Chapter Text
Jim is going to go insane. It’s been three, maybe four cycles since he first walked through the door into the interview room, and every cycle has been the same. He tells his story. Again. The same way, maybe a detail added or dropped here or there. They pause for a mid-shift meal break. Those flavored meal cubes the Federation is so proud of, and water. Then they reconvene for questioning. Why? Why this? Why that? Why did you? Why didn’t you? Why, why, why? Until Jim is ready to beat himself senseless if it will just stop the endless barrage.
The square synthesized wood table. The opaque beige-colored walls. The same two bland Vulcan faces, cycle after cycle. He hasn’t seen his crew since he first entered the interview room. The only people he has seen are the two Vulcan interviewers, and the helmeted pair of Federation Forces that escort him to and from the featureless room where he spends his sleep cycle. One of the interviewers has a mole. The other has elaborate hair in coiled knots. Both refuse to answer any of Jim’s questions.
“And then I woke up in Medical on my ship after the 48-hour quarantine had lapsed,” he finishes this cycle’s narration. Neither of the interviewers do so much as blink. Stuck in a room with these two has given Jim new insight into Spock’s hybrid status. Spock is positively effusive compared to these Vulcans.
Jim’s mid-cycle meal is brought in by one of his helmeted guards, and set on the table before him. He sighs. The brightly colored cubes are quite flavorful, even if he has trouble identifying what the flavours actually are. It’s the texture he can’t get past. Spongy. He’s not a fan.
Without saying a word, as is their custom, the two interviewers stand in tandem, and exit the room through the opposite door that Jim comes in and out of. The guard stands at attention against a wall, watching over Jim as he eats. Jim sighs again and glares at the cubes, then begrudgingly picks up his fork and stabs one. His mouth twists at the feel of it. Tasty, but so…springy.
“How you doin’?” He asks the guard in between bites.
No response, as per usual.
“My day is garbage, thanks for asking though,” he says, spearing more cubes violently on his fork.
Silence.
“Well, I’m sure guarding me is the best part of your day, anyway.” Jim finishes off the last cube and shoots a provocative smile at the guard, as he stretches out in his chair, and runs a hand through his hair.
The guard shifts position slightly.
Jim smirks. He has no idea if it really is the same two guards everyday or if they’re exchanged out in a rotation, or what species exactly is under the helmets, but some mid-meal flirting usually gets some kind of a response.
He picks up the water and downs it, keeping his head tilted so the guard can see his throat working.
After he finishes the water and sets the cup back on the table, Jim stretches again, tilting his head back further. He trails a hand down his throat, letting his eyes fall half closed. Through his eyelashes, he can see the guard shift again. Jim tries not to gloat too much. Small victories are still victories though. And right now, that’s all Jim has going for him.
The far door opens, and the two interviewers return to their positions on the other side of the table.
The guard steps forward, picks up Jim’s plate and fork, and exits through Jim’s door behind him.
Without any fanfare, the Vulcan with the mole asks, “Why did you decide to conduct an EVA to board Sevastopol?”
Jim holds back a groan, but just barely. And so it begins.
---
Jim lies stretched out on the hard cot of the tiny but fully outfitted room they stow him in during the off-cycle hours. He asks the same questions day in and day out, sticking them in different places during the recitation of his time on Sevastopol, or in answer to one of their questions. Thus far, it hasn’t yielded any results.
He doesn’t know where his crew is, or their status. The Enterprise and her status remains a mystery. He even cracked like an egg last cycle and demanded to see Commander Spock. Nothing. Not even a muscle twitch.
He rolls on his side, and stares at the bulkhead. Cooperation is getting him nowhere. Beginning next cycle, he’s going to try silence and glaring, see where that gets him.
His sleep is uneasy and shallow, and he jerks awake several times, straining to hear if there’s anything crawling in the vents as his heart pounds in his chest.
---
He’s keyed up and ready to say absolutely nothing when the pair of guards fetch him to walk through the maze of bland hallways to the door of his interview room. Jim takes his seat.
