze, his heart pounding at the back of his skull. He tried not to think it was Jim. Or Spock. In fact, it was more likely to be Spock, if it was either of them; he had never heard the vulcan cry out in pain, so he wouldn't know what it sounded like. The thought made him sick to his stomach, but he kept moving.
And then the cries ceased.
McCoy called out to the air. Called on whoever was causing this to stop, told them they had no reason, but no one answered him. He stood panting, hands quivering at his sides as he attempted to draw himself back together. Looking up, he noticed the mysterious castle-like building was closer. Much closer than it had been.
And he wasn't about to keep waiting around now.
*~*~*
Chekov was still bored when Mister Scott finally returned to the transporter room, muttering to himself in something that sounded like another language, but definitely wasn't.
"Sorry, Mister Chekov. The blasted warp core maintenance crew got some funny ideas about wirin' into their 'eads. Looks like they ran a wreckin' ball through mah wee bairns, an' it's takin' hours of cleanup by yours truly tah straight'n it out."
Chekov gave the Chief Engineer a small smile and shrugged to indicate an indifference that he was most definitely faking. "Iz no problem, Mister Scott."
Was looking forward to actually eating dinner at dinner time for a change, but no, I've got to keep this lovely girl on her toes while everyone else sits pretty after they screw up....
Chekov chuckled at Mister Scott's ranting, looked up from his console--
gonna have to crack into the scotch stores tonight, no mistake there...
--and realized that the engineer had not moved his mouth.
"Mister Scott?"
"Aye, laddie?" What's he looking at me like that for? Maybe he ate something funny in the galley. Poor son.
Oh, this was not good.
To be continued...