[FFML] A Star Trek/Ashen Stars Story

[John Biles]

 I don't have a series name for this yet; it's basically the original ST
cast in the Ashen Stars Universe; one of the shticks is taking episode
titles of the original series and writing a new story with the same title.

So this is an AU. I hope you enjoy. This will post irregulary and I'm going
to try and force myself to keep the chapters small (by my standards).

****************

Preview Ad:

“It’s Sulu vs. Chekov when the Enterprise has to decide between finding out
what happened to a bio-survey team on Riskedel IV and hauling diplomats to
a conference of Synthculture worlds on New Orion.  Will the Enterprise II
be able to avoid being caught in… the Man Trap?”

**********************************


  Runner-class ships had tiny crew quarters, which hampered Hikaru Sulu’s
sword practice.  Flowing through the forms he’d learned from early
childhood relaxed and calmed him, which he needed since he knew that the
crew meeting would almost certainly feature him arguing with Chekov over
the next mission they would take.  The old Fleet days, during the war, it
had been simpler then, with clear chains of command.

But the War was over, the Fleet was gone, and possibly the Combine was gone
forever too.  Or shrunken, at least.  It barely had a presence now, here in
the Bleed.

He pushed such thoughts aside.  His sword flicked through a series of
positions and he cut and jabbed at invisible foes.

“Can I come in?” Uhura asked through the door.

“Sure,” he said, backing up into the corner and restricting himself to more
compact moves; his room was basically a bed in one corner, a dresser in a
second with a small bank of flowers in a long pot on top, and a few photos
and paintings on the walls.  A Runner just didn’t have much room.

Not that his quarters on the original Enterprise had been luxurious, not
compared to his ludicrously large bedroom back home on Valois.  But then
his family had a huge estate and a giant mansion, much bigger than the
Enterprise II, nearly bigger than the Enterprise I had been.

But he had dreamed of the stars and left luxury behind to fight in the
Mohilar War and then followed his friends here.  It was a sacrifice worth
making for all the new things they could see.

“Chekov ambushed me to pitch the New Orion mission,” Uhura said, coming in
and leaning on the wall.  “Going to seduce me with your sexy chest?” she
said, smiling at him.

He was naked to the waist and had on his work pants under that; she was in…
they didn’t have uniforms, but it was basically her uniform, a red
wrap-around tunic and black leggings with high boots.  They still tended to
wear their old official colors if they didn’t think about it, which
sometimes amused him and sometimes embarrassed him.  She was probably
beautiful but he wasn’t into women.

And she knew, so she was just teasing him.

“Totally,” he said, then laughed.  “So, we have two choices.  An easy
transport job for more money, or something actually worth our time.  Also,
this one means we don’t have to listen to diplomats complain at the
accomodations.”

He moved and sat down on the bed.  “A biological survey team on Riskedel IV
has failed to report in.  The last report indicates discovery of a ruins of
a previously unknown civilization.”  His eyes sparkled at that.  What Sulu
wanted more than anything else was to find new things, life forms, ruins,
new intelligent races, everything.  “This is a chance to make discoveries.
Maybe even become famous for it.”  He knew that would pique her interest.
“Plus, these people *need* help.  The diplomats can easily find another
space cab.”

Uhura laughed at that.  “I never expected to be a space cabbie, yes.”

Their last mission had been basically a space cab job, hauling a paranoid
merchant to the world they currently orbited, Glassaris XI.  Which was
actually a habitable moon of a gas giant.

“Well, my skills are better for a diplomatic job,” she said, studying a
photo of Sulu with his cousin Hayao.  “How’s your cousin doing?” she asked.

“He moved to Gothos,” Sulu said.  “It’s a Synthculture world, that used to
simulate gothic romance.  Now it’s kind of a mess, like most of them.”  He
shook his head.  “I had to get out, much as I enjoyed my childhood.  I
don’t think most of those worlds are going to be able to survive, not with
everything such a mess now.”

“Well that is what the diplomats are going to discuss,” Uhura said.  “How
is Valois doing?”

“It’s a mess,” Sulu said, shaking his head. “We have to move forwards, not
obsess about the past like Chekov does.”

“He just wants to help his world,” Uhura said, frowning. “They are really
in bad shape.”

“Because they stupidly cling to Russian traditions and can’t make enough
money without the tourists flooding in.  But with the damage from the
Mohilar War, there is little tourism and the Synthcultures are dying,” Sulu
said, frowning as well.  “For that matter, it’s not clear if the Combine
itself will survive.”

Its power had greatly faded here in the Bleed; back in the Core, the
homeworlds of the major races ranged from devastated to annihilated… Vulcan
had literally exploded.  Earth was a wasteland, though it was undergoing
cleanup.  Spock, McCoy, Uhura, none of them could go home again.

Sulu now felt a little guilty; his homeworld was just having economic
problems and was better off than a lot of Synthcultures.  Well, and social
and political conflict but every world had that.

“I know,” Uhura said, studying a landscape painting Sulu had picked up
recently.  It wasn’t a true painting; he loved them too much and didn’t
have room for them, so he had several SimFrames which would project digital
imagery of paintings and then he would send the real thing to his parents
for their mansion.

The photos of his family and his cousin were the same way.

The entire ship shook, but no red alert sounded.  This actually bothered
Sulu more than if a red alert had gone off.  They were in peaceful orbit
around a fairly safe world, so what was going on?

The voice of Scotty now came out of the intercom box over the door. “Sorry
lads and lasses.  The bad news is that the framistat just blew out during
my maintenance tests.  The good news is that we can limp over to Base VIII
and I can get a new one, though it means another hit on the budget.  Sorry,
Chekov.  It must have gotten overstressed during that fight around
Harkness.”

“That was four missions ago!” Chekov said. “We replaced it after that
fight!”

“Hmm, you’re right, lad,” Scotty said after a minute.  “I’ll get you a fine
bottle of Scotch at the Base in apology.”

Chekov sighed.  “Get two framistats, just in case it blows out in the
middle of a fight again.”  He sounded like a reluctant father agreeing to
give extra allowance to his son for the big date.  The big date with a girl
he didn’t like.

“And I’ll pick up some other things we need.”

Sulu sighed as he felt the ship slowly, jerkily, changing course.
“Captain, do you want me to come steer?”  He was off duty as they were in a
parking orbit.

“I can steer, Sulu,” Kirk said firmly.  “You are off duty; enjoy your
relaxation time before the staff meeting.”

“He steers like Spock dances,” Uhura whispered to Sulu.

“Dancing is illogical, outside certain rites,” Spock said over the
intercom.  Keen Vulcan hearing at work.

“Intercom off,” Sulu said and they heard the click; the bridge could turn
it back on if needed.  “Distract me from…”  *Jerk*  He made a grumbling
noise as he stumbled.