He blinks. His two interviewers are different today. There’s no sign of Mole Vulcan or Elaborate Hair Vulcan (as he’s come to think of them). The Vulcan on the left is wearing a dark Federation uniform that he doesn’t recognize, but the Andorian on the right is clad in what Jim thinks is the Diplomatic Corps uniform. They’re both ridiculously attractive. The Andorian’s skin tone matches the blue of her uniform perfectly, creating a silhouette that is somehow provocative, yet demure. Her hair is like a fluffy white cloud, framing her face in swoops and swirls.
The Vulcan is ruggedly attractive, with a thick pair of slanted brows, full lips, and ears shaped more bluntly than Spock’s elegant curves and tips. The severe cut of his dark uniform suits him.
“Greetings, Captain Kirk,” the Andorian says, her antennae waving welcomingly.
Jim nods.
“I am Diplomatic Attache Zisha Zh'zhellon,” She says, and gestures with her antenna to the Vulcan next to her. “This is Lt. Commander Stonn, of the Federation Special Tactical Operations and Security Forces.”
Shit. He needs Sulu. Is that Federation black ops, or Federation special ops? There’s only like one word difference between the two…he thinks. Nope. No good, he can’t remember. Either way, military.
“We would like to ask you some questions about Acheron,” Zisha Zh'zhellon finishes pleasantly.
Aha. Now it’s going somewhere. There have been relatively few questions pertaining to Acheron that Jim has fielded over the last four or so cycles. He knows that Acheron is the focus point of Spock’s investigation, even if he’d never said so in as many words. Or in any words, actually, but Jim can read between the lines. All the Starfleet ships were routed to Sevastopol, but they all picked up their cargo from Acheron. They know what the cargo is now. They know what caused all the disappearances. It’s only logical to turn the investigation’s attention to the source. Or finding the source.
“I want to see my crew,” Jim replies bluntly.
“Your crew is waiting for you,” she agrees, “and you will be taken to them after our session here is complete.”
Jim leans forward, and props his chin up with an elbow. “And my ship?”
She relays as serenely as if the two of them are enjoying a comfortable yet flirty lunch in a swanky restaurant in Cloud City on Bespin. “The Enterprise has been fully resupplied, and I can assure you that you will find it in the exact state that you left it after you and your crew disembarked. Nothing was removed or altered as a result of the Investigation.”
Jim’s eyes flick to Lt. Commander Stonn’s, who regards him with a steady, yet impassive gaze. His eyes are dark, though they don’t seem to have the depths that Spock’s do.
Jim cuts his eyes back to Zisha Zh'zhellon’s, which are silvery, and welcoming. “I’ve never set foot on Acheron,” he says, using her pleasant tone of voice, “but I’ll answer what I can.”
“Thank you, Captain Kirk,” she murmurs. Jim snaps his eyes back to meet Stonn’s. A flicker of something there. Interest?
If Jim was across from this pair in a bar, the power dynamic would definitely be in his favor. Oh to be across from this pair in a bar, wearing some skin tight pants, a shirt with a deep v-cut, and his ‘fuck me please, captain’ boots. All in black. Hampered as he is by the frumpy cut and boring grey of the shirt and pants he’s been provided with, he keeps it low key and gives Zisha Zh'zhellon an inviting smile as he waits for the first question.
She checks her PADD. “Would you mind explaining what is meant by the Enterprise ‘always coming in under’ on resource consumption, when routed to haul ore from Acheron?”
“My XO and I ran the numbers every which way on our warp-jump to Yel-Rihk. The Enterprise’s resource consumption, especially Dilithium degradation, was reduced from what the Mainframe had projected for our previous four hauls from Acheron. Those numbers, however, only correlate to 5 to 15% deficiency in the weight logs across all Platform Towers. They do not compare to the numbers the Enterprise was showing from a warp-jump with 75% of the capacity of a single tower missing,” Jim explains.
“So you believe that this was the first time that unknown materials were transported in the place of the ore logged in the manifest?”
Jim hesitates slightly then answers. “The data bears that out, yes.”
She nods, and Lt. Commander Stonn makes a note on his PADD.
“Did you believe that an ore loading time of four standard earth days was excessive?” Is her next question.
