RoH 6

That Raggedy Madness, Our Actual Night

Stardate 2260.134, 0100 hours, Deck 7, Sickbay

“Kids do the darndest things.” The thought ran in endless circles through Jim’s brain as he watched Bones drink himself into oblivion, as his heart broke for his friend.

Diplomacy under pressure wasn’t Leonard’s modus operandi, so Jim wasn’t surprised when his desperate ranting and raving had gotten him nowhere with earthside authorities. Plus Jim was sure that San Francisco police were indeed doing exactly what they’d told Bones … namely, everything they could. But – and Jim knew that for a fact based on his own experience in the same situation, only in reverse – if a clever kid was determined not to be found, the best efforts of police and local education authorities wouldn’t be enough.

Nevertheless, Jim had taken the initiative and used his captain’s privileges to contact earthside authorities himself, San Francisco and Georgia State police, as well as Starfleet Command. He couldn’t turn the Enterprise around to go looking for Jo himself (though he’d been damn tempted for a moment when that horrible message had first popped up on his PADD). But he could damn well make people talk to him. Unfortunately, neither his authority nor his personal expertise had resulted in anything more constructive than replies along the line of “yes, we’re trying that, too”, “we are really doing everything in our power to locate her”, “we’ll keep you informed”, and finally, the eerie white noise of a cut-off subspace transmission.

Now all he could do was pour Bones another bourbon.

Such a surreal scene: Bones wilted in his chair, clutching his glass and gulping whiskey like there was no tomorrow. M’Benga in a visitor’s chair, disapproving, but supportive. Dr. Chapel, too, with a prim measure of bourbon in her glass. Nurse Oli in the background, her cheeks tearstained, her crush on Bones barely concealed under the pressure of the situation.

Jim downed a shot of his own. Then he picked up the whiskey again. Damn, I really should have kidnapped her.

He froze, bottle midair. What if …

No.

Impossible!

He looked around for Spock and was entirely unsurprised to find him just a few meters away, standing in the corner, unobtrusive, yet observant. Jim jerked his head in the direction of the door and slid out of the room. Outside, he sucked in a shuddering breath and almost choked on it. “Spock, I have this really, really crazy idea … And I fucking pray that I’m right.”

Spock stared at him, both eyebrows raised in wary confusion.

“On the bridge,” Jim ordered. “Now.”

Next thing Jim knew – in that special crazy adrenaline-drenched haze – he was looking over Lieutenant Jacoba Penn’s shoulder, Chekov’s counterpart on Gamma shift. (Pretty woman; tons of shiny chestnut hair in a neat ponytail.) He peered at the screen of her console, watching each tap of her slender fingers on the keyboard.

Jim did his best to maintain an appearance of calm control. When he noticed Spock’s gaze resting on his hands, he offered a wry grin – he was aware that his hands were trembling faintly with tension. But he also knew his voice sounded reasonably calm when he addressed Penn. “Lieutenant, please run a routine check on clearances. Joanna McCoy.”

A second ticked by. Two seconds.

“Got her, Captain. Basic visitor’s clearance activated.”

Jim sank down on the center chair hastily vacated by Lieutenant Leslie. “Now … please run a check for the ID. If she’s somewhere on the Enterprise.”

He felt Spock behind him, Vulcan body heat at his shoulder. There was a second, or two, or three, when he wanted to reach behind him and cling to Spock, to the solid burn of his hand, three times as strong as a Human’s grip, and seemingly twice as warm.

The Enterprise was a big ship, with many people on it, crew members and civilians. Scanning for IDs took longer than a few seconds, longer than a minute. He knew it wouldn’t take much longer than that. For the first time in his life he fully appreciated the meaning of the idiom “the longest minute of my life”.

“Horizontal Jefferies 22 B 2, deck 22.”

“I’ll be damned.”

♦♦♦

Stardate 2260.134, 0130 hours, Deck 22, Horizontal Jefferies 22B2

Jo wasn’t there.

But her ID was.

Jim collapsed against the curve of the tube, his back pressed against the cool metal. His heart was thundering, every breath an explosion inside his lungs. Stars crowded in on his vision. “She’s here, Spock. She’s on the damn ship.”

