Chapter Text
If there’s something that James T. Kirk hates, it is propaganda for propaganda’s sake.
Why put his grieving family in front of the cameras? Why hide the fact that Sammy ran away? Why pretend that Jim never went to Tarsus IV?
Why say that it wasn’t a Vulcan vessel that came to the rescue of the colonists?
Perhaps what Jim truly hates is Starfleet.
Perhaps he can’t because it is Starfleet’s own pride that means he can hide as he does.
“James, place both of your feet onto the floor and wear the protective equipment you began your shift with,” Sern was unphased as he walked into Engineering to see the ship’s sole human hanging upside-down from a pipe, shirtless and missing his goggles and gloves.
Jim pulled at a piece of plating, “Five more minutes!”
“James, a fall from this height has an 8.37% chance of breaking your human spinal cord,” Sern scolded.
“I’m–” He refitted a pair of red rubber wires that hissed in annoyance at his manhandling “–fine.”
Sern looked like he wanted to sigh, but, as Vulcans do not sigh, he did not.
“Captain,” Senak approached. “Several crewmates and myself have attempted to gain insight into his modifications and return his safety equipment to his person; however, our efforts have met critical failure.”
Jim rolled his eyes at the dramatics of the Chief Engineer onboard the VSS Iria, Vulcan’s prized long-distance science exploratory vessel.
Despite nearly all larger science and exploration vessels belonging to Starfleet, they didn’t have a monopoly on them. Well, actually, they did, but since Vulcans had this strong insistence on having their own major learning hubs for only Vulcans, completely separate from the Federation’s, they had a singular major ship in their fleet. The Iria was a beauty of Vulcan engineering. Sleek, economical, circular warp nacelles, and with no corners cut in anything.
A pity that Jim was determined to stick his grubby little human hands in it.
“I’m fixing the transporters!” Jim called down, “Upgrading their capacity from twenty to thirty!”
Sern and Senak both looked up to pin Jim with identical looks of displeasure.
“James,” Sern said slowly, condescendingly. “There is no current issue with the capacity of the transporters.”
“Yes, there is,” Jim said as he finished off his final tweaks. “Did you know that Starfleet’s new flagship has the capacity to transport twenty-one people at once?”
There was a careful moment of consideration between the two officers. Vulcans are very careful, very logical creatures who have no consideration for petty disputes, such as who has the best engineering.
“There is a reason why Starfleet has novel transporter capacity,” Senak stated carefully. “The power capacity needed to improve this area is considerate.”
“Not that considerate in comparison,” Jim hummed. “Vulcan– ah– vessels hold the greater power capacity due to our superior resource allocation because we don’t jam a hundred different plugs in the same socket like ‘Fleet and start wondering why if the replicators go down, so do the biobeds. The problem is that, comparatively, the Iria allocates far more power to artificial gravity and false sunlight. 1.4 G vs 1G, 1000 watts per square meter vs 1430 watts. I’m just– ouch, no, I’m fine, just a reflex– lowering our power allocation to gravity and light. Not noticeable to anyone, but it is actually a shit ton of power. The ship is functioning at 1.3G and 1300 watts from… NOW!”
He slammed the plating closed for effect and looked down at them as he grinned, “Ta-da!”
Sern looked unimpressed, “I saw no paperwork on these modifications, James.”
Senak looked a bit proud, “The lowered gravity will be appreciated when retrofitting the warp core on Vulcan.”
Sern gave the engineer a look.
Senak backtracked as hurriedly as a Vulcan could, “A positive that does not neglect the breach in protocol.”
Jim continued to hang upside down, mildly enjoying the rush of blood to his head, “If you help me get down, I can send you all the paperwork approving this modification, signed off on by the First Officer.”
Sern gave him the driest look possible, “If there is any error in your memory recall, then perhaps we might end your excursion in Engineering with a trip to the Medical Bay. James, if you may recall, you are the First Officer.”
“Oh really?” Jim grinned as he let go of the pipe to flip onto the platform Senak had sent to stand underneath him. “Oops.”
“Shirt,” Sern demanded. “You are needed on the bridge, we arrive on Vulcan in 0.2 hours.”