“I thought it was ridiculous, but it didn’t surprise me. Acheron is a backwater. Nobody working there wants to be there,” Jim answers. “In long haul shipping, there are always delays in loading. That by itself wasn’t an indicator of anything other than the type of mismanagement endemic in these far-flung mining outposts.”
Zisha Zh'zhellon makes a few notes on her PADD while Lt. Commander Stonn continues to regard Jim calmly.
She hits him hard with the next question. “Do you believe the creatures you encountered on Deep Space 13, Sevastopol, originated from Acheron?”
A memory of the nest—its design, smells, collection of bodies—flashes through his mind and he closes his eyes briefly against it. He places his hands flat on the table, bracing himself.
“No,” he says shortly.
“Do you believe the eggs were loaded onto the Transport Platform from Acheron?”
Jim thinks on that. He can’t be positive but… “Yes,” he answers.
Her antennae do a little inquisitive dance. “Why?”
He shakes his head. “The loading time plus the weight discrepancies leads me to believe that they were loading up the egg…things from the surface of Acheron.”
She tilts her antennae. “How certain are you of those weight discrepancies?”
Jim leans forward in his seat. “Scotty—Mr. Scott, my XO and Engineer, keeps a somewhat…fervent watch over the logs for the transport platforms we haul. He has records of the weight logs for Tower 4 proceeding normally until about 25%, then they were not updated for, I believe it was around twenty-six hours. At the end of that time, the weight logs jumped straight from 25% up to 100%, as if the sensors had been manually manipulated. He was concerned about it at the time,” Jim sighs, “but I didn’t view it as anything other than the afore-mentioned general incompetence.”
Both Zisha Zh'zhellon and the Lt. Commander make notes on their PADDS.
“In any of your ship’s previous hauls which originated from Acheron, you never had cause for suspicion or any sense of danger?” Her antennae tilt to the left.
It’s a thought that’s plagued Jim on and off since Spock first revealed his investigation to him.
“I’ve never liked hauling from Acheron. But if I had cause for suspicion, I never had any sense of danger, no.”
“Please explain what you mean by ‘never liked,’ Captain Kirk,” Lt. Commander Stonn speaks for the first time. His voice is bassy, but flat.
Jim shrugs at him, trying to come up with the words. “Nothing rooted in logic,” he says at last. “I’ve just always felt uncomfortable looking at it through the viewport.”
“Thank you, Captain Kirk,” Zisha Zh'zhellon says smoothly.
And just like that the session is over. One of the guards steps up to Jim’s chair, and he stands, caught off guard. He leaves the pair of them sitting there and follows the guard from the room.
He’s led to a set of double doors down a different series of hallways than normal. The doors open to reveal a nicely appointed lounge, complete with couches, a meeting table, replicators, vid screen, and his entire crew ranged about the room, waiting for him.
“Keptin!” Chekov cries delightedly and hops up from his seat to grab Jim for a quick hug, which he quickly releases, cheeks tinged red.
“Good to see you too, Pavel,” Jim laughs, and musses his curls.
He gets a short wave from Keenser, a handshake of greeting apiece from Sulu and Scotty, and a nod of hello from Uhura.
And that leaves—Jim is pulled from behind into a crushing bear hug—Bones.
“Ouch,” Jim wheezes.
After a moment Jim is released from the hold almost violently, and turns to see Bones glaring at him, pretending like neither he nor Jim are fighting back the onset of tears in their eyes.
“You look thin and pale,” he grouches.
“I’ve been eating my cubes!” Jim protests.
“Hmph,” Bones garumps, like the old curmudgeon he is, folding his arms across his chest.
“You are such an old curmudgeon,” Jim says fondly.
“You’re only about five whole minutes younger than I am,” Bones protests.
Jim mutters under his breath, “Five whole years more like.”
“And how old are you again?” Bones asks dangerously, eyes flashing.
Jim coughs into his fist and turns back to the rest of the room. His crew are clad in the same frumpy grey shirts and pants he's been forced into, and while they are comfortable, the bulky cut renders everyone more or less potato-shaped. Especially poor Keenser. The shoes provided are little more than slippers. But they all look healthy, and they’re all present. “Yes, well, how is everyone?” He asks, as he completes his review of them.