When his vision cleared, a warm hand rested on his shoulder, and Spock gazed at him in concern. “I’m fine, Spock, I’m fine. Just relieved.” Jim laughed, lightheaded, almost giddy. In his hand he clutched a small plastic card that showed the picture of a smiling, black-haired, blue-eyed girl. “If you were an eleven-year-old girl hiding on a spaceship, where would you be?”

“Never having been an eleven year old Human, male or female, I do not know how to answer that question, Jim,” Spock said, without giving an inch, a heated, solid mainstay in this bizarre situation.

Jim leaned back again, closing his eyes. “She’s here. That’s the most important thing. Nothing bad can happen to her here – and Spock, that’s not an invitation to list all the things that can kill a little girl on board. She’s here. Main thing. We just need to find her. Preferably without causing her and everyone else to freak out and panic.”

The wall of the tube at his back vibrated with the gentle hum that he thought of as the pulse of the Enterprise.

“We’ll find her,” he whispered. “And if I have to turn the whole ship inside out with my own bare hands.”

Thirty seconds, perhaps a minute, in other words half an eternity later, Jim asked Spock: “Where did you hide out as a kid?”

It never occurred to him to wonder how he knew that Spock had needed to hide. He just knew.

“There was a room,” Spock said slowly, “in my father’s house. A room with books. A … library, maintained as a historical monument. No one ever went there. Printed books have been obsolete on Vulcan longer than on Earth; sentimental attachment to antiques is not socially acceptable in our culture. It was a room full of untold stories – stories no one would listen to. I felt at home there.”

“There’s no library on the Enterprise,” Jim said with a frown. He pushed off the hull of the tube. Anger on behalf of a lonely little boy spilled over and into how he smashed back the access door of the Jefferies tube, how he stalked down the corridor.

Suddenly he whirled around. “But there are places where kids go here for stories. Kindergarten. Playgrounds. School. Rec rooms. Movie theaters. We’ll check those first.”

They found her on deck eight, in a rec room for preschoolers. Fast asleep she lay curled up in an entity vaguely reminiscent of medieval Terran castles but made of foam cushions, colorful pillows and blankets – a “reading fort”.

“Take Bones to his quarters and get him sober,” Jim ordered, pushing Spock in the direction of the turbolift. “Have Dr. Chapel stand by. M’Benga and Oli can take charge of sickbay for the time being. I’ll be down with Jojo as soon as I’ve woken her and we’ve had a little chat. Twenty minutes or so, maybe half an hour. That should give you enough time to bring Bones back to his senses.”

♦♦♦

Stardate 2260.134, 0300 hours, Deck 8, Kindergarten Rec Room 3

It didn’t help that Jo knew it was a nightmare. Because this was her mother, burning alive. Her mother, screaming and shrieking, until her face was melting away, until Jo saw the bones of her skull, until Jo choked with the stink of charred flesh. Her mother, grabbing at Jo and dragging her into the flames and away from her dad, and her dad crying and calling her name and reaching for her—

Sobbing, Jo clung to the comfort of a familiar embrace.

“Jo, Jo, everything’s alright, everything’s fine. That was just a dream. Just a bad dream. I’ve got you, Jojo, everything’s okay, everything’s fine.”

Uncle Jim?!

The shock of his voice ripped away the horror of the nightmare, only to replace it with terror at her discovery.

“Uncle Jim?” Uncle Jim in his golden captain’s uniform, sitting cross-legged in a kindergarten reading fort? She choked on a startled scream, started coughing, then hiccupping. Uncle Jim just tightened his arms around her, drawing her completely on his lap, where he held her until she calmed down. Only when she had stopped crying and was breathing normally, he talked to her again.

“Oh, damn, Jojo,” he whispered. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done to your Dad with running away?”

She winced and burrowed her face against his chest. She didn’t want to think of that. Hurting her dad was the last thing she wanted. But obeying him in this case? Impossible.

“I couldn’t,” she mumbled. “Just couldn’t.”

