Star Trek fic: Supplemental (crew)
Jun. 15th, 2009 11:19 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
seriousficTitle: Supplemental
Fandom: Star Trek
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 2,932
Previous: Planet Eden
Characters/Pairings: Kirk, Spock, Number One, Captain Jack Sparrow
Summary: When Kirk heard he’d be fighting space pirates in Starfleet, this wasn’t what he expected at all.
Kirk watched in growing disbelief as the pirate ship—which was made of wood—did a half-turn. This was very impressive, as there was no wind in space. Or air. Then it broadsided them.
A tremor went through the ship, as if the warp drive had hiccupped. Sulu reported “Shields at 99.999999”
“I get the picture,” Kirk said. “Number One, target the… mast and fire a warning shot.”
A phaser lanced out and neatly chopped down the mast. The Black Pearl listed to port.
“Nice shooting. Mr. Spock, theories?”
“We are all involved in a mass hallucination, possibly brought on by narcotics.”
“Spock, I’m not going to report to Command that we’re all on drugs.”
“They’d believe it,” Uhura muttered.
“Keptin, we’re being hailed,” Chekov said.
“How are they even doing that? On screen.”
The bizarre visage of Jack Sparrow filled the viewscreen. “Parley?”
***
As soon as he was beamed onboard, Jack stumbled off the transporter pad, prat-fell into a roll, and bumped his head against the control console.
“You’re the worst pirate I’ve ever seen, Mr. Sparrow,” Jim told him.
“Captain!” Jack corrected. “Jimmy, you seem like a man who knows a fair deal. Certainly, by the Law of the Sea, you could take me back to the governor to be hanged, but whuzzat gain you? Won’t put a drop of rum down y’ur men’s gullets, now will it? And I was joking with you, after all.”
“I’m not amused,” Jim said. He’d been told there’d be pirates, not… gay pirate-themed junkies.
Jack pointed past him. “He thinks it’s funny, don’t you Mr…?”
“Spock. And no, I do not.”
“Well, he probably didn’t hear it right on account of the queer ears. Now Jimmy, you could turn me over to the Squire, or I could take you to the planet of the Sirens, where moon-women sing their sons of seduction for any man.” His eyebrows quirked. “And every man.”
“This is a military vessel,” Spock said. “We have orders.”
“Better things to do than ferry around some old pirate? Smashing, just WRRRRRR,” he whirled his fingers around next to his head to convey ‘transporter’, “me back to the Pearl and I’ll be out your way.”
“Hold on,” Jim said, pushing Jack down into a chair with an arm on either shoulder. “You mentioned a Squire. Who’s he?”
“Squire?” Jack looked around. “I don’t remember saying that, and that’s something I would’ve remembered saying, so it obviously wasn’t said.”
“You did say it,” Spock said.
“Oy, who asked you!?”
“Are you afraid of him?” Jim asked as he leaned over the seated Jack.
“What? No! What? How would I be afraid of someone what’s name I haven’t even said?”
Jim stood up. “Take us to the Squire and we’ll let you off with a warning.”
“The Squire? Why didn’t you just say, I thought you meant the Dire. The Squire and I, we’re old chaps, thick as thieves him and I, me and him… us. Do I have to come?”
“Yes,” Kirk and Spock said at once.
***
Captain’s Log: Supplemental. Investigating the strange phenomenon of the Black Pearl, we follow Captain Sparrow’s directions into uncharted territory, to a local governor known only as the Squire. Will he be friend or foe? Only time will tell.
Additionally, the stardate is 450051.2, and contrary to Number One’s gossip, I do not say supplemental just because I’ve forgotten the stardate.
“You did still gin up your report,” Number One said, not looking up from the phaser controls she was calibrating.
Kirk swiveled his command chair. “What did I say that wasn’t completely factual?”
“Friend or foe, time will tell. It’s like you’re trying to make your log… suspenseful.”
“Every captain’s log I read at the Academy was boring as Argoasian lizard-men. I’m just trying to punch it up a little. For the kids.”
“You’re not supposed to do that.”
“What, you don’t like kids?”
“Are you done making the log?” Yeoman Rand asked, holding the recorder. “My arms are getting tired.”
“Carry on.” Kirk crossed his legs. “Exciting, isn’t it, knowing that at any moment, any of us could be called on to make a decision that could save the Enterprise… or destroy her.”