“We are fine, Keptin!” Chekov assures him, resuming his seat on one of the couches.
“They’ve kept us cooling our heels here for days,” Bones growls, walking around Jim to lean against the side of Chekov’s couch.
Jim blinks. “Interviews?” He asks.
Sulu sits at the table to the right of Chekov’s couch and thinks. “I think they kept Scotty the longest, what? Maybe five hours?”
Scotty shifts on his feet, standing next to where Keenser’s seated on the couch across from the Chekov couch. “Aye, that sounds abou’right,” he agrees.
“Have you been in interviews zis whole time, Keptin?” Chekov asks.
Jim nods. “Interview, eat, sleep, and repeat.”
“So what now,” Bones drawls, “they give you time off for good behavior?”
Jim shrugs, then decides to needle him. “No idea, maybe I’m getting time off for a conjugal visit.” He grins and waggles his eyebrows at Bones.
“Ugh,” Bones and Uhura say together, look at each other in surprise, and then quickly look away again.
Jim tries to disguise his hysterical laughter as a series of coughs, but isn’t very successful. The two of them are giving him the same dirty look now, Bones from one side, Uhura from the other, from where she’s sitting down across from Keenser on his couch. This only makes Jim laugh harder. Before Bones can break out an emergency hypo or something, he makes an effort to get it together, and cuts his laughter off. With nothing to mask it, Scotty’s snickering is the only sound in the room.
Bones ignores him, but Uhura snaps her death glare from Jim to Scotty, who chokes, and then tries to pretend he’s never seen any of them in the room before, and he has no idea how he got here.
“Something was different today though,” Jim says. “I had a new pair of interviewers who actually introduced themselves, and the session was only them asking me a few questions about Acheron. Something has changed, I think.”
“They’re nervous,” Uhura agrees, “The Rineikau-Yehat is currently in a holding orbit around Yel Rihk now.”
“The Invincible ?!” Scotty flails his arms.
“Big,” Keenser comments.
Scotty snaps his attention to Keenser instantly. “It’s only t’biggest ship in t’ entire Federation! You just live for t’understatement, don’t ye?”
Keenser gives Scotty a blank, yet pointed stare, which Jim thinks probably means that Keenser lives just to wind Scotty up.
Scotty must get that impression too, because he swells up. Jim steps in and pops him before he can burst or give himself an aneurysm or something.
“It’s the flagship, right?” He asks.
A gleam fills Scotty’s eyes, which only relaying the specifications of starships can bring. “Nae, that’s that old junker Discovery or some such, this ship is brand-new, what? Only two years in the black?”
Keenser grunts the affirmative.
“Built entirely in space, at an undisclosed station—”
“Tycho,” Sulu says, pretending to cough.
Ignoring him, Scotty continues on, “a joint venture of Vulcan and Terran minds, ten years in the making!”
“Ok, ok,” Jim holds up his hands to stem the tide of fervor. “If it’s here related to the investigation, yeah, obviously something’s come to light.”
“Agreed,” Sulu nods.
Uhura nods as well, and Keenser grunts in the affirmative again.
Scotty continues undeterred, however, “Has its own Engineering Bay! Big enough for a cruiser, or two to three smaller ships—”
Only the opening of the doors behind Jim succeeds at cutting him off.
Jim turns and sees Zisha Zh'zhellon standing in the doorway, flanked by two guards.
She waves her antennae soothingly. “Captain Kirk, we would like to conduct a meeting with you at this time. You may, if you so choose, bring your command crew.”
Sulu springs to his feet instantly, and Scotty shuffles forward. Jim nods at them both.
“Lead the way,” he says to Zisha Zh'zhellon.
“Now wait just a damn minute,” Bones begins, taking a few steps forward.
“Oh no,” Jim laughs, “if you want back on the command circuit of this ship, you’ll have to schedule a meeting with the current command crew and submit your application.”