“I think he must be doing to tease you,” Uhura said, laughing softly.

“It wouldn’t be noticeable if the framistat wasn’t dead.  I guess Scotty
jury-rigged something to let us steer at all,” Sulu said.

Also, we should have already had a backup.  But they were always low on
cash and couldn’t stock things like they needed to.

Not like the old days.

I guess I’m lucky we didn’t get scattered to the winds like so many crews
when the War ended, Sulu thought.

His com unit, which sat on top of his dresser suddenly began to ping over
and over as space-mail poured in.  The old network was falling apart, but
if you stayed somewhere long enough, eventually your interstellar
electronic mail would arrive.  Glassaris XI even had a good connection to
the trunk line into the Core.  What was left of the Core.

“Should I go?” Uhura asked him, looking at the phone.

“I should catch up on this before the meeting,” he said.  “But it can wait.”

She rose anyway.  “Your manners, as always, are impeccable, Sulu.”  She
smiled at him and turned to go.  “But I should be getting a swarm myself,
and I should check on any messages for the ship.  But thanks for talking to
me, Sulu.”

“You’re welcome, Uhura,” he said and soon he was checking his space-mail.

**************

Ashen Trek S1E1:  “The Man Trap”

An Ashen Stars/Star Trek Fusion

By John Biles

**************

“Framistats don’t grow on trees,” Chekov said, pounding the table with his
fist.  The conference room doubled as the dining room and kitchen; two
walls were lined with things for cooking and there was a small pantry.  The
table and chairs were themselves bolted to the floor to avoid trouble,
though the chairs could spin on their axis; one sign Scotty was drunk was
when he would sit and spin around and around on them.

He was sober now, of course.  “I never said they did, Lad.  I agree, we
should take the diplomatic job; there’s a lot of spare parts it would be
nice to have, so that when something melts or gets blown up, we can easily
replace it.”

The whole crew was gathered around the table to discuss their next big
decision.  While Kirk was still ‘Strategic Coordinator’, this ship was more
of a democracy than any military vessel.  They were here because they were
friends and in the post-War world, friends had to stick together.  ‘Keep
your friends close and punch those damned Stewarts in the face’ as they had
said back home, when he still had a home.

Proxima Centauri was basically uninhabitable now and was going to have to
be reterraformed from scratch.  The Mohilar had casually trashed it on
their way to trash Earth.  Now mindworms were reclaiming the planet; they’d
been thought *extinct*.  Probably a ‘gift’ from the Mohilar, who loved
seeding Type-K species on worlds to kill people.

“Yes, but *he* thinks they do,” Chekov said, pointing at Sulu.  “He always
wants to do some crazy risky, low-income job when we’re always short of
money because of those jobs!”

Sulu’s jobs were usually the more interesting ones, whereas, Chekov’s
tended to be safe, boring, and lucrative.  Some days of the week, that’s
what Scotty wanted.  But others, it drove him crazy listening to
groundlings whining about conditions in space and how cramped everything
was.

But few luxury liners still flew, especially here in the Bleed.  Scotty’s
last vacation had been a special job helping out on one of those and
enjoying the facilities when off duty; it had been *amazing*.  But he would
have been bored with a permanent gig on one, once the pleasures lost their
shine by familiarity.

“I’m with Sulu,” Uhura said.  Not surprising, she always favored the
interesting jobs.  Scotty was surprised she hadn’t followed her dream into
entertaining when the war was over, but they’d all agreed to go into Laser
work together, because they were a good team.  And with most of them
lacking a family now, or in Sulu’s case, in voluntary exile from said
family, they needed each other.  “We can probably bargain Rigel Research
into a better deal for rescuing their researchers, and maybe we’ll even
discover something and get some scientific credit for it!”  Her voice was a
little dreamy.  But then her voice turned sober.  “Also, our Feed
documentaries on something like this sell a *lot* better than the space
cabby jobs.”

“Spaaaaace Cabby,” McCoy said, imitating the opening of an old pre-war
Serial.

“Weren’t you too old for Space Cabby?” Uhura said, smiling.

“That doesn’t mean I didn’t have to listen to Joanna watching it,” he said,
then stared down at the two rival briefings in front of him.  “If we’re so
short for cash, shouldn’t we just get e-briefings?” he said.

“I thought you liked books?” Scotty asked.

“I love a good physical book, but this has no re-read value,” McCoy said to
Scotty.  “Look, we have this argument every time, so let’s cut to the chase
before Spock gives us a two hour, carefully considered argument, as I don’t
need a nap right now.”  He idly shuffled the two sets of briefings
together.  “Hmm, maybe I could make a paper spaceship out of this.”

“It does not take two hours for a simple decision like this,” Spock said
calmly, then adjusted his shirt.  Scotty wondered why Spock’s clothing
never quite fit him right; it seemed ‘illogical’.  With Kirk, it was
because of his endless struggle with his weight, but Spock never seemed to
gain or lose a pound, even when ill.

“Knowledge is more important than money, the job pays sufficiently to meet
our expenses and have money to meet future needs, and if we show our
talents, we can get future jobs from Rigel Research, while the New Orion
Conference is less likely to open up future doors; they will care little
who brought them, unless some disaster happens, which we should not hope
for, for obvious reasons.”

“Mr. Spock, did you just incorporate networking into your logic?” Kirk
asked, a smile on his face.

“While I disagree with his conclusions, I agree with the importance of
networking,” Chekov said hesitantly, clearly off balance.

“Logic must accommodate the illogic of others sometimes.  If you stubbornly
assume others act like you, you will make mistakes.  This is among the many
reasons that IDIC is crucial to Vulcan philosophy, much as some may forget
it,” Spock said, turning to him.

“I’m pretty sure the Mohilar invented the concept of ‘networking,” McCoy
grumbled.

“Dr. McCoy, what is your opinion?” Spock asked him.

“I just said… oh,” McCoy said, going from irritable to slightly
embarrassed.  Then it was gone.  “Well, you won’t hear this often, but I
agree with Spock.  I could use more supplies, but my talents are better
used with these missing researchers.  Rand, found anything on the Feed?”

Rand started into consciousness; she’d looked like she was stoned before,
but actually, she’d been connected to the interstellar data network, the
Feed.  Scotty wasn’t sure *how* cyborged she was now; she looked like an
ordinary blonde woman in a red tunic and black pants.  But he could feel
the machines in her, like he could feel his own engines.

She’d served with them early on, then went away after *something* only Kirk
knew about had happened at Starbase Eight; whatever it was, Kirk had been
enraged and Rand had transferred to ‘other duties’.  Then, in the final
months of the war, she’d come back to them as a cyborg… somehow.  It was
all a blur, part of the weirdness of the end of the war, the weirdness
which had dragged the Vas Mal from being funky, enigmatic god-like energy
beings into creatures of flesh and blood… badly designed flesh and blood.
And made the Mohilar disappear and made everyone forget what they looked
like.