“You’re doing it again,” Number One said.
“Quiet on the bridge,” Jim settled back in his chair. “Rank hath its privileges.”
“Captain, there’s something I think you should be aware of,” Spock said.
Kirk hopped up and went to his station. “What’s up?”
Spock pressed a button on his console. The screen showed a short clip of Captain Sparrow riding a horse to catch up to a train full of Confederate soldiers. Unlike their current passenger, this Jack had gray hair and a bamboo hand.
“It’s from ‘Pirates of the Caribbean: Jack Goes West’.” Just saying the name obviously made Spock feel unacceptably illogical. “The eleventh in the series.”
“Why would anyone want to watch eleven movies of this crap?” Jim looked up. “Wait, you’re telling me the pirate in our brig is a fictional character.”
“Yes. I just recalled him from nursery rhymes my mother used to sing to me.”
“You remember… never mind. I’m sure there’ll be a perfectly logical explanation for this once we find the Squire.”
“Thank you, Captain.”
***
It took four hours at high warp, crossing the sector to the end that bordered on unknown space, but they reached Jack’s coordinates. Kirk tensed and turned off ‘Pirates of the Caribbean: Jack Vs. Jaws’ (the shark had just been given the ability to swim through land by a witch). “Sound yellow alert, just to be on the safe side.”
“Aye, captain, yellow alert.”
“Mr. Spock?”
“Detecting a planetary body, M-class.” Spock’s brow furrowed as the blue light of his scanner played over it. “Captain, visual processing of these readings would be most expedient.”
“Seeing is believing, got it. On screen.”
The viewscreen showed a blue-green world, spinning subtly under a veil of clouds. Jim stood up. “Goddamn. That’s Earth.”
“Or an amazing facsimile,” Spock pointed out.
Kirk turned to him. “Life signs?”
“Inhabited, but readings do not correspond to Earth zoology. Only one settlement shows signs of intelligent life. Power readings off the chart. It is located in the Caribbeans.”
“Open a hail,” Jim ordered. He sat back down, trying to think of what to say. “Hi there?”
Impossibly, words appeared on the viewscreen as if being written by an invisible hand. They said “Tally-ho!”
Jim felt Number One’s eyes boring into the back of his skull. He knew she blamed him for this.
“Spock, little help?”
“Ancient Earth greetings, Captain. I believe we’re being extended…” The Enterprise disappeared. “An invitation.”
They were planetside, in what looked like (as Spock told Kirk) an old plantation. The manor itself, painted a gleaming white, glowed in the distance, but the jungle was much closer. It pressed in on them almost like a fist.
“Captain, I believe we have been beamed down to the planet.”
“No shit.” Jim reached for the phaser that wasn’t on his belt, then settled for a rock. “How is that possible, we had our shields up?”
“How is it possible to beam onto a starship at warp?”
“I’m still not telling you how I did that, by the way. Hey Spock, correct me if I’m wrong—as always--but this tree isn’t native to Earth.” He was referring to the purple baobad tree with tentacles instead of branches.
“Indeed not. It’s not my area of expertise, but I believe it is native to Mugat.”
“Need a little more to go on, Spock.”
“A planet in the Dra’M’He system. Its entire biosystem was wiped out by the evolution of a superpredator.”
Something roared in the distance.
“Did it sound anything like that?” Kirk asked.
“Unknown, but a likely hypothesis.”
“Run?”
“Yes.”
They ran for the plantation, only getting a few steps before the foliage behind them exploded. A white blur of fur and claws streaked toward them, gaining ground rapidly. Since that Godzilla business on Delta Vega, Jim had been sure to take up jogging. He slipped through the humid air at roughly the same speed as Spock.
“This way,” Spock said, and led him down a cleft in the land eight feet deep, a log bridging it. Its root-strewn depth was just wide enough for one. Spock went first, shoulder brushing clods of dirt from the walls. Then, with a loud thump, Kirk heard the predator land overhead. He tackled Spock to the ground just as it clawed for them, its muscular paw barely fitting into the crevice. The earth shook as it pounded the sides of the crevice in frustration.
Jim rolled off Spock, lying side by side with him. “You okay?”
“I am unharmed, Captain.”
“Call me Jim.”
“Captain, Starfleet regulations frown—“
“Consider it an order. Hey, that thing—”
“Carnivorus Mugatus,” Spock said automatically.