“Yeah,” Uncle Jim said softly, rubbing her back, “I get that, kiddo. I get that.”

A bit later, he gently gripped her arms and held her away from him, until she was forced to look at him. “Better now?”

She nodded.

“What was the dream about?” he asked. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. But I’d like to know.”

Mutely, she shook her head. Her throat constricted with the memories of dream and reality. At last she whispered, and it sounded more like croaking, kind of pathetic, “Mom’s death. The fire. Dad couldn’t reach me.”

“Oh, Jojo.” Uncle Jim pulled her back into his arms and squeezed hard. When he released her, his eyes were suspiciously red. She crawled off his lap and sat in front of him, cross-legged like him, concentrating on her toes. She hated it when grown-ups cried. And when people tried to make her talk about her mother’s death. At least Uncle Jim never did that.

“Alright now?” Uncle Jim asked. “Because there’s something else we need to discuss.”

He sounded stern, and she guessed that he was done with being nice. Well, he was the captain. And she was a stowaway.

She nodded.

“Can’t hear you.”

“Yes,” she managed. She still didn’t look at him. The mattress of the reading fort sported patterns like cobblestones, but it was soft and warm.

“Would you please look at me, Joanna?” Uncle Jim didn’t yell. But there was something to his voice that made his question sound like an order.

She looked up. Yup, he wasn’t real friendly now.

“Good.” Uncle Jim gave her a hard stare. She still wasn’t used to his new eye color. “Tonight we got a subspace message from Earth, saying that you ran away to Georgia, and that they can’t find you. Your Dad’s been …” He paused. She noticed how a muscle twitched in his right cheek, as if he was grinding his teeth. “Your Dad’s been very worried. I’m going to take you to your Dad now. He’ll be very happy to see you, but you need to know he’s been really very worried.”

“He’ll freak,” she said, and she trembled a little bit when she thought of her dad in a rage.

Uncle Jim sighed. There was sympathy in his eyes. “Yeah. Yes, he will.”

Jo swallowed hard. “Are you … are you gonna throw me into the brig?”

“What?” Uncle Jim blinked at her. Then he actually laughed. “No! God, no. We don’t lock up kids in prison here. But I bet you’ll get grounded for a while, trickster.” With a groan he rose to his feet and climbed over the wobbly wall of the reading fort. “Well, come on,” he urged and extended his hand toward her when she didn’t move.

“Uncle Jim …” she whispered. A wave of fear and desperation crashed down on her, to the point that she couldn’t have moved even if she had wanted to. “Are you … are you going to send me back?”

Uncle Jim frowned. Then he lifted his outstretched hand and pinched the bridge of his nose. “No,” he muttered at last. “Wouldn’t do that even if I could. Which, luckily, I can’t. And now, let’s get going.”

♦♦♦

Stardate 2260.134, 0350 hours, Deck 5, Officers’ Quarters

When Jim reached Bones’s cabin, Jo was clutching his hand in a kid’s version of a death grip. Her fingers were icy, her skin damp with sweat. She was so little, and so damn scared. He remembered too well what an awful feeling it was to be eleven or twelve or thirteen, and to have absolutely no say over what happened with you, what was done to you.

But different from him at that age, she still had at least a father left who loved her. She had a father who had done his best to take care of her up until now, a father who would keep doing just that until she was an adult and ready to live her own life.

… And a father who would freak out all over her in approximately thirty seconds.

“Jo? Wait a sec.” Jim turned away and pulled out his comm. A glance at the display told him that forty-seven minutes had passed since he’d sent Spock to take Bones to his quarters. Thanks to Jo’s nightmare, their chat had taken a little longer than expected. Definitely enough time for Spock and Chapel to get Bones detoxed, then. He pressed the quick-dial button to contact Spock. “We’re here,” he said so quietly that Jo wouldn’t hear. “Are we good to come in? Have you told him already?”

Spock’s reply was just as soft. “The effects of intoxication have been neutralized with an efficacy of approximately 90%. Dr. Chapel is here. He hasn’t been informed yet.”

“Great. On with the show. Kirk out.” He took a deep breath and went back to Jo.