Scotty didn’t like *any* of it, even if it meant no more Mohilar.

“The world was home to an Elder Civilization once, but they’re long gone;
there had been some limited surveying of Riskedel IV before the war, but it
hadn’t been finished.  The Hartnell fought a Mohilar ship there, stumbling
on it on their way elsewhere.  They were badly damaged and fled and the use
of it as a shortcut was abandoned until a fleet could move in and clear out
the Mohilar, but the Mohilar somehow fled before the fleet arrived, even
though both warp corridors led to Combine space,” Rand said calmly.  “I’m
downloading all my data to your comm units.”

Scotty’s now pinged and he flipped it open, looking for any useful
technical data.  “Do you think we should go?”
“If the Mohilar left something behind, it’s our duty to wipe it out,” she
said calmly.  “Any clues to them are worth pursuing.

“We can’t eat duty,” Chekov said, frustrated.  “Look, I understand why you
all want to do the Rigel Research job, but if we end up in the hole again,
we’ll have to do *even more* boring jobs.  Can’t we build up a buffer?”

Kirk was smiling for some reason and Chekov frowned at him.  “Sir, don’t
patronize me.”

Kirk sighed.  “You’ve grown up into a fine, responsible man.  When we first
met, you would have voted for the Riskedel job because it was exciting.”

“That was before I had to become the Mom,” Chekov said, making a face.  “I
hate being the Mom,” he told his own briefing papers.

“I need you to be that person,” Kirk said, and Chekov looked up.  “We are
on our own and we cannot count on others to pay for our adventures now.  I
was going to vote for the transport job, but hearing there may be Mohilar
involvement means I feel we must take the Riskedel job, if we can afford
it.  Can we afford it, Chekov?”

“If there are no surprise expenses, we will turn a five percent profit,”
Chekov said. “There is a gas giant where we can refuel for free if we take
the time.  It seems unlikely we will take battle damage, but if we take
very much, we will go into the red.  The Combine doesn’t replace missing
parts for free anymore, not for Lasers.”

“We will take the Riskedel job, then,” Kirk said.  “Thank you, everyone,
for your honest input.  And much as I hate to say it, we should all keep an
eye out for anything we can leverage into credits.”  He sighed.  “Sulu,
chart us a course.  Minimize the number of Warp Corridors if you can.
Spock, prepare the scanners for this operation and see what information you
can get on the planet beyond what Rand found.  Uhura, call Rigel Research
with Chekov.  Bargain us the best deal you can.  Scotty, make sure you
don’t urgently need any spare parts and run a systems check.  McCoy…
actually, help Uhura and Chekov; find out if there are any health problems
to anticipate.  Rand, once we have any information we can get from Rigel
Research, develop landing contingency plans with Chekov.  I am going to go
a few miles on my exercise bike and then read your reports and make my own
plans.”

One of the reasons Scotty had stuck with Kirk was that he felt Kirk was a
‘people engineer’.  There was probably a real term for it but Scotty made
his own words when he needed to.  He could get the best results out of his
crew and knew how to handle everyone.  Chekov wouldn’t spend the whole
mission moping now.

Thankfully.

Scotty headed out to get ready.  The Balla Neutronic Fusillade launcher had
gone off on its own in their last battle and he wanted to be sure it
wouldn’t do so again.

***************

Ion drives couldn’t take you across the void of space, but they made
jetting around a solar system easy.  Sulu sat back and watched as the ship
followed his plotted course, ready to step if surprises happened. This
seemed unlikely.
Sulu had lived through too many ambushes to take any chances.  The soldier
in him would be there until he died and he accepted that.  It had kept him
alive too many times not to.

Everyone else was busy with other business, except for Spock, who was at
the science station, doing his preparations.  Their crew was too small to
fully staff the bridge, except in emergencies.  The automated systems did
most of the work in non-crisis situations.  Then people had to step in.

He wanted to talk, but he left Spock alone, knowing the man didn’t enjoy
small talk; if Spock wished to talk, he would initiate contact.  Sulu had
taken a while to learn this but they all knew each other very well by now,
after years of serving together.

“We’re about to enter the Warp Corridor,” he told Spock once they were in
position by the shimmer in space.

Spock hit several buttons. “It scans Green,” he said.

“Attention everyone, we enter the Warp Corridor in five minutes.  Batten
down, just in case it’s a rough ride,” Sulu said over the intercom.

It was not; they would have to make three corridor rides to reach the
target destination.  He’d found a route which was all inside the same
Sector inside the Bleed, so this would save a lot of time.

He whistled an idle tune, then made himself stop, as they headed into the
strange phantasmagoria of a warp tunnel.  It was like flying through
glowing fog; the system could mostly handle it, but he stood ready.

“The Wreck of the Edmond Fitzgerald is not an appropriate tune for
beginning a voyage,” Spock said, shaking his head.  “If you must make
music, I suggest the Ballad of the Watercrossers, Across the Milky Way, or
even the Quest for New Food, though as I understand, the translated version
does not live up to the ‘appeal’ of the untranslated Kch-Thk.  I cannot
personally tell any great difference, but I have only the most basic of
training in the Kch-Thk language.”  Every species complained about the
Universal Translator that it ruined anything poetic.  He rattled off
something the Translator rendered as “Hungrily, we devoured the manifold
fruits of the world,” with a lilt to it.

“That song is known as ‘The West-Venturing Explorers’ on my homeworld,”
Sulu said.  “I forgot you are a musician, Mr. Spock.”

“Music is very logical, when not abused in the way many modern musicians
do,” Mr. Spock said.  “Mathematics and the science of vibrations are at the
heart of it, and it can be used to soothe out of control emotions.”

He’d seen Uhura and Spock duet many times, in fact, him accompanying her on
the harp.  Sulu liked to sing but could pretend to no great talent.

Something disturbingly like a face loomed at them, made of the glowing
lights and the Enterprise II went right through its mouth.  “I suppose you
do not believe in ghosts,” he said to Spock.

Spock looked at him, looking disappointed, one eyebrow arched, and Sulu
shifted uncomfortably in his chair.  “You should know by now that we have
rationally proved the existence of what you call souls and we call katras.
Unfortunately, with the destruction of Vulcan, all of our ancestors’ katras
are now lost in space and unfindable, though some of us who survived
continue to search for them.”

Sulu now wished he’d never raised the topic.  “I’m sorry.  I’ll drop it.”

“Most reports of ghosts are superstition, but not all.  My own kind and the
Balli are most likely to continue on in this plane after death.  Where
‘souls’ go who are not collected by their kin, I will not pretend to know,”
Spock continued.  Was he comfortable with this or hiding pain?  Sulu did
not know.  Spock’s parents had survived the fall of Vulcan because they
were at the Combine’s central headquarters at the time, before it too had
been destroyed.