“Yeah, the Mugatu. It stopped. Oh shit.”
The Mugatu had begun digging, long claws the color of dried blood eating away at their shelter.
Kirk tried to stay cool despite the sod raining down on him. “Spock, thoughts?”
“It is only logical to accept death as a progression of life.”
“Not helpful. Alright, Mugatu gets close enough, you give it your Sunday punch, then we run like hell.”
Spock arched an eyebrow.
“What, you’ve got a better idea?”
“I do not see what bearing the day of the week has on pugilistics.”
The mugatu shoved its elongated snout down at them, cutting off the discussion. Spock struck it in the nose, then they made a break for it. The maneuver only enraged it further. It lunged and tackled Spock a round the midsection, bearing him to the ground. Kirk wrapped his arm around the simian’s thick neck as he aimed his knees at what he hoped were its kidneys, but the mugatu appeared not to notice him. Pinning Spock down, it drew back its horn expectantly.
A shot rang out. The exit wound burst just east of Kirk’s head, splashing his face with thick blood. The mugatu pitched over, pawing at the hole in its chest. Jim pried its arms off Spock, who was scratched and dusty but fine. He pulled Jim away from the creature’s death throes, just to be safe. “I believe that was a firearm.”
“Or a cannon,” Jim said. “Looks like I owe someone a beer.”
“Ahh, I wouldn’t hear of it. You will drink my private vintage!”
The voice was Estuary English, chipper as a sunrise. And its owner was as fantastic as anything they’d encountered on this mission. He was a lank, tall human dressed in Napoleonic uniform, with his trim chest covered in medals. The Starfleet officers were disquieted to see emblems from Nazi Germany and Colonel Green’s regime among the decorations. His wild hair was not quite covered by a tricorne and a rapier hung at his side in a jewel-encrusted scabbard. He rested a blunderbuss on his shoulder, smoke billowing from the wide muzzle.
“I’m the Squire of Gothos, but my friends call me Trelane!”
“Squire…”
“Call me Trelane!”
“Trelane,” Spock began, “what is your goal in absconding with us?”
“Why, introductions! I must get to know you before the Games begin!”
“Games?” Jim asked.
“Boring twaddle to talk about, but great fun to go about! First things first! Captain, would you care to administer the coup de grace?”
Kirk looked at the mugatu’s copious bleeding. “No thanks,” he said with disgust.
“Brilliant, more for me!” Drawing a rod from his chest, Trelane telescoped it into a staff as tall as a man, the top in the shape of a gyroscopic crescent. When he jammed the glowing blue end into the mugatu’s neck, the weapon automatically collected the beast’s head.
“Come then, so much to do and so little time.” He laughed uproariously. “Heh, time.”
Trelane trotted his horse to the plantation, mugatu head held high. The Starfleet officers jogged lightly to keep up. Trelane kept up mile-a-minute smalltalk all the way through the trip, mostly boasting about his hunting trophies, or quizzing them on their battle with the Narada. His knowledge was extensive for an incident that was still mostly classified.
Finally they reached the plantation, where Trelane planted his pike by the gate. The mugatu’s head was one of many.
“As a fellow military man, I know you’re as appalled as I at the dearth of decent wars. That’s why it’s so important this next one be a goer. I don’t think we’re due another for a whole century! Ruddy Organians, always spoiling everyone’s fun! Worse than that wormhole bunch, the wankers. And that nursemaid, stuff him, thank me he’s in the Delta Quadrant or we’d never have any fun. But ahh, don’t you worry, they can’t stop the games. Wine?”
“We’re on duty,” Jim said, half-marveling at the furnishings. Spock, equally intrigued, catalogued the furniture and decorations with an upturned eyebrow. The plantation was furnished with the richest detail in all things, from the Persian rugs to the gargantuan fireplaces. Murals on the walls, each the size of a shuttlecraft, depicted bloody battles. Jim recognized Kahn at the Battle of Tehran.
“Oh, don’t be that way, Captain, I must insist! Have some Romulan Ale!”
“No, thank you.”
Trelane darkened, the candles and fireplaces guttering like in the darkness under a storm. “You must foil all my attempts to be a gracious host, mustn’t you? Fine then, be a bore. Soon you’ll be begging for my hospitality.”
“We don’t take kindly to threats,” Jim threatened.