Bones gives him a nasty glare, but doesn’t press it, because they both know that Bones would rather swallow a live octopus whole than have Enterprise command duties ever again. The advent of Scotty freed Bones from XO duties, and he pirouetted away into Medical and has remained there ever since.
Jim follows Zisha Zh'zhellon out of the room and down the hallway outside it, Scotty at his right, still vibrating with excitement over the Invincible, and Sulu at his left, cool as a cucumber. They turn down just one other hallway before Zisha Zh'zhellon stops at another pair of doors.
Jim’s expecting Lt. Commander Stonn, again, and maybe a few other extraneous Federation Negotiators.
But when the door opens, he stops in surprise. There are indeed a few extraneous Federation types present. And by a few extra Jim means maybe twenty or so, ranged against the walls of a simple meeting room. It’s an eclectic gathering of Vulcans, Andorians, Tellurites, and even a few humans. He spots several variations of Federation Uniforms. The grey uniform from the Investigative Forces he recognizes well, and a few more blue of the Diplomatic Corps. There are several attendees wearing what looks to be a ship’s dress uniforms, though he can’t parse out the insignia. He spots a statuesque Vulcan with a pile of curls half-tied back wearing one, with what Jim is sure is Captain’s braiding along the shoulders. Standing in a corner, far too tall to be hidden by the crowd is Ambassador Sarek. Oh yeah. Something, as they say, ‘is up.’
Eyeing the group ranged around the walls of the meeting room warily, Jim takes the center of the three chairs on the other side of a rectangular meeting table made of a lustrous synthesized wood. Scotty and Sulu follow him, and Zisha Zh'zhellon takes the empty chair opposite Sulu. The chair opposite Scotty is taken by a pinched-faced man in an extremely expensive suit, and in the center, wearing a grey Investigative Forces uniform so studded with medals and braiding it’s almost unrecognizable, is another human, his distinguished face creased with laugh lines. He’s got that stern aura of a disciplinarian around him, and, in a different setting, he’s the type of silver fox that Jim definitely goes for, when he’s in the mood. Alas for professionalism. And these goddamn frumpy outfits.
Zisha Zh'zhellon’s antennae wave in introduction to the man in the suit. “Ambassador Udina, from Earth,” she says, and the suit gives Jim and company a superior look. Jim is not impressed. “Colonel Christopher Pike, Head of Operations for the Federation Investigative Forces,” she says as her antennae indicate the decorated man in the center.
“Gentlemen,” Pike greets them with a genial nod. Jim raises his eyebrows. He is impressed. The corner of Pike’s mouth twitches up, just the slightest bit.
Zisha Zh'zhellon’s antennae lower in deference, and Pike begins to speak. “I’ll keep this brief. All contact with the mining outpost on the moon Acheron has been lost.” He fixes Jim with a piercing stare. “What do you think is the possibility that a contamination event like Sevastopol has occurred there?”
Jim’s heart seizes in his chest. “High,” he says flatly.
Pike nods. This is not a surprise for him. No doubt the exact percentages have been calculated out for him by any number of Vulcans. Jim shoves the image of Spock away, when it tries to take hold.
“The Federation Investigation into the involvement of the Enterprise is not complete yet, and there are no findings of innocence to be released as to yourself or your crew,” Udina addresses Jim in a condescending voice.
“Bullshit,” Sulu says, and crosses his arms over his chest.
Udina’s mouth snaps closed.
Jim meets Pike’s gaze and raises his eyebrows up as if to say, ‘well it is.’
After a beat Pike smoothly resumes the conversation. “The Investigative Forces are currently prepping to send a mission to Acheron, to determine the nature of the communications loss, and to further investigate the provenance of the strange cargo loaded onto the transport platform you were hauling.”
Jim does not like where this is heading. Sulu shifts next to him and folds his arms over his chest.
When neither Jim nor his command crew offer any response to Pike’s statement, Zisha Zh'zhellon speaks. “Captain, if you and your crew are willing to cooperate as consultants on the investigative mission to Acheron, any possible pending charges will be dropped, your ship will be released, and all of you will be free to go, with the Federation’s good wishes.”
Jim’s mouth tightens. After a moment he catches a questioning look from Scotty out of the corner of his eye, and gives a short nod in response.