“Alright, kiddo,” he said, bending over a little so he was able to look her in the eye. “Now remember: Your Dad really loves. He’s been very worried, but he loves you. A lot. No one will throw you in the brig, and no one will send you home or anywhere else. Got that?”

She nodded, all huge eyes and tremulous lips.

“Good. Then let’s face the music.” He put his hand on the key pad, and with a soft hiss, the door opened.

Bones was sitting at his desk, face buried in his hands. Spock stood a few steps behind him, seemingly at ease but practically ready to intervene in an instant, should that be required. Dr. Chapel sat in one of the two armchairs in the living area, a hypo and a medical kit on the coffee table in front of her.

“Bones,” Jim said. When his friend didn’t react, he tried again, louder this time, “Bones! I’ve got her. Jo’s here. She’s right here.”

“D-d-daddy?”

At the sound of Jo’s voice, high and scared, Bones looked up. He looked terrible – haggard, with waxen cheeks, his eyes sunken and bruised purple from lack of sleep and too much whiskey, and his lips pressed together into a tight, white line. And he was shaking from the detox and the shock.

Jim winced. No eleven-year-old should see their dad looking that way. Of course that was still loads better than watching your mother burn to death like Jo had. Also much better than some of his own memories – like watching his mother get shot in front of his eyes and then tossed into a mass grave along with his best friend because their IQ wasn’t quite as high as his own. Or his stepfather lying in a puddle of vomit and cheap booze on the living room floor, when Frank had finally managed to booze his brains out of his head for good.

Bones stared at Jo.

His throat was working, he swallowed convulsively, but he couldn’t speak. With a muffled gasp he got to his feet and staggered towards his daughter. He sank to his knees in front of her and pulled her into his embrace.

“Oh, Daddy!” With a cry, Jo flung her arms around her father’s neck, and started crying all over again, hiding her face against his shoulder.

♦♦♦

Stardate 2260.134, 0500 hours, Deck 5, First Officer’s Cabin

“And there weren’t even any Klingons involved.” Jim slammed his head back against the wall in frustration and amusement. Loose-limbed with relief, he sprawled on the mattress. Without discussing it, they’d ended up on Spock’s side of the bathroom. “Or Romulans. Or …”

“It seems your initial assessment of the situation was correct,” Spock mused and sat down carefully on his bed next to Jim, back straight, posture perfect. It was his bed, so he was entitled.

“Hmm… what?”

Spock’s eyes glittered, as he turned to Jim. “I believe the human idiom you used was ‘Kids do the darndest things’?”

“Oh, that!” Jim grinned. “Yeah, well. Been there, done that. I’m just glad Bones and Jo got a happy ending out of it.”

Thank goodness for that. When they’d left Bones and Jo half an hour ago, those two had been totally done in. With Chapel’s help Jim had put Jo to bed in her dad’s bunk, while Bones collapsed on the sofa. To Jim’s secret amusement, it had been Spock who had tucked a blanket around their sleeping friend.

Jim made a mental note to talk to Rand about having Bones’s quarters shuffled around in the morning. One of the stateroom suites should do the trick, he decided. They didn’t need to keep all of the visitors’ quarters available for this mission, just in case someone wanted to hitch a ride in style. Plus, he wanted to keep an eye on Jo after that stunt. This kid was trouble of the best kind. No way he’d allow Bones and Jo to move several decks away from him. He’d also done the captainly thing and taken Bones off duty for three days and put Dr. Chapel in charge of rearranging the sickbay shift roster. Sometimes, he reflected, it’s good to be king.

“May I inquire what you referred to with the expression ‘been there, done that’?” Spock asked, interrupting his musings. Jim thought that glint in his eyes might be curiosity. About Jim. Cool. He liked that. But he didn’t necessarily want to answer that particular question. At least not right now. Jim was at once too wired and too tired to talk or sleep. Also, at this point it wasn’t worth it anymore. In two hours Alpha shift started. And sure, as the captain he could just pass on the conn and get some sleep. But if he hadn’t skipped a shift for Nero, he sure as hell would be up on the bridge on time today.