“Oh, that was no threat, captain. That was a promise.” Trelane’s voice was as heavy as a black hole. “And a gentleman always keeps his word. Tea?”
“Yes, please,” Spock said, eager to return their host to an even keel.
***
Trelane served them from a trolley, humming merrily. “I do hope the pirates didn’t give you any trouble. They can be a bother, but that is the point.”
“You… created them?” Spock asked.
“I was lonely,” Trelane muttered. Unguarded, his voice was child-like, anguished. He sprung up. “They are such marvelous fun to kill, aren’t they, aren’t they?”
“We have not killed the pirates,” Spock said.
“Well, your loss. I do hope you’ll be a touch more bloodthirsty in the Games. Otherwise you’ve no hope of winning.”
With a ‘fuck it’ eye-roll, Kirk pounded his fist on the table. “Trelane, I don’t know what these games are, but if they’re as violent and brutal as you make them sound—“
“Oh, they are, I promise!”
“—then we want no part of them!”
Trelane fumed, then obliterated it with a sip of his tea. “But of course, captain, you don’t know the prize.”
“No prize will convince me to endanger my crew!”
“Oh, now there’s a segue if I’ve ever heard one!” Trelane bounded up. “Come along, you wouldn’t dare forgive yourself for missing this!”
“We’re not going anywhere!” Kirk snapped. “You’ll return us to our ship immediately or we’ll—“ They were in a new room. “I hate when he does that.”
“I myself was most curious how you planned to end that sentence,” Spock said.
This room was almost like a museum exhibit, only it was the size of a baseball stadium. The walls were thick with paintings and statues served as oases in the vast desert of tiled floor.
“I must confess, like any collector, I take an immodest pride in my collection. No slur intended against you… pacifists, Commander Spock, but I’ve always been especially fond of Earth. Oh, what a treat it is when I’m able to pluck one of you lovelies through space-time. I have so much fun and I learn so much. Just look!” He pointed to a statue. It was painted so well it almost looked alive. “Amelia Earhart! And a tongue on her, that one. Had to freeze her sooner rather than later. Women, eh? Come on then, there’s still more, still more.”
He led and Spock followed, though Jim crossed his arms and hunkered down. He couldn’t even announce his protest before he was shoved along by an invisible wall.
“Here we are!” Trelane leaned proudly against a male statue. “Guess who, my dear captain.”
Jim glanced petulantly. “I’ve never seen him before in my life.”
“I believe that!” Trelane chuckled. “Look closer. And Spock, we wouldn’t want you to feel left out. A logic problem. The Narada and the Jellyfish were pulled through a red hole—that’s artificial black hole, if you’re trying to keep up captain, it’s not really red—but both emerged unharmed. Here’s the question. What happened to Vulcan?”
Jim had known Spock long enough to see the tremor pass through his jawline. “The seismic disturbances caused by the gravitational pull would’ve rendered it uninhabitable. It would emerge as sheer rubble. Nothing could survive.”
“Unless someone put it back together.” Trelane put a hand against a miles-tall wall and slouched. “Come now, Spock, I always figured you for a big picture kind of guy.”
Spock looked at the portraits on the wall Trelane was leaning against. Landscapes. He recognized them. Temple of Amonak, the T'Karath Sanctuary, the Fire Plains. Vulcan. Some of the landscapes had people on them.
“Old photos,” Jim murmured, adrift. “Dad?”
The statue unfroze, came to life in time to hear Kirk’s whisper. George recognized his wife’s eyes. “James?” He reached out to him. “Is this heaven?”
Trelane snapped his fingers and George froze again, fingers inches from Jim’s. “You tell me. So, gentleman, now you know the prize. And here are the stakes. You lose, your universe dies. Ready? Set?”
Author's notes: Well, that looks worryingly like a plot. I think we've seen the last of the joking around for a while. Please, feel free to picture David Tennant as Trelane, for reasons that will become obvious.
Fandom: Star Trek
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 2,932
Previous: Planet Eden
Characters/Pairings: Kirk, Spock, Number One, Captain Jack Sparrow
Summary: When Kirk heard he’d be fighting space pirates in Starfleet, this wasn’t what he expected at all.
Kirk watched in growing disbelief as the pirate ship—which was made of wood—did a half-turn. This was very impressive, as there was no wind in space. Or air. Then it broadsided them.