Really, I’m lucky, Sulu thought.  “Could souls be trapped in the Warp
Corridors?”

“If they perished there, yes,” Spock said.  “But it would be wise to be
skeptical that any given phenomena is a ‘ghost’, until you can be sure.”
He closed his eyes.  “If I sense anything, I will tell you.”

Now Sulu wasn’t sure if he wanted to know.  On the other hand, this had
gone better than he feared.
Sulu relaxed back into his chair, hoping Spock would not actually sense
anything.

“There are papers you can consult if you wish to study this issue further,”
Spock told him, eyes still shut.  “I will send you a list later.”

“Thank you, Spock,” Sulu said and then they rode on in silence.

*****************
Days had passed with only the usual amount of friction; lock a small group
in a Runner for days or weeks and a certain amount of head-chewing would
inevitably ensue.

They were orbiting Riskedel IV now; the world was lush with life, except at
the frozen poles; while the world had a different set of continents, it was
in many ways similar to the Earth.  According to the report, it was about
three thousand years out of its last ice age, in an interglacial period.
Preliminary studies showed that it was a ‘Remix’ world, in which the basis
of the life was the same as that of the major species but the actual living
creatures were different.  A disturbingly large number of worlds were like
this and no one knew why.  Especially since some worlds had completely
unique life.  This enabled the major species to all share food, though they
typically could not interbreed without genetic manipulation.  McCoy was
deeply suspicious of this, helpful as it was.

It also definitely helped the Kch-Thk in their endless quest for food.

“By the report,” Rand said, “There are multiple ruins on this world;
someone used to live here.  The last report from the biological survey team
indicated they had entered one of the ruins and it does not appear to be of
any of the known major species.  The ruins, however, are at least a century
old and quite possibly much older; this is based on how much plants had
overgrown it.”

“But it could be one of the minor species?” Chekov asked.  There were seven
major species, plus the Mohilar, though now the Vulcans had effectively
declined to minor status.   There were dozens of species which only
controlled a handful of planets and many others who had yet to discover how
to use Warp Corridors.

“It could be some existing or now dead minor species,” Rand said.  “They
had discovered no new micro-organisms which are a threat to Humans or
Vulcans… yet.”  She sighed.  “I advise bio-suits, just in case they
stumbled into something which infected and killed them all, though any
virus would need to infect Vas Mal, Humans, Balla, and Vulcans.”

“Typically, anything which can affect any of the major intelligent species
can hit them all, though some will be more resistant and the Vas Mal...
from what I know, their physiology is very strange," McCoy said.  The Vas
Mal claimed to have been gods, now trapped in badly designed flesh.  He
could agree their flesh had been badly designed.

Rand nodded.  “I have full profiles on everyone, downloaded to your comm
units.  We’ll be landing the shuttle near their ship, and then Spock, Sulu,
Chekov, and myself will investigate; everyone else will be in reserve, up
in orbit.  Strategic Coordinator Kirk has already approved this plan.”

Kirk nodded.  “We’ll be ready.”

McCoy knew Kirk would rather be down there himself, but it wasn’t his job
to stick his head into *every* trap.  McCoy was a little relieved that Kirk
had finally accepted that.

This time, anyway.

“The Leningrad is ready to go,” Chekov announced.

“Then let’s get this started,” Kirk said and everyone went to their posts.

****************

Orbital scans had their limits; you could tell a planet was full of life
but you couldn’t find a specific person from orbit or even tell species.
Research Ship Eight turned out to have no life signs except plants, once
they landed near it; it was in a large clearing that stretched down to a
river; the ruins was upstream.  It also turned out to be mostly blown to
bits and surrounded by charred plant life.

The blackbox, however, had survived and they had the codes for it from
Rigel Research; this had reassured Chekov that any surprises on this
mission would be local, rather than Rigel being up to some hanky-panky
which had exploded in its face, like the Triskellion job.

Phaser out, Chekov scanned outwards as Spock and Rand studied the remains
and Sulu studied the plantlife.  “No sign of anything but innocent animals
and plants.  Well, I suppose some of the animals might be predators.”  At
this range, he could easily track all the animals within several hundred
meters, due to no intervening walls.

Rand now hooked into the blackbox as Spock took more readings.  “Organic
remains of some unknown number of Vas Mal and Balla, but no Humans or
Vulcans, so not all of the crew died here.”

“It could be intruders,” Rand pointed out.

“They didn’t land nearby, no sign any other ship has been close to here, if
it is intruders,” Sulu said.  “But look.”  He pointed and everyone could
see an area where the grass was less high than surrounding areas, as if
something had moved in, flattened it, and it had some time to grow back but
was now ‘behind’ its neighbors.  “It heads towards the ruins.”

“They had a small transport drone, could that have done this?” Rand asked.

Spock walked over, spread his arms and knealt, then took a photo and ran
some analysis.  “It’s too broad for the drone, though if you look
carefully, you can see faint traces of its passage.”

“So something followed the drone tracks ‘back’ to here and attacked the
ship?” Chekov asked.

“A logical theory,” Spock said, sounding pleased.  “If they followed
standard protocols, part of the crew would have been here doing research
while others were collecting samples.”

Rand cocked her head, looking stoned, but Chekov knew that was data
analysis; he wondered what she had been like, before whatever secret work
during the war had turned her into a cyborg.  A lot fluffier from the
anecdotes they told, like the time she’d gotten busted in the academy for
the bucket prank.

He had bad memories of the bucket prank, having fallen for it *four times*
back on New Russia, when he was in school, once at the hands of Ivan,
during one of his leaves from the military.

I hope you are proud of me, Chekov thought.  He did the best he could but
wasn’t sure if he could ever live up to his brother.  He wanted to be more
than just Ivan’s replacement but sometimes that just meant being the ‘Mom’
and he didn’t like that either.

He pushed away those thoughts.  If you didn’t focus on a mission, people
got hurt and he was the security officer.

“What was that about buckets?” Sulu asked him, cocking his head.

“Nothing,” Chekov said, kicking a rock.  The grass like cover was purple,
which seemed to be the dominant plant color here, and it had dagger shaped
blades, though gentle as the grass of his homeworld.

Sulu turned to Spock, opened his mouth, then closed it.  Spock studied him
curiously, raising an eyebrow.

“The dead are Vas Mal and Balla,” Sulu said hesitantly.

Spock shook his head. “Nothing.”

“What are you two talking about?” Chekov asked.

“Nothing,” Sulu said, shaking his head.

Chekov frowned. “If this relates to security, I need to know,” he said,
getting closer to Sulu and trying to loom at him.  This failed as Sulu was
taller than him.