“Hmm.” He considered what he might tell Spock about his childhood. About what was in his files that Spock already knew. About what was not in there. And about how all of that didn’t really say much about Jim.

Instinctively, he reached for Spock’s hand, rubbing a circle into his palm. Only when the Vulcan couldn’t suppress a gasp, he realized what he was doing. Mortified, he dropped Spock’s hand and jerked back. “Oh, damn. Sorry, man. I … Damn. I’m so keyed up, I shouldn’t be anywhere near you, I guess. I didn’t mean to overload you with my – my crap.”

He was already sliding off the bed, before Spock managed to grab his hand and hold it in a tight, hot grasp. Jim could see in his eyes – his focus dazed, turning inward – how hard that simple tactile contact hit him. “Don’t do that, Spock.”

But Spock wouldn’t let go. And never mind Jim’s awesome reboot powers, Spock was still a lot stronger than Jim. “Do you think so little of me that you believe the remnants of your anxiety for your best friend and his daughter would be off-putting to me?”

Jim froze, a new wave of shame washing over him. “God, no. Spock, no, of course not. Never.”

“Then accept my touch,” Spock ordered. “And while Alpha shift begins in one hour, twenty-three minutes and forty seconds, there is also still enough time for you to sleep for a short period of time. Twenty minutes will be most beneficial, physiologically and psychologically. Afterwards your mind should be sufficiently refreshed and your alertness should be adequately increased in order to discharge your duties on the bridge in a satisfactory manner.”

“Wait – what?” Jim sank back down on the bed and stared at Spock, incredulous. “You want me to cuddle up with you for a nap?”

Spock raised an elegantly slanted eyebrow and held out his other hand, an imperious gesture.

♦♦♦

Stardate 2260.160, 2000 hours, Deck 10, Conference Lounge One

Things calmed down after the “Joanna Incident”, as Jim called it in his private log. Routine set in.

Two weeks into the mission, Jim stopped taking center chair for every Alpha shift so he could haunt the bridge and the various departments of the Enterprise at all possible and impossible times, twenty-four hours a day, so he’d get a feel for the different teams and units. Bones told him not to be a micromanaging asshole of a captain and to pretty please let people do their damn jobs. Spock, however, approved of the strategy. Jim suspected that was at least in part because it fit Spock’s own agenda, namely his pet project of developing a perfect secondary command team. The supposedly pacifist, humanitarian Vulcan promptly passed the conn to Sulu for each and every Alpha shift now – and proceeded to torture the poor man simultaneously with various simulations.

Because he was a responsible captain, Jim hacked into Spock’s program. The scenarios Spock was using on Sulu now made the Kobayashi Maru look like a walk in the park. With a girl scouts picnic and pink velvet cake. Jim spent a few fun-filled nights wrestling the sims into submission. He “died” four times, lost the Enterprise three times, turned the entire crew pink twice, and ended up a space pirate once. And people claimed Spock had no sense of humor. Because Jim definitely did have a sense of humor, he repackaged Spock’s sims and sent them via private subspace transmission to a holo-deck games competition.

Scotty easily managed to keep the warp drive purring at six, shifting down to warp four and up to warp eight at intervals that only made sense to him and Keenser. (And perhaps to the new Assistant Chief Engineer, Lt. Elena Amell, an expert in warp drive efficiency; Scotty kept raving about how lucky it was to have her on board.) Commander Scott was determined to thoroughly test the new capabilities of the Enterprise after the refit. Jim for his part had no compunctions about letting Scotty push the ship to its absolute limits while they were still in Federation space. They’d need those limits, and more, at some point. If there were any serious technical issues lurking in the system, he wanted them weeded out now. Because now they were still close enough to home that they could expect a reply from a Federation starbase before they died of old age, should all else fail. Later on, not so much.

And now it was almost time for their first stopover. Stardate 2260.164 to .167 would see the Enterprise in orbit around the planet Pyrithia of 26 Draconis, a trading post just beyond Federation space. With a little bit of luck they’d practice away team drills, get the word out about those Vulcan space gypsies, stock up on fresh veggies, and no one would get hurt.

But before every away mission, God put a briefing. Or two or three.