A tremor went through the ship, as if the warp drive had hiccupped. Sulu reported “Shields at 99.999999”
“I get the picture,” Kirk said. “Number One, target the… mast and fire a warning shot.”
A phaser lanced out and neatly chopped down the mast. The Black Pearl listed to port.
“Nice shooting. Mr. Spock, theories?”
“We are all involved in a mass hallucination, possibly brought on by narcotics.”
“Spock, I’m not going to report to Command that we’re all on drugs.”
“They’d believe it,” Uhura muttered.
“Keptin, we’re being hailed,” Chekov said.
“How are they even doing that? On screen.”
The bizarre visage of Jack Sparrow filled the viewscreen. “Parley?”
***
As soon as he was beamed onboard, Jack stumbled off the transporter pad, prat-fell into a roll, and bumped his head against the control console.
“You’re the worst pirate I’ve ever seen, Mr. Sparrow,” Jim told him.
“Captain!” Jack corrected. “Jimmy, you seem like a man who knows a fair deal. Certainly, by the Law of the Sea, you could take me back to the governor to be hanged, but whuzzat gain you? Won’t put a drop of rum down y’ur men’s gullets, now will it? And I was joking with you, after all.”
“I’m not amused,” Jim said. He’d been told there’d be pirates, not… gay pirate-themed junkies.
Jack pointed past him. “He thinks it’s funny, don’t you Mr…?”
“Spock. And no, I do not.”
“Well, he probably didn’t hear it right on account of the queer ears. Now Jimmy, you could turn me over to the Squire, or I could take you to the planet of the Sirens, where moon-women sing their sons of seduction for any man.” His eyebrows quirked. “And every man.”
“This is a military vessel,” Spock said. “We have orders.”
“Better things to do than ferry around some old pirate? Smashing, just WRRRRRR,” he whirled his fingers around next to his head to convey ‘transporter’, “me back to the Pearl and I’ll be out your way.”
“Hold on,” Jim said, pushing Jack down into a chair with an arm on either shoulder. “You mentioned a Squire. Who’s he?”
“Squire?” Jack looked around. “I don’t remember saying that, and that’s something I would’ve remembered saying, so it obviously wasn’t said.”
“You did say it,” Spock said.
“Oy, who asked you!?”
“Are you afraid of him?” Jim asked as he leaned over the seated Jack.
“What? No! What? How would I be afraid of someone what’s name I haven’t even said?”
Jim stood up. “Take us to the Squire and we’ll let you off with a warning.”
“The Squire? Why didn’t you just say, I thought you meant the Dire. The Squire and I, we’re old chaps, thick as thieves him and I, me and him… us. Do I have to come?”
“Yes,” Kirk and Spock said at once.
***
Captain’s Log: Supplemental. Investigating the strange phenomenon of the Black Pearl, we follow Captain Sparrow’s directions into uncharted territory, to a local governor known only as the Squire. Will he be friend or foe? Only time will tell.
Additionally, the stardate is 450051.2, and contrary to Number One’s gossip, I do not say supplemental just because I’ve forgotten the stardate.
“You did still gin up your report,” Number One said, not looking up from the phaser controls she was calibrating.
Kirk swiveled his command chair. “What did I say that wasn’t completely factual?”
“Friend or foe, time will tell. It’s like you’re trying to make your log… suspenseful.”
“Every captain’s log I read at the Academy was boring as Argoasian lizard-men. I’m just trying to punch it up a little. For the kids.”
“You’re not supposed to do that.”
“What, you don’t like kids?”
“Are you done making the log?” Yeoman Rand asked, holding the recorder. “My arms are getting tired.”
“Carry on.” Kirk crossed his legs. “Exciting, isn’t it, knowing that at any moment, any of us could be called on to make a decision that could save the Enterprise… or destroy her.”
“You’re doing it again,” Number One said.
“Quiet on the bridge,” Jim settled back in his chair. “Rank hath its privileges.”
“Captain, there’s something I think you should be aware of,” Spock said.
Kirk hopped up and went to his station. “What’s up?”
Spock pressed a button on his console. The screen showed a short clip of Captain Sparrow riding a horse to catch up to a train full of Confederate soldiers. Unlike their current passenger, this Jack had gray hair and a bamboo hand.
“It’s from ‘Pirates of the Caribbean: Jack Goes West’.” Just saying the name obviously made Spock feel unacceptably illogical. “The eleventh in the series.”