In fact, the entire crew was taller than him, though some more than others;
Rand was only a tiny bit taller than him and he thought that might be her
boots.

“I expect any psychic impressions left behind were dispersed by the
explosion, this being the question he asked me,” Spock said.  “If I had
found anything relevant, I would be sure to tell you.”  He was always so
calm and Chekov envied that.

His own nerves calmed a little but Sulu’s perpetual smile was especially
annoying today.

“We are not being spied on,” Rand said, her phaser rifle rattling on her
back, where it was slung, as she tried to face them all in turn.  “And the
blackbox indicates the explosion happened due to an externally imposed
breach of the ion engine while it was idle mode, providing power for the
ship.”

“Someone cracked the core open physically without shutting it down?” Chekov
asked, staring. “What sort of idiot does that?  You would certainly kill
yourself.  Even an attacker would know better.”

“The explosion has destroyed most of the evidence; half a dozen different
local plants died in the explosion but enough remains to be scanned,” Spock
said. “We can logically infer they were research samples, though it’s not
impossible that the saboteur used a local plant as a weapon.”

“I’m pretty sure you couldn’t crack an ion engine open with any normal
plant, unless it was on a level of hitting it with a huge log or the like,”
Sulu said, shifting to study the metal shards again as they laid in a burnt
out zone.  The ion energies had long ago dissipated.

“This happened the afternoon of the day after their last report, sent via
the Feed Drone they dropped at this end of the Warp Corridor,” Rand said.
“Four thirty-three PM, to be precise.  Whatever happened was so fast they
made no log entry or nor sent a distress signal.  The absence of other
bodies means that either whoever did this kidnapped the surviving crew or
they are hiding elsewhere, perhaps the ruins.  We will investigate there
next,” Rand said.

“You’re the boss,” Sulu said cheerfully.

“I recommend that we move the shuttle with us; best not to risk it being
blown up as that would force the Enterprise II to land and it’s not really
designed to land under full gravity, though it can,” Spock said.  “Though
this ship blew up a month ago, it’s possible those responsible could attack
it in our absence.”

“If we move the shuttle, it’ll send a big ‘hello’ to anyone in the ruins,”
Chekov said, frowning.

“If they’re watching the skies, they already know.  I’d rather scout the
ruins from the air,” Sulu said.

This is where, in the old days, they would have security men to guard it,
Chekov thought.  According to what Ivan had told him, anyway.  But in the
old days, they wouldn’t have had time for this either, for it was war to
the hilt with the Mohilar, whatever had happened to them.

Chekov didn’t trust their disappearance, not coming when they had the upper
hand… what had happened?  He didn’t know and he didn’t like mysteries.

“It’s too late for surprise,” Rand said.  “But we will advance under cover
of darkness.  For now, let’s investigate this site more thoroughly.”

The others nodded and got down to work, while Chekov watched for trouble
which did not come.

***************

A clearing near the ruins was perfectly sized for the ship.  “Sulu, you
will stay here; if I signal or if there is trouble, you take off,” Rand
told him.

Sulu grimaced at that.  “I can’t leave you all behind.”

“It is the logical approach; we know our foes can destroy a ship somehow.
There is a small chance the researchers blew themselves up, but I am quite
dubious.  Humans are rarely that kind of suicidal and neither are Balla.”

“But I…” Sulu began.

“Discoveries will have to wait.  Something hostile may be loose here and I
would rather you survive to spread the news or bring a rescue party than
that we all be trapped here or die together,” Rand said, then put a hand on
his shoulder, her stern face softening.  For a moment, Sulu could see the
woman he’d first met before whatever hell she’d been through in the war.
“Remember what happened at Randalar?” she said sadly.

Over-eager scouts had gotten themselves killed and so the fleet had been
surprise attacked because none of them would turn back, that was what
happened.

“I’ll stay, but I won’t like it,” he said somberly, staring off past her at
his memories.  The Enterprise had been caught in the surprise attack and
100 crewmen died, though they had fought their way out.  One of them had
been someone he was seeing at the time, Thomas McCann, and now…

“Scanning with the shuttle shows a cluster of mobile life signs in the
southeastern corner of the ruins,” Spock reported.  He’d done the scanning
on approach.  “If any researchers survive, that is where we will find
them.  However, I do not get any signals of functioning electronics in the
area, so it is possible that I only detected local animal life.”

“I’ll continue scanning while I stand guard,” Sulu said. “And let you know
if I sense anything.”

While I try not to go insane worrying, he thought.  Sulu much preferred to
be where the action was.

****************
Rand advanced through the ruins, moving from shadow to shadow, leading the
other two, though Chekov probably didn’t need her to lead.  But Spock did;
he was quite skilled in many arts beyond science, but stealth was not one
of them.  Not at her skill level, anyway.

Some of the buildings were mostly collapsed and covered in thick growth;
others had only a handful of vines and some shrubs inside them and there
was no pattern she could see as to why.  But it bothered her.

Inside one building with two surviving walls, they found an abandoned camp,
Bizrek Corp Tarps set up to make a little tent building which exploited the
walls, with scientific gear abandoned; everything was thickly overgrown as
if it had been here for years.

Spock frowned at this.  “This is impossible, unless this is left over from
some previous expedition.”

Chekov picked up an abandoned data unit, stamped ‘Unit 280-33, Property
Rigel Research’.  “Not unless they sent a previous failed expedition and
didn’t tell us.”

“Not impossible,” Rand said, sighing.  Seventy percent of Laser jobs were
totally straightforward.  Twenty-five percent had some surprise your
employer had not known about.  And five percent had a surprise your
employer knew and didn’t tell you about.

The ground was chunks of broken flooring through which plants had burst up,
shattering it; you could make out the old flooring pattern of geometric
shapes if you shined a flashlight on it.
“No bodies and nothing to sleep on.  This was basically a base to avoid
having to haul everything back to the ship every night,” Chekov said,
looking around further.  “And whoever took them didn’t care about their
research.”

Rand picked up another datapad. “I will download the data, while you two
stand watch.”

She was on the third when Chekov said, “Mobile lifeforms approaching from
the east, walking pace.”

They all took cover; Chekov had a tricorder in one hand and a phaser in the
other, kneeling behind a desk.  Spock turned a table over and dropped
entirely out of sight; Rand knew he was reaching out to feel their minds.

Rand continued downloading with a dedicated process, while unslinging her
rifle and clambering up the wall to look down from above; few living things
remembered to look up unless they were birds.  For a moment, she remembered
an old nature documentary of a cheetah perching on top of a truck to ambush
antelopes and she had to fight the urge to laugh.

“Fifty meters, forty meters, thirty meters,” Chekov subvocalized;
communicators could be tuned to your voice to pick up very soft speech.