Jim wrapped his hands around a mug of Yeoman Rand’s awesome, authentic coffee and relaxed in his chair. With half an ear he listened to Spock’s introduction to the wonders of Pyrithia.

“26 Draconis is a triple star system in the Alpha Quadrant,” Spock explained. With a tap, he called up a projection of the star system. Cubes of black mist formed above the oval table. “Forty-six light years from Sol.”

Stars blinked into existence, forming patterns. On Earth, Ptolemy had called that constellation “Draco”, while the ancient Arabic astronomers had likened those stars to mother camels guarding a baby. Tracing the familiar lines in his mind, Jim wondered if similar myths existed to explain the stars that had been visible from Vulcan, or if such stories had been abolished after Surak. Not that it mattered now, he guessed, with Vulcan gone.

“Two of the system components, an F and a K class star, form a spectroscopic binary that completes an orbit every seventy-six years,” Spock went on, zooming into the projection. Three glowing marbles hovered brightly above the table, one red, one white, one muted orange in color. “The composite spectral classification of the FK pair is G0V, which decomposes to individual spectral types F9V and K3V. The masses of these two stars amount to 1.30 and 0.83 times the mass of the Sol. In comparison they are metal-poor with a lower proportion of elements other than hydrogen or helium.”

Spock flicked on the wall screen, displaying the spectral analysis. Sulu was riveted, of course. His department had come up with the suggestion to pick Pyrithia for their first planetary layover so they could study the eccentricities of a trinary system besides discharging the political duties of their mission. When Spock had supported his proposal, Sulu hadn’t stopped beaming at the Vulcan for a week. Spock’s discomfiture at such open adoration had been very amusing.

“The third component of the trinary is a red dwarf M-type star with a spectral classification of M1V, separated by 12.2 arc seconds from the FK pair and sharing a common proper motion. The system is on an orbit through the Milky Way galaxy with an eccentricity of 0.14, taking it as close as 23.1 kly and as far as 30.4 kly from the galactic core. It belongs to the Ursa Major moving group in the vicinity of the Helaspont Nebula.”

Jim didn’t pay attention to the astrophysics. The Draconis 26 threesome was interesting, but it didn’t pose any dangers to the Enterprise and it didn’t require any special maneuvers or safety precautions. In other words, those awesome astrophysical details were irrelevant for Jim’s job. But he did listen to Spock’s voice. He concentrated on the pretty patterns of the holo-projection and let Spock’s voice wash over him, deep and gentle and clear … He could listen to Spock for hours, and since Spock had lots to say at briefings, Jim indulged in the luxury of listening to Spock without hearing a word he was saying now and again.

Twenty-six days had passed since he’d curled up in Spock’s bed for that much-needed nap after the “Joanna Incident”. Twenty-nine days had gone by since the kiss. Jim tried not to frown. Since then … nothing.

Well, almost nothing. By unspoken agreement both bathroom doors remained open at night, and as shipboard routine had set in, that trick was usually sufficient for Jim to be able to sleep. With that arrangement in mind, he concentrated on his PADD. Because if he looked at Spock now, he would frown. Sure, he connected with Spock in many ways besides via those open doors at night. They shared dinner in the officers’ mess on a regular basis, they played chess and board games in the rec room, they did workouts together, and just hung out in the ready room between shifts. But nothing more. And Jim … Well, after the kiss, after the cozy intimacy of that damn nap (exactly twenty minutes, not a second longer, and how could twenty minutes be so short and so long at the same time, and how was it even possible to remember a nap like that, after twenty-six days?) Jim wanted more. A hell of a lot more. But for the first time in his life he was unsure of how to go about it. Even if he had known how to flirt with a Vulcan, there was already too much between them for deepening their relationship in such a casual manner. And Spock was … Spock, damn it! Jim couldn’t just walk up to him and ask him for a shag. And besides, he wasn’t sure if a shag would be enough, wasn’t sure if fucking his brains out for weeks would be enough. Enough to satisfy this – this – need – or whatever it was he felt every single time he looked at Spock.