“Why would anyone want to watch eleven movies of this crap?” Jim looked up. “Wait, you’re telling me the pirate in our brig is a fictional character.”
“Yes. I just recalled him from nursery rhymes my mother used to sing to me.”
“You remember… never mind. I’m sure there’ll be a perfectly logical explanation for this once we find the Squire.”
“Thank you, Captain.”
***
It took four hours at high warp, crossing the sector to the end that bordered on unknown space, but they reached Jack’s coordinates. Kirk tensed and turned off ‘Pirates of the Caribbean: Jack Vs. Jaws’ (the shark had just been given the ability to swim through land by a witch). “Sound yellow alert, just to be on the safe side.”
“Aye, captain, yellow alert.”
“Mr. Spock?”
“Detecting a planetary body, M-class.” Spock’s brow furrowed as the blue light of his scanner played over it. “Captain, visual processing of these readings would be most expedient.”
“Seeing is believing, got it. On screen.”
The viewscreen showed a blue-green world, spinning subtly under a veil of clouds. Jim stood up. “Goddamn. That’s Earth.”
“Or an amazing facsimile,” Spock pointed out.
Kirk turned to him. “Life signs?”
“Inhabited, but readings do not correspond to Earth zoology. Only one settlement shows signs of intelligent life. Power readings off the chart. It is located in the Caribbeans.”
“Open a hail,” Jim ordered. He sat back down, trying to think of what to say. “Hi there?”
Impossibly, words appeared on the viewscreen as if being written by an invisible hand. They said “Tally-ho!”
Jim felt Number One’s eyes boring into the back of his skull. He knew she blamed him for this.
“Spock, little help?”
“Ancient Earth greetings, Captain. I believe we’re being extended…” The Enterprise disappeared. “An invitation.”
They were planetside, in what looked like (as Spock told Kirk) an old plantation. The manor itself, painted a gleaming white, glowed in the distance, but the jungle was much closer. It pressed in on them almost like a fist.
“Captain, I believe we have been beamed down to the planet.”
“No shit.” Jim reached for the phaser that wasn’t on his belt, then settled for a rock. “How is that possible, we had our shields up?”
“How is it possible to beam onto a starship at warp?”
“I’m still not telling you how I did that, by the way. Hey Spock, correct me if I’m wrong—as always--but this tree isn’t native to Earth.” He was referring to the purple baobad tree with tentacles instead of branches.
“Indeed not. It’s not my area of expertise, but I believe it is native to Mugat.”
“Need a little more to go on, Spock.”
“A planet in the Dra’M’He system. Its entire biosystem was wiped out by the evolution of a superpredator.”
Something roared in the distance.
“Did it sound anything like that?” Kirk asked.
“Unknown, but a likely hypothesis.”
“Run?”
“Yes.”
They ran for the plantation, only getting a few steps before the foliage behind them exploded. A white blur of fur and claws streaked toward them, gaining ground rapidly. Since that Godzilla business on Delta Vega, Jim had been sure to take up jogging. He slipped through the humid air at roughly the same speed as Spock.
“This way,” Spock said, and led him down a cleft in the land eight feet deep, a log bridging it. Its root-strewn depth was just wide enough for one. Spock went first, shoulder brushing clods of dirt from the walls. Then, with a loud thump, Kirk heard the predator land overhead. He tackled Spock to the ground just as it clawed for them, its muscular paw barely fitting into the crevice. The earth shook as it pounded the sides of the crevice in frustration.
Jim rolled off Spock, lying side by side with him. “You okay?”
“I am unharmed, Captain.”
“Call me Jim.”
“Captain, Starfleet regulations frown—“
“Consider it an order. Hey, that thing—”
“Carnivorus Mugatus,” Spock said automatically.
“Yeah, the Mugatu. It stopped. Oh shit.”
The Mugatu had begun digging, long claws the color of dried blood eating away at their shelter.
Kirk tried to stay cool despite the sod raining down on him. “Spock, thoughts?”
“It is only logical to accept death as a progression of life.”
“Not helpful. Alright, Mugatu gets close enough, you give it your Sunday punch, then we run like hell.”
Spock arched an eyebrow.
“What, you’ve got a better idea?”
“I do not see what bearing the day of the week has on pugilistics.”