You could hear rustling now, especially with Rand’s enhanced hearing.
Something was coming.  You could see the plant life stirring in the gloom
of the stars and the three moons.  Her enhanced eyes made it easy to see,
but she knew the others, especially Spock, would have a hard time; Vulcans
could see in glare that would blind a normal human, but their night vision
was not as good.

“I feel a single intelligent mind but there is something strange about it,”
Spock told them.  “It feels… dispersed, like a mass mind.”

  “Could it be some kind of nanomachine intelligence in the air again?”
Chekov asked.

Then Rand saw vines moving like snakes, coming in their directions. “The
plants,” she said.  “There is an intelligence controlling the plants!”  She
opened a line to the Leningrad.  “Mr. Sulu, be ready to fly at a moment’s
notice.  Something can control the plantlife here.  You had better lift off
just enough to scorch the ground under you again.”

Then she opened fire, hoping that the creature, whatever it was, couldn’t
control *every* plant. Their opening barrage devastated the first rush of
vines, but then the plants inside the camp rose up, grappling Chekov and
Spock, though they then initially recoiled.  “It tried to attack my mind,”
Spock said calmly, but was there a hint of triumph there?

Then Chekov spoke, “It’s going to kill me if you don’t surrender.  Don’t do
it, it’ll just kill us all anyway!”  Then he howled as the plants beat him.

Rand could see all the vines on the wall tensing to spring on her.  “Sulu,
something here can control the plants.  We’re caught in a trap.  Get up to
the ship, find a solution if you can!  I’m sending you all my data.  I hope
it’s enough.”

“Damnation,” Sulu said but they now distantly heard the ship taking off.

I’m counting on you, Sulu, she thought.  And you too, Kirk.  She sighed at
old memories.  She’d had a crush on him once; she was too old for crushes
now but she still trusted him deeply.  If there was a way to defeat this
trap, he would find a way.

**********************
“I have a theory.  If the plants can move, somehow, then perhaps the plants
moved in through the vents, then breached the chamber,” Scotty said.  “A
bad failure of security but I wouldn’t have contemplated the possibility it
could happen.  I’ll see about taking the data Rand gave us and see if I can
get any ideas how this works.”

“I wish I’d taken some plant samples, but I didn’t want to share their
fate; the shuttle is, if anything, more vulnerable than their research
ship,” Sulu said, staring at his hands.

They sat around the conference table, though now three seats were empty.

“Probably there is a psychic entity who uses its powers to control the
plants,” Kirk mused.  “I wonder if it can see through them somehow.”

“It would have to, in order to infiltrate a shuttle,” Scotty said.  “I
would think.”

“I’m going to prepare doses of Mexyboxilablan,” McCoy said. “This should
bolster everyone’s psychic defenses.”

“And give us constipation later,” Sulu said, sighing.

“Better bowel trouble than mind-control, honey,” Uhura said, shaking her
head.  “I guess we need defoliant.”

“We don’t carry defoliant,” Kirk said, frowning.  “Sulu, can you make
something?”

“Yes, though it may not work as well as we’d like.  The biology has the
same base as Earth but I’m sure it has its own quirks,” Sulu said.

Scotty wondered again why so many worlds were like that.  Then he sighed.
“I don’t have anything for inhibiting psychic powers, not like the old
days, but I’ll see if I can improvise something.”

“I will develop a tactical plan,” Kirk said to them.  “Uhura, send an
update to our employers and see if they have any insight.  Also, they
should have previous updates on local biology from their team; see if they
can send us the data, then give it to Sulu.  Sulu, Scotty, we’ll need both
defoliant and a delivery system.  See what you can make.  McCoy, prepare a
battle medkit and the psychic defense drug.”  He rose.  “I’ll be in my
quarters, preparing.  Do your best, everyone.  Our friends are counting on
us.”

And then he left swiftly.

Scotty dragged himself out of his chair.  “Let’s go make some magic
together, Sulu.”
Sulu smiled for the first time, rising.  “Not something I thought I’d ever
hear from you.”

“Being an engineer is like being a magician, lad.  People ask you for
wonders, then don’t understand how you did it.  I think with a little work,
we can modify my caulking gun plans.”  Scotty felt his mind getting to work
on the problem and it made him feel much better.  Scotty didn’t go on away
missions a lot and didn’t mind that, but sometimes waiting to see if they
were okay would eat at him, unless he had some way to contribute.

**********************

Kirk waved his hand at the screen and rotated the map.  Sometimes a fresh
perspective helped.

There was a knock on the door.  “Come in, Bones,” Kirk said.

“Picked up a little psychic power yourself, I see,” McCoy said as he came
in.

Kirk had learned that everyone had their own ways of walking and if other
noises didn’t get in the way, he could recognize any member of his crew by
how they walked.  But that was a Captain’s secret.  He put on a smile for
his old friend.  “You had the least work to do, though you could help Sulu
and Scotty, I expect.”

“Why is Scotty the only one of us with a nickname… well, besides me,” McCoy
said.  He sat down on Kirk’s bed, which had golden sheets with the Combine
insignia in silver, fringed by black.  “I still laugh that you made off
with the sheets from your old bedroom.”

“Captain’s privilege and I had those sheets made for me, anyway,” Kirk
said.  “It hasn’t been scrapped yet, but I expect it will soon enough.”  He
shook his head. “The Combine will recover, but it won’t be quickly.”

“The Bleedists think otherwise,” McCoy pointed out, studying the wall over
Kirk’s desk.  Starfleet Diploma.  Picture of teenage Kirk with his
parents.  Picture of the whole crew, posing in front of the Enterprise II,
all adults.

“The Bleedists are a mixture of people who just talk and raging lunatics,”
Kirk said, sighing deeply.  “This could be some secret Separatist base the
scientists stumbled onto.”

The intercom pinged. “Coordinator,” Uhura said. “We just detected a signal
aimed towards the eighth planet of the system.  It is encrypted. I will try
to decipher it.”

Could there be an unsurveyed Warp Corridor?  “It could bring unwanted
company.  Get on it, Uhura,” he told her.

“Of course, sir,” she said and then the line clicked silent.

“Remember when Chekov decided we all needed Russian nicknames?” Kirk asked
Bones, laughing softly at the memory.

“Except me,” McCoy said, laughing himself. “I just got to be Leo since
‘Leonard is already a good Russian name, da,’” he said, imitating Chekov.

“Rand says they’re still alive and that the plants knew enough to take away
their communicators, but apparently have no idea she can still transmit,”
Kirk said.  “She thinks Spock has learned something but they can’t
communicate verbally and he has to touch someone to make contact, normally.”

“And Chekov?” McCoy asked, worried about the young man.