Scotty clears his throat. “Ah, yes, when is this mission leaving?” He asks the table.
Pike raises an eyebrow. “Soon.”
Another period of silence, broken only by the creak of Udina’s chair as he shifts, and the slight noise of the other extraneous attendees. The whisper of the fabric of a uniform, a stifled cough, the slight creak of boots as someone shifts on their feet.
“How exactly ,” Sulu stresses as he breaks the silence, “does the Federation define ‘consultant’ in this instance?”
Pike leans forward. “We want you to accompany the Investigative team to Acheron, and provide them with any support you are able to offer.”
“You think we have support to offer?” Jim questions.
“You and your crew are the only ones who have any contact with this species,” is Pike’s dry response. The ‘everyone else is dead’ he leaves unsaid. “That makes you the only offer of support available, and experts by default.”
Jim taps his finger for a moment on the table as he thinks. “I assume Lt. Commander Stonn and his squad will be providing the military escort?”
“That is correct,” Pike says.
“Just out of curiosity,” Scotty begins, “The Invincible wouldnae happen to be the ship slated to transport the investigative team on this venture, now would it?”
The absolute silence that follows is answer enough.
Jim exchanges a wordless look with Sulu, then with Scotty. “If I could have a moment to discuss this with my whole crew?”
Udina’s pinched look intensifies, but Pike nods and Zisha Zh'zhellon answers, “Certainly.”
The guards approach, and Jim and his cohorts stand, and follow them back to the room where the others wait.
Bones jumps on them as soon as the doors close behind them. “Alright, spill the beans.”
Jim lays it out. “Contact has been lost with Acheron. They’re sending a team to investigate, and they want us to go as consultants.”
Bones is speechless for a full minute. “Christ on a cracker ,” he mutters at last.
Sulu sits on the couch next to Chekov. He shakes his head. “I like nothing about this situation.”
“Well what’s to like?” Bones snorts.
Jim holds up a hand. “Realistically, what are our options? The subtext was pretty clear. If we comply, we’re free as birds. We don’t do this in good faith, and they’re gonna slap us with some kinda charges. Deep Space 13 is gone, all hands lost. Someone has to be held responsible.”
“Well it the hell sure ain’t gonna be us!” Bones growls.
Uhura speaks up. “I think the Investigative Forces really need us for this. Specifically, Jim.”
Jim gapes at her. He thinks that’s the first time she’s ever called him by his name.
“It’s leverage you can use,” she continues earnestly. “You have first-hand experience. You know what those things are capable of, what to look for, how to survive, if the worst has happened.”
“I can’t believe I’m about to agree with you,” Bones says to Uhura, then turns to Jim. “Those things and the threat they represent is unprecedented. That level of contamination. Sevastopol may have been a small fry outer reaches station, but they weren’t helpless. Those things brought it down in what…less than two weeks?”
Uhura nods. “That’s the timetable I gathered from the civilian logs, which of course I submitted to the Investigators during my interview, along with my notes.”
“The Federation is probably desperate to have any kind of experience not to go in blind with,” Bones finishes.
Jim sighs. “Colonel Pike said as much,” he agrees.
“There’s one other thing,” Uhura says. “There’s a rumor that Starfleet has called out a Klingon contract on the Enterprise.”
“Ach, out w’ye, Starfleet doesnea actually dispose of long-haul crews that lose their contracts, that’s just outer reach tall tales,” Scotty Scoffs.
“No, ze do,” Chekov nods seriously, “My grandmother, she had a luchshiy drug once whose husband lost a Towing Platform to a gravity anomaly, and zen a few months later his ship crash-landed on Noveria, and ze never found him or his crew.”
“True,” Keenser agrees.
“I think it’s safe to say that sticking with the Federation is our best bet,” Jim says hurriedly, before Scotty can pounce on Keenser and really derail the conversation. “Leverage…” Jim thinks. “We want pay for sure.”
“You bet your ass we do,” Sulu says.