“Pyrithia is the fifth planet of the F type primary,” Spock announced, interrupting Jim’s reverie. Jim suppressed a sigh. Time to man up and concentrate. His first officer was getting around to the relevant bits of the briefing. “With an axial tilt of 27° and an orbital period of 380 days around its primary, its seasons and calendar are similar to Earth. The surface gravity is 0.24027 g higher than Earth’s. The ratio of oxygen to nitrogen is constant at 23% to 75% in the atmosphere. With a partial pressure higher than Earth normal by 2.3566%, Pyrithia’s atmosphere is denser than Earth’s, but still breathable without special equipment.” On the wall screen, the relevant data flashed up in an orderly display.

“Geologically, Pyrithia offers the usual deposits of metals and minerals commonly found on Earth-type planets. Pyrithia’s flora and fauna are entirely unremarkable. The most noteworthy animals present on the planet are the Pyrithian bat – a flying mammal with white fur whose diet primarily consists of snow beetles and moth larvae – and the Pyrithian moon hawk, a nocturnal bird of prey and the natural predator of the aforementioned bat. In fact, what is most remarkable about the planet is that no intelligent life forms have evolved there.” In other words, Pyrithia was a boring disappointment of a planet. And with that, Spock was done with his part of the briefing. He put away his PADD and reclaimed his chair.

“Thank you, Mr. Spock, for your fascinating elucidations on Draconis 26 and Pyrithia.” Jim rose to his feet. Time to be captain, yay. “Without any intelligent life of its own, Pyrithia remains an unaligned planet. At the beginning of the 22^nd century, Denobulan traders established an outpost there. Since then Pyrithia has risen in importance and has become one of the major trading hubs in this section of the Alpha Quadrant. It’s a favorite stopover for Denobulan, Kaelon, Vissian, Xindi, and Kovaalan merchants. Federation ships are welcome, too. That provides us with an excellent opportunity to get information about the V’tosh ka’tur, and to put the word out that the Federation seeks to establish communication with them.”

Jim called up a picture of the trading post on the screen. It featured a big spaceport surrounded by a sprawling city. “We’ll reach Pyrithia on stardate 2260.164 and stay in orbit for three days. Mr. Spock and I are on an away team the first evening. We’ve been invited to a dinner of the Pyrithian Merchants’ Guild. I have ordered Commander Paul to put together away teams at his discretion for our stay. The top priority of the teams will be to collect intelligence without drawing any undue attention to themselves. There will be three teams with three members each for every shift. Their specific missions will be coordinated with the departments involved.” He switched the display to a schedule of the away missions. “Briefings for the bridge teams on shift during our time in orbit every day at 0800 and 2000 for updates on the away missions and anything else that comes up. This should be the least challenging layover imaginable. The perfect opportunity to work the kinks out of away routines. I want us to make the most of it.” Jim switched off the screen and the holo-projector. “And that’s it from my side for tonight. Questions? Comments? Or are you ready for dinner?”

♦♦♦♦♦♦

“I realized these were all the snapshots which our children would look at someday with wonder, thinking their parents had lived smooth, well-ordered lives and got up in the morning to walk proudly on the sidewalks of life, never dreaming the raggedy madness and riot of our actual lives, our actual night, the hell of it, the senseless emptiness.”
– Jack Kerouac, On the Road

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Author’s Notes:

• Spock’s lecture on Draconis 26 and Pyrithia is Wikipedia mixed with Memory Alpha mixed with random bits of information about what exactly constitutes “breathable atmosphere” found on some SF forums.

• If you’re into maps and want to follow the itinerary of the mission, I recommend http://www.startrekmap.com/

• Per canon technically the speed of subspace messages is warp 9.99 (or speed of plot LOL). Since I like going with the idea that space is really a big place, the “Joanna Incident” is the last opportunity for real-time communication with Earth in this story for the next few years (and that may be pushing things, but hey, speed of plot is a time-honored device in SF). Subspace messages from Earth to Pyrithia take six days, thirteen hours, and thirty-two minutes, which I know thanks to the fabulous Star Trek Travel Calculator (http://www.aerth.org/Constellation/star_trek.asp ).