“Ready to eat nails, then spit them out at high speed,” Kirk said, smiling
fondly.  But then he turned serious.  “We can attempt a high altitude
observation since we can home in on Rand’s signal.  That will give us more
data to work with.  Rand says they have the scientists and are keeping them
alive.  These plants must be under standing orders to capture intruders
alive.”

“Probably waiting for the Mohilar or whoever built those ruins to come
back,” McCoy said, imagining the long and lonely vigil.  He didn’t want to
feel sympathetic for kidnappers, but he couldn’t help it.  He was a
doctor.  Sympathizing with people was part of his job.

Kirk nodded.  He expected Kirk felt a little sympathy too but it wouldn’t
stop him doing what had to be done, which is why he was in charge.  “There
are probably many creatures like them out there.”  He shook his head.  “See
if you can help Sulu and Scotty.  I’m going to get Uhura and do the
observation.”

“I will, Jim,” McCoy said and headed out.

*************

Spock had learned much from the plants, though he couldn’t share it with
anyone; his father could have, or his uncles.  His cousins, various foster
children of his parents, various foster children of his aunts and uncles
and…

He pushed aside his regrets, before he could remember most of them were
dead.  Remember it too much.  It had nearly broken him.  It had nearly
broken his father, who was a full Vulcan, which had enabled Spock to go on,
knowing it wasn’t just his human heritage.  Along with his mother’s
support.  She loved him, had always loved him and always would, whether he
did well or not.  Some days, he feared that had weakened him and other
days, it had been all which had saved him from breaking.

He felt sure this mind was a mass-mind, made up of many vastly weaker plant
minds.  Given enough time, it could overwhelm his mind; the dozen surviving
researchers it had as captives had been overwhelmed.

It must have some way to feed us, he thought.  The plants had not attached
themselves to provide something like an IV system, so how?

Having nothing else to do and no other goals, Spock was determined to find
a weakness.  Even if he couldn’t communicate it.  It might be useful in the
future, when the rescue attempt came.

The logical thing to do would have to been to report in to their employer
and get reinforcements, but he knew Kirk would never let them remain
captives one second longer than he could help.

Unfortunately, starships did not have stun settings, so he couldn’t just
blast the plants from above.  Though such an attack might make a good
distraction.

He could see Chekov seething, could feel Chekov’s anger without even having
to touch him.  Half-human, Spock normally required touch to mind-meld, but
with those he knew well, it was easier, especially if they were basically
broadcasting their thoughts on high intensity.

Opening his mind to Chekov but not the plants was tricky, but Spock had
tried to compensate for lack of talent with training and he felt he’d
succeeded.  Enough to reach, barely, Chekov’s mind.  ‘Can you hear me, Mr.
Chekov?’

‘DAMMIT SULU I COULD BE PUTTING A WORD IN FOR MY HOMELAND AT THAT
CONFERENCE AND ENJOYING A NICE SOFT HOTEL ROOM, BUT INSTEAD, I AM BEING THE
HOSTAGE OF A DAMN PLANT.’

Spock had calculated a 90% chance that most of the synthcultures would
either collapse or revert to barbarism before the Combine fully recovered,
but then a new wave of synthcultures would probably be created.  The
conference was unlikely to change this.

That being said, he would have preferred to visit the New Orion Science
Academy and see if they had any interesting new projects to being the
prisoner of plants.

Spock shared his findings on the plant and tried to reach out to Rand, but
her mind was tightly coiled inside her body and he couldn’t reach it.

‘CAN YOU PUNCH OUT ITS MIND SO I CAN BREAK FREE?’ Chekov asked.

‘Perhaps,’ Spock told him.  ‘I will attempt it when the rescue happens.’

‘THEN YOU NEED TO MAKE SULU FORGET HOW TO DRESS HIMSELF.’

Telepathy was not for petty revenge.

Also, he didn’t have the skills to actually do that.  He’d known Vulcans
who could, but would not, for it was not something to be used for petty
revenge.

But perhaps there was some way to make the plant forget how to hold them.
This would require thought.

He tried again to speak to the plant, which had been unwilling to
communicate beyond psychic force. He would prefer this end peacefully, but
feared it was too late for that.  ‘If you do not release us, more of our
kind will come and kill you.  Must this end in violence?’

‘INFERIOR SPECIES MUST BE HELD UNTIL THE MASTERS COME,’ it told him for the
twenty-second time.

‘Your masters will never come back,’ he said.

‘THEY ALWAYS RETURN.  SLEEP NOW,’ it said and tried to force him into
slumber.

There had to be a way but he feared they would not be able to find it.

**************

Sulu drove the shuttle, heading for the point from which they would launch
the rescue.  Scotty, in the Enterprise II with Kirk, would launch the
missiles; letting Kirk drive made him nervous.  The Durugh Sneakthieves had
been reconfigured, saving the expensive parts for resale, turning them into
defoliant missiles.  They’d also stripped out their supply of Kch-Thk
Scramble Bots; reprogrammed, they would ensure the defoliant would do its
work in seconds.  It had worked on the sample they’d collected on the other
side of the planet, anyway.

They would be down to just phasers and punchbeams if the ship had to fight
anything before they could resupply, though, as they’d run out of
Improbability Rockets and hadn’t been able to restock yet.  And the
neutronic fusillade needed spare parts or it would explode.

Sulu did not like being constantly short of things.  We should have taken
the diplomatic run so we could restock, he thought.  But if we did that,
these people might have never been saved.

Assuming he, McCoy, and Uhura could handle it.  He wished they had Kirk but
*someone* had to fly the ship.

“We’re in position, sir,” Uhura reported to Kirk.

“Okay, barrage begins.”  The missiles fired; normally they would have
vanished into warp space but that wasn’t necessary here.  Plants were
unlikely to have anti-missile defenses.

The defoliant exploded near where Rand’s signal was, but not on it; too
dangerous to the people they wanted to save.  Then Sulu felt a psychic
scream and nearly blacked out.  McCoy’s eyes rolled back and he slumped
over.  Uhura turned quickly and puked on the floor instead of the shuttle
console.

But now Sulu gunned it as Uhura propped McCoy against the third station on
the floor, then began firing the shuttle’s weak phasers against everything
in their way, trying to get close enough for a rescue.

Please let this work, he thought.

****************
Chekov was down for the count.  Spock had survived the shout, and Rand was
only functional because her internal cyborging gave her an adrenaline rush
to wake her up; she broke free as the plants lost their grip and she and
Spock began trying to wake up everyone.

“We’re coming!” she heard Uhura shout.

There were vines flailing everywhere, but it was clearly pain-thrashing,
not a coherent plan, and she managed to rouse the scientists and herd them
towards the ship.

“But our research results!,” Dr. Koh-la said urgently, waving his arms
vaguely towards their old base camp; he was Vas Mal, grey-skinned and a bit
lumpy, like some humans had once imagined aliens would be like, centuries
ago.