The mugatu shoved its elongated snout down at them, cutting off the discussion. Spock struck it in the nose, then they made a break for it. The maneuver only enraged it further. It lunged and tackled Spock a round the midsection, bearing him to the ground. Kirk wrapped his arm around the simian’s thick neck as he aimed his knees at what he hoped were its kidneys, but the mugatu appeared not to notice him. Pinning Spock down, it drew back its horn expectantly.
A shot rang out. The exit wound burst just east of Kirk’s head, splashing his face with thick blood. The mugatu pitched over, pawing at the hole in its chest. Jim pried its arms off Spock, who was scratched and dusty but fine. He pulled Jim away from the creature’s death throes, just to be safe. “I believe that was a firearm.”
“Or a cannon,” Jim said. “Looks like I owe someone a beer.”
“Ahh, I wouldn’t hear of it. You will drink my private vintage!”
The voice was Estuary English, chipper as a sunrise. And its owner was as fantastic as anything they’d encountered on this mission. He was a lank, tall human dressed in Napoleonic uniform, with his trim chest covered in medals. The Starfleet officers were disquieted to see emblems from Nazi Germany and Colonel Green’s regime among the decorations. His wild hair was not quite covered by a tricorne and a rapier hung at his side in a jewel-encrusted scabbard. He rested a blunderbuss on his shoulder, smoke billowing from the wide muzzle.
“I’m the Squire of Gothos, but my friends call me Trelane!”
“Squire…”
“Call me Trelane!”
“Trelane,” Spock began, “what is your goal in absconding with us?”
“Why, introductions! I must get to know you before the Games begin!”
“Games?” Jim asked.
“Boring twaddle to talk about, but great fun to go about! First things first! Captain, would you care to administer the coup de grace?”
Kirk looked at the mugatu’s copious bleeding. “No thanks,” he said with disgust.
“Brilliant, more for me!” Drawing a rod from his chest, Trelane telescoped it into a staff as tall as a man, the top in the shape of a gyroscopic crescent. When he jammed the glowing blue end into the mugatu’s neck, the weapon automatically collected the beast’s head.
“Come then, so much to do and so little time.” He laughed uproariously. “Heh, time.”
Trelane trotted his horse to the plantation, mugatu head held high. The Starfleet officers jogged lightly to keep up. Trelane kept up mile-a-minute smalltalk all the way through the trip, mostly boasting about his hunting trophies, or quizzing them on their battle with the Narada. His knowledge was extensive for an incident that was still mostly classified.
Finally they reached the plantation, where Trelane planted his pike by the gate. The mugatu’s head was one of many.
“As a fellow military man, I know you’re as appalled as I at the dearth of decent wars. That’s why it’s so important this next one be a goer. I don’t think we’re due another for a whole century! Ruddy Organians, always spoiling everyone’s fun! Worse than that wormhole bunch, the wankers. And that nursemaid, stuff him, thank me he’s in the Delta Quadrant or we’d never have any fun. But ahh, don’t you worry, they can’t stop the games. Wine?”
“We’re on duty,” Jim said, half-marveling at the furnishings. Spock, equally intrigued, catalogued the furniture and decorations with an upturned eyebrow. The plantation was furnished with the richest detail in all things, from the Persian rugs to the gargantuan fireplaces. Murals on the walls, each the size of a shuttlecraft, depicted bloody battles. Jim recognized Kahn at the Battle of Tehran.
“Oh, don’t be that way, Captain, I must insist! Have some Romulan Ale!”
“No, thank you.”
Trelane darkened, the candles and fireplaces guttering like in the darkness under a storm. “You must foil all my attempts to be a gracious host, mustn’t you? Fine then, be a bore. Soon you’ll be begging for my hospitality.”
“We don’t take kindly to threats,” Jim threatened.
“Oh, that was no threat, captain. That was a promise.” Trelane’s voice was as heavy as a black hole. “And a gentleman always keeps his word. Tea?”
“Yes, please,” Spock said, eager to return their host to an even keel.
***
Trelane served them from a trolley, humming merrily. “I do hope the pirates didn’t give you any trouble. They can be a bother, but that is the point.”
“You… created them?” Spock asked.
“I was lonely,” Trelane muttered. Unguarded, his voice was child-like, anguished. He sprung up. “They are such marvelous fun to kill, aren’t they, aren’t they?”
“We have not killed the pirates,” Spock said.