Jim thinks. “Ask for consulting fees, and hazard pay on top of that?” One by one his crew nods. “I want the Enterprise with us. They can tow her or stick her in that fancy Engineering Bay, either way, my ship comes with me.”
Scotty’s nod of agreement is so effusive, Jim has concerns for his brain, sloshing around in his skull.
“What else?” Jim asks.
“They want us to consult, that’s what we’ll do,” Sulu says, “no boots on the ground, we advise from space.”
Jim nods. “Agreed.”
Bones gives him a sharp look, but, “Guarantees we’re free to go with our fully resupplied ship after the mission to Acheron is complete,” is all he says.
“Ok, anything else?” Jim asks, looking at each of his crew in turn. Everyone appears as satisfied as they can be with the arrangement. “Let’s get back then,” He says to Sulu and Scotty.
Sulu shakes his head. “Captain should negotiate alone.”
“I think so too,” Uhura agrees.
Scotty grumbles incoherently for a moment, then says, “Ach, s’probably for the best.”
Bones makes an unhappy sound, and his eyes search Jim’s face when he looks over to him.
“Give me a kiss for good luck?” Jim asks, and gives Bones the flirty eyes.
“ Ugh , git the hell outta here you lil shit,” Bones says, searching expression dissolving into a grimace, jerking his thumb at the door.
Jim laughs, and walks out up to the double doors to exit the room. They open to reveal Zisha Zh'zhellon waiting just outside with the two guards. “Ready,” he nods at her, still grinning over his success at riling Bones up. The tips of her antennae quiver, but she gets them under control, and leads the way serenely back to the meeting room.
The crowd standing around the edges seems to have grown by a few people. There’s definitely a few more grey uniforms in attendance then there were before, and Jim is unable to stop himself checking to see if Spock is here. He’s not. Jim does spot Stonn, though he’s the only attendee other than Ambassador Sarek that Jim recognizes.
Jim and Zisha Zh'zhellon sit back in their seats, and Jim leans forward on the table to address Pike, whose expression says he is all ears.
Jim says, “The Enterprise will agree to serve as consultants for the Acheron Investigative Mission, but these are our terms.”
Pike nods for him to go ahead.
“The Enterprise and her crew will be compensated with the standard Federation consulting fee, with an extra 20% added for my personal expertise.”
Pike counters, “Investigative Forces will compensate you and your crew for your time, and will add a rate of 10% for your personal expertise.”
“The crew will be compensated commensurate with the positions they hold on my ship, at the rate of their corresponding Investigative Forces roles. 15% extra for my personal expertise,” Jim returns.
“10% for expertise, and your crew will receive signing bonuses on top of their pay,” Pike says, after a moment’s contemplation.
“I can agree to that,” Jim says cautiously.
“Any other terms?” Pike inquires.
“We’re free to go after the mission, and any ‘possible pending charges,’ Jim makes air quotes, “will be dropped, and my ship will be returned fully resupplied.”
“The Enterprise has already been fully resupplied, and shall be returned to you upon successful completion of the mission to Acheron. No charges will be filed against you or your crew,” Zisha Zh'zhellon says.
“Ok,” Jim nods, then takes a breath in. This is gonna be the kicker. “We don’t set foot on Acheron. Any expertise or advice we have to offer in our roles as consultants will be from the command and control center on the ship in orbit.”
Pike crosses his arms over his chest and leans back. A few looks are exchanged here and there between various personages.
“ If there are any…creatures to be found in the mining complex on Acheron,” Pike says after a minute, “wouldn’t you agree that you are the best, perhaps the only person able to identify the signs?”
“I think the signs are gonna be pretty obvious,” Jim snorts, and holds up a hand to forestall Pike’s response. “I get it. You want me down there as some kind of insurance.” Jim had seen the writing on the wall the moment Pike had said the word Acheron. It’s all about playing for the Enterprise now. “What about Commander Spock?” Jim manages not to stumble over Spock’s name, but it’s a near thing.
“Commander Spock has been placed as head of the investigation, and naturally will be a part of the landing party. However, comparing his account to yours, it appears that you have a greater amount of experience dealing with these creatures. If they are to be found on Acheron, the investigation is going to need your eyes and ears on the ground.”