Spock was trying to mind-meld with a vine for some reason but she trusted
his judgment and left him to it.

Sulu phasered another vine as it came for him.  “Come on!”

“You can study this place later, when it’s safe,” Uhura shouted.

“I have some of your data,” Rand told him.  As much as she’d been able to
get in time.

Dr. Masha, a tall raven-haired Balla, disturbingly beautiful in the way of
her species, despite being disheveled, smelly, and groggy, said, “I’m not
paid enough to die for this, come on, Koh-la!”

She dragged him along and Rand wondered if all Vas Mal were insane or just
the ones she met.  With the Vas Mal, IDIC meant ‘Infinite Dumbness in
Infinite Combinations’.

“What use is being flesh if I have to keep abandoning what I learn?” he
wailed.

“You can ascend on your own time,” Sulu shouted, while blasting here,
there, everywhere, though many of the plants in this area were dead and the
rest moved more weakly.

“Your dedication to knowledge instead of the pleasures of the flesh is
commendable,” Dr. Masha told Dr. Koh-la as she herded him.  “However, it
must be also hedged by basic common sense. The dead can learn nothing.”

“Curse this useless flesh, I could travel at the speed of thought once.  I
visited the Magellianic Clusters as you call them, you know,” Dr. Koh-la
said as he was hustled.

Spock now came running after them, having been busy… distracting the plant
mind?  Probably.

And then there was a whining noise.  Which only she could hear.  “This
whole place is going to explode,” she said. “Dammit!”

  “My people call them the Kohfic Spheres,” Dr. Masha said. “I am not a
human.”

“But how do you tell?” Dr. Koh-la asked.  “Everyone looks basically the
same, other than accessories.”

As they vanished into the shuttle, the Enterprise II began blowing up
everything with its phaser arrays from high up.  Spock looked disappointed
as he ran into the shuttle and now the Leningrad took off as McCoy got it
going, having recovered from before, though looking woozy.

“I feel like I just drank an entire bottle of scotch,” he grumbled, rubbing
his head.

Spock put his hands on McCoy’s head.

“That wasn’t an invitation to mess with my hair,” McCoy said, but didn’t
stop him and then he relaxed.  “Better.”

The good news was Sulu managed to ride the shockwave instead of blowing up
in it.  The bad news was that the Leningrad was going to need extensive
repairs.

“Uhura, tell me you filmed that,” Chekov moaned as he sat on the floor;
there weren’t enough seats for this many people.  Fortunately, shuttles
were intended to carry up to 8 people with gear.  So it had been able to
lift off.

“Yes,” she said.  “I’ll edit it for our feed.  That should raise a few
credits.”

McCoy said, “Anyone need help?”  He got his medical tricorder and kit.

He was soon treating injuries as Rand sat in a chair, wondering how plants
could explode.

“Also, I’m pretty sure plants cannot explode,” Dr. Koh-la said as McCoy
scanned him and applied medical nanobots to various abrasions.

Dr. Andrews, a human with long black hair all bound up in a scarf, said,
“On Scarat III, a variety of plants release seedpod with ‘wings’ during the
windy season which fly up, then explode, releasing smaller seeds and
scattering them everywhere.”

The rest of the flight was full of a dozen biologists plus Sulu arguing
over how plants might explode or do something like it; Rand linked herself
to the ship’s link to the Feed and began surfing musical sites in an effort
to keep her sanity.

*****************
“It was standard Mohilar explosives,” Scotty told them later.  “I’m
thinking the basic idea was to trap as many people as possible, then when
that failed, to blow up all the hostages.  A man trap.”

The scientists were crammed into the convertible hold, which had been
converted to its ‘bulk dormitory’ mode.  Unfortunately, bulk dormitory
could only hold 8 unless people shared a bed, so some were on the floor
with blankets and pillows.  The crew were having a debriefing while the
scientists settled in.

Rand grimaced.  “Probably the whole planet is riddled with such things.”
“This is pretty mild by Mohilar standards.  I’m guessing they didn’t finish
their work here,” Scotty said.  “Or maybe the idea was to make it innocuous
enough that you would get suckered.”

“I tried to persuade it to back down and failed,” Spock said, sitting
stiffly in his chair.  “It was fanatically loyal to the Mohilar, though it
never actually said the Mohilar made it.  This may be some other, older
trap they found.”

“I sent a probe; the place it signaled had a blown up facility,” Uhura
said. “The probe brought back some bits, but probably it was a relay
station.”

“We got everyone back alive,” Kirk said. “The mission is complete and I’m
hoping Uhura and Chekov can wrangle us some extra money for bringing these
men back alive.”

“I’ll try.  The damage to the Leningrad is going to ensure we lose money on
this,” Chekov said wearily.  “Unless we get unusually good sales on our
feed.”

“I’ll do my best,” Uhura said, patting his hand.

Chekov flopped down, face on hand, then sat up. “I know you will,” he said.
“But our next job is going to be for *money*.  I’ve found us a new job, if
we all agree to take it.  We just have to pick up a Vas Mal witness and
escort him from Alphax IV to Iphgenia II, where he can testify in court.
Nice and easy.  This should go smooth like butter.”

“Already?” Scotty said, surprised.

“Thanks to our Feed Drone, we have an active connection,” Chekov said. “We
need the money and I think we all will need to relax, like a siesta in
Mother Russia.”

Scotty felt sure the old Russians had not taken siestas but he could use
one himself now.

And money for parts.

They agreed to take the case.  Once they got the scientists home, it would
be time to fly to Alphax IV and pick up Charlie X.

Scotty was ready for a nice quiet trip where he could get needed work done.

*****************
The plantmind had escaped; Spock was gratified by that.  It was just a
puppet and quite possibly this would only delay its death.  But Vulcans
tried to avoid unnecessary violence in favor of diplomacy.  This thing
might be unique and killing it sat poorly with him.

He’d already done enough killing for a lifetime, but he could not leave
this crew, though his father had urged him to help with the creation of New
Vulcan.  But too many of his own kind looked down on him; he could never be
entirely comfortable with humans or Vulcans.

But he was comfortable here.  They accepted him.  Needing that acceptance
was a human weakness.

After all, he was half-human.

He sat at his desk; his eyes read science journals, while his mind wandered
despite his efforts to discipline it.

In the war, they would have killed it.  Most of the others wouldn’t
understand.  Humans often did not feel life as sacred as Vulcans did.  But
even Vulcans killed in war.  Once war was over, they stopped.  But humans
found it hard to stop.

They were not as hardened as some had become, but the war had touched them
all.
-------------- next part --------------
An HTML attachment was scrubbed...
URL: <http://www.chez-vrolet.net/pipermail/ffml/attachments/20171021/31791ac1/attachment.html>