“Well, your loss. I do hope you’ll be a touch more bloodthirsty in the Games. Otherwise you’ve no hope of winning.”
With a ‘fuck it’ eye-roll, Kirk pounded his fist on the table. “Trelane, I don’t know what these games are, but if they’re as violent and brutal as you make them sound—“
“Oh, they are, I promise!”
“—then we want no part of them!”
Trelane fumed, then obliterated it with a sip of his tea. “But of course, captain, you don’t know the prize.”
“No prize will convince me to endanger my crew!”
“Oh, now there’s a segue if I’ve ever heard one!” Trelane bounded up. “Come along, you wouldn’t dare forgive yourself for missing this!”
“We’re not going anywhere!” Kirk snapped. “You’ll return us to our ship immediately or we’ll—“ They were in a new room. “I hate when he does that.”
“I myself was most curious how you planned to end that sentence,” Spock said.
This room was almost like a museum exhibit, only it was the size of a baseball stadium. The walls were thick with paintings and statues served as oases in the vast desert of tiled floor.
“I must confess, like any collector, I take an immodest pride in my collection. No slur intended against you… pacifists, Commander Spock, but I’ve always been especially fond of Earth. Oh, what a treat it is when I’m able to pluck one of you lovelies through space-time. I have so much fun and I learn so much. Just look!” He pointed to a statue. It was painted so well it almost looked alive. “Amelia Earhart! And a tongue on her, that one. Had to freeze her sooner rather than later. Women, eh? Come on then, there’s still more, still more.”
He led and Spock followed, though Jim crossed his arms and hunkered down. He couldn’t even announce his protest before he was shoved along by an invisible wall.
“Here we are!” Trelane leaned proudly against a male statue. “Guess who, my dear captain.”
Jim glanced petulantly. “I’ve never seen him before in my life.”
“I believe that!” Trelane chuckled. “Look closer. And Spock, we wouldn’t want you to feel left out. A logic problem. The Narada and the Jellyfish were pulled through a red hole—that’s artificial black hole, if you’re trying to keep up captain, it’s not really red—but both emerged unharmed. Here’s the question. What happened to Vulcan?”
Jim had known Spock long enough to see the tremor pass through his jawline. “The seismic disturbances caused by the gravitational pull would’ve rendered it uninhabitable. It would emerge as sheer rubble. Nothing could survive.”
“Unless someone put it back together.” Trelane put a hand against a miles-tall wall and slouched. “Come now, Spock, I always figured you for a big picture kind of guy.”
Spock looked at the portraits on the wall Trelane was leaning against. Landscapes. He recognized them. Temple of Amonak, the T'Karath Sanctuary, the Fire Plains. Vulcan. Some of the landscapes had people on them.
“Old photos,” Jim murmured, adrift. “Dad?”
The statue unfroze, came to life in time to hear Kirk’s whisper. George recognized his wife’s eyes. “James?” He reached out to him. “Is this heaven?”
Trelane snapped his fingers and George froze again, fingers inches from Jim’s. “You tell me. So, gentleman, now you know the prize. And here are the stakes. You lose, your universe dies. Ready? Set?”
Author's notes: Well, that looks worryingly like a plot. I think we've seen the last of the joking around for a while. Please, feel free to picture David Tennant as Trelane, for reasons that will become obvious.
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no subject
Date: 2009-06-15 05:02 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-06-15 05:53 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-06-15 06:52 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-06-15 07:54 pm (UTC)*sits here and stares at the internet until more turns up*
no subject
Date: 2009-06-16 12:20 am (UTC)Oh, and this is love:
“I myself was most curious how you planned to end that sentence,” Spock said.
Jack Sparrow as a creation of Trelane's is utterly hilarious, BTW, and very, very Trekkian, to the point where I kind of wonder why they never *did* run into omnipotent trickster aliens who made space pirates on sailing ships... in space. I mean, that totally seems like something *some* Star Trek character should have done, between the OK Corral, Q's Robin Hood adventure, the Caretaker and his down-home charm...
no subject
Date: 2009-06-16 01:07 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-06-17 04:49 am (UTC)Answer: Quite a lot.
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Date: 2009-06-16 05:03 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-06-17 04:49 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-06-26 01:32 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-06-26 06:10 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-03-16 11:02 pm (UTC)“You remember… never mind. '
That has got to be one of the bizarrest mental images I've ever had, but it is love nonetheless :D