“And you didn’t send Yeoman T’par, why?” Jim picked up his black and green shirt, designed to look like Vulcan blood on fertile black dirt, the sleek lines decorated using colorful embroidery.
“I estimated it unlikely that she would be able to convince you to abandon your place in Engineering.”
Jim couldn’t help the smile, “I don’t only listen to you, Sa’mekh.”
After the rest of the survivors of Tarsus had been found, Starfleet had the Iria take over the final scanning of the fungus. The Iria had found several interesting biological anomalies in the fungus that had led to the death of thousands, and it had also found seven children who had managed to escape all scanners, only discovered when a skinny, shaky Jim had climbed out of a cave with a toddler in one arm and a knife in another and demanded they share their food. The others had been returned to their home planets and families, but Jim had stayed behind.
“You listen to me 1.47 times more than you listen to others,” Sern pointed out.
“Yeah, well, Mitrani is my favourite,” Jim said childishly.
“She is a… above average nurse,” Sern mused. “She is also unbonded.”
“Sa’mekh!” Jim hissed, “I don’t like her like that, jeez! She’s my friend.”
“You are twenty-five and unbonded,” Sern pointed out. “You may not experience your Time, however with humans’ shorter lifespans–”
“Yeah, yeah, you’re itching for grandbabies,” Jim teased as they stepped into the turbolift. “Don’t rush me, I’ll find love one day.”
“A logical pairing can be more efficient,” Sern tried.
“This conversation isn’t going to change from the last hundred times we’ve had it,” Jim pointed out as he tried to flatten out his hair. While no longer in the Vulcan style as he had it as a teenager (an unsuccessful attempt to tame it), it was still closely cropped, only letting the top fluff out. “I’m a romantic, Sa’mekh, illogical human and all.”
“I do not seek to change you, Jim,” Sern passed him his PADD and used one hand to expertly flatten the top of his hair in an un-Vulcan-like display of endearment. “Merely remind you that time passes.”
“I can’t forget that,” Jim mumbled as he stepped out onto the bridge before barking out, “Captain on deck!”
The Vulcan words were intimately familiar to him: khart-lan fi’lan-tol . One day, it would be said by his own First Officer when he walks on the bridge of the Iria.
Everyone on deck immediately straightened up, just a tiny bit, focusing just a little bit more.
Living with Vulcans means that everything is done in microexpressions. An inch is always measured with them, so it means a mile.
“Captain,” Their senior Navigator, T’hen, spoke up. “We are to exit warp in two minutes.”
Sern sat down in his chair, leaving Jim to stand behind him. “Has T’Khasi responded to our hails?”
T’Khasi, Vulcan , has stopped replying to their hails as of four hours ago. It had been why Jim had officially been scheduled in Engineering today, instead of his usual oops-they-said-they-needed-help-and-now-it’s-been-seven-hours that Sern or T’par had to go fetch him from. After the straight fortnight in warp 5, it was not uncommon for one or two pieces to protest the constant strain, but they were all growing concerned at the sudden silence.
“Negative, Captain.” L’nel, their Communications officer, made the smallest of frowns. “There is no signal output from Vulcan, however we are capable of broadcasting.”
Sern and Jim shared a look of concern just before T’hen announced: “Exiting warp.”
A flash of lightning shot across the bridge viewport as they exited warp, and Jim didn’t think, he just reacted.
“Red Alert!” He screamed as he dove for the Captain’s chair, where the security alert button sat.
Their shields came up a mere second before the shots from the monstrosity hit them.
The shockwave sent Jim sprawling across the Captain’s chair, the only reason he didn’t hit his head on the floor was Sern’s reflexes to catch him.
Through the viewport, they could see what seemed to be the graveyard of at least a dozen ships, a mixture of Starfleet and Vulcan vessels. Above it all, a giant monstrosity of a ship, familiar and alien, floated like a deadly kraken. A direct beam from it came down onto the Iria’s homeworld.
“They’re attacking Vulcan,” Jim whispered in shock, blood running cold and skin going pale.
What the hell had they just flown into?