Jim thinks for a moment, then looks over at Stonn. “Your squad is armed with more than phasers, right?”
“Yes,” Stonn replies as he steps forward slightly. “My squad is currently undergoing simulations with the use of slug ammunition, in the place of laser-based weapons which have been noted to be ineffectual.”
Jim rubs his hands along his temple. Guns good. Bullets, better. Team unfamiliar with the weapons? Not great. He takes in a breath. Ok. Don’t over sell it. Keep it simple.
“I, and only I, will accompany the landing party. All the other terms stay in place as agreed, but if I’m gonna descend back into that kind of danger, I want my ship with me on this mission, not sitting here in dock.”
“I do not think we can allow that kind of freedom—” Udina begins to say with a sniff, but Jim interrupts. Time to seal the deal.
“You’re dispatching the Invincible, right?” Jim doesn’t expect a response and doesn’t get one. “Dock the Enterprise in that giant engineering bay, lock the clamps, take her with us, and I’ll knock off that extra 10% in hazard pay I was gonna ask for in response to joining the landing party on Acheron.”
A ripple seems to run through the room. Pike turns to look behind him. The Vulcan with the crazy curls wearing the uniform with the Captain’s braiding gives him a short nod.
“Very well, Captain Kirk,” Pike says.
“The contracts for you and your crew are being drafted as we speak,” Zisha Zh'zhellon adds.
“We’re adjourned, people,” Pike calls over his shoulder, and the various attendees begin to file out. Stonn shoots a last look at Jim, and he holds his gaze until Stonn turns to exit.
“There will, of course, be some standard NDAs attached,” Pike says offhandedly as he stands.
Jim snorts. That went without saying.
The Vulcan with the Captain’s braiding approaches Jim, and he stands and turns to her. She has strong, no-nonsense features, and a calm, appraising gaze. Jim likes her immediately. “I am Captain Saavik,” she says. “Your Pilot will be allowed to take your Captain’s authorization and complete the maneuver transferring the Enterprise from its dock with Yel Rihk to my ship.”
“Thank you Captain,” he says.
“An escort will be sent when it is time,” she informs him, then turns and leaves.
Pike gives Jim a nod, and follows her out. There’s only one person left in the room now, other than Jim and his waiting guards.
Ambassador Sarek approaches Jim from his corner. “Commander Spock is in command of this mission, Captain Kirk. Do you foresee any difficulties serving under him?” he asks bluntly.
Jim gapes. His mind flashes a plethora of scenarios where Jim can ‘serve under’ Spock. Which are, of course, supremely unhelpful. And never going to happen, he remembers with a pang.
“Huh?” Jim responds intelligently.
The Ambassador clarifies. “It seems there were tensions during your ship’s docking with the Yel Rihk. You and your crew perhaps believed that Commander Spock wasn’t as forthcoming about your circumstances as he could have been.”
“Wasn’t ‘forthcoming?’ Well that’s one way to put it,” Jim says wryly, “but no, Ambassador. I have great respect for Commander Spock. He’s a professional, and so am I. I foresee no difficulties.”
Ambassador Sarek nods, then proceeds calmly out of the room.
Jim winces and turns to see one of his guards waiting for him by the door he entered through. What a lie that was. Jim doesn’t so much have aspirations towards professionalism as pretensions.
Oh boy. Bones is not gonna be happy. Two bombshells to drop; Spock in Command, and Jim going down to Acheron.
Jim’s stomach churns in knots. It’s a toss up between which is worse: having to walk on that planet, which is most likely crawling with those fucking creatures, or having to work in close proximity with Spock. To be near him, but denied him. To have shared a moment that redefined the word ‘intimacy’ forever for Jim, but then to realize it was nothing more than tension relief for Spock. A relief that Spock regrets even partaking of.
Jim still aches for him. His fingers flex, remembering the feel of Spock’s fingers intertwined with them.
Yeah, if it were a choice between them he’d definitely have to take the planet. There’ll be a military escort this time, with guns. Pretty good protection. But Spock? Jim has no defense against Spock.
But in the end, there’s no choice.
He gets both.