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[ST] We'll Always Have Linus Prime :: PG-13 :: Gen :: 1/1
Title: We’ll Always Have Linus Prime
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
chaletian
Fandom: Star Trek XI
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Next instalment in the village!verse series, following on from Social Networking Is The Future: Ensign Dawson can't help but remember all the other away missions that have gone horribly wrong.
Author’s Note: I have no time to write fic and no fu and I’m really sorry if it sucks! But I had to write a bit more…
“I’ve never really been on a disastrous away mission,” says Dawson confidingly. She’s covered in Uhura’s blood and she suspects that Enterprise just exploded, but she’s very determinedly not thinking about either of those things. “I mean, I’ve heard all the stories. Everyone’s heard the stories.” Xiang tells her to tighten the makeshift bandage around Uhura’s thigh (femoral artery, femoral artery, don’t think about the femoral artery), and she chats aimlessly about the last away mission gone awry.
“I regret to inform you that Crewman Fernandez has been turned into a geometric solid.”
“Huh. Can we turn him back?”
“I believe so, Captain.”
“Well, that’s all right, then.”
“I do not believe Crewman Fernandez will share your equanimity.”
“Come on, who hasn’t been turned into a….”
“A cone.”
“…a cone at least once in their life?”
“Would you prefer the result array to that query ordered by service number or alphabetically by name?”
“Why don’t you just surprise me?”
The sun’s beating down, hot and harsh, and Dawson can hear the Dumari looking for the Enterprise away team. She and Xiang pulls Uhura into the shadow of a rocky outcropping and Dawson watches as Xiang checks their senior officer’s leg, giving silent thanks once again for Dr McCoy’s field training. “We could do with Dr McCoy,” she mutters, and they grin, just for a second. “Or maybe not.”
“For the love of God, Jim!”
“I know, Bones.”
“I mean, they tried to…”
“I know, Bones.”
“And then they…”
“Bones! I know. We all know.”
“What the Captain is trying to convey, Doctor, is that the unfortunate episode was broadcast to the entire planet by means of their networked media satellites.”
“Wait a second, you mean…”
“Congratulations, Doctor. You are now a celebrity across all five continents of Mendella III.”
“Dear God.”
“On the plus side, Bones, I hear there’s a group of very lonely house-meers who want to offer you a… stimulating new home.”
“I’m never leaving this tin can again.”
The sun dips lower, and a sharp breeze runs down Dawson’s back. Uhura’s unconscious, but still alive, and that’s good enough for the time being. The temperature starts to drop, and Dawson registers it absently. Noticeable highs and lows; usual in desert areas. Enterprise is always temperate. Was always temperate. She concentrates on stories of terrible missions that turned out all right in the end.
“Dude, I thought we were goners.”
“Me too. Lucky you had your sword, no?”
“I mean, when their champion came out and he was, like, I don’t know Hulk…”
“Goners for absolute sure. My mother, she would have been wery sad.”
“And he had that… what was that, a mace? A mace and an axe, combined! And all I had was my sword…”
“There would be weeping. My sisters also.”
“And blindfolded! I’m telling you, we were dead for sure.”
“Maybe a kind of shrine in my town. They are wery proud of me there.”
“And then when that giant pig monster came out…”
Uhura’s cold, and Dawson shifts position, holding her closer, and doesn’t think about that moment in the mess when she’d glanced up to see Spock brushing his fingers against Uhura’s shoulder and Uhura’s face turning to his. It’s getting so cold, and Dawson doesn’t think about movie nights or science-offs or dancing down Enterprise’s bright corridors when there’s no-one to watch. She doesn’t think about Kirk, noble and childish, or Spock, remote and patient, or Lewis, sweet and not-stalkery, or Duchamps, bitchy and awesome. She can’t think about them.
“They stole what?”
”His brain.”
”They stole Spock’s brain.”
“That’s about the size of it.”
“You’re telling me aliens stole Spock’s brain.”
“Well now, I’m trying to, Jim, but you’re making it kinda difficult.”
“But… how does someone even do that?”
“Interesting you should ask. What I think they did – and it’s pretty damn smart, if you ask me – was…”
“Bones.”
“Yeah?”
“I really don’t want to know how they stole Spock’s brain.”
“I’ll be honest, I thought that level of scientific curiosity was uncharacteristic.”
“Just get his brain back.”
“Aw, d’we have to? What? Fine, we’ll find his damn brain.”
She can hear the Dumari again, the sound of people clattering across stone loud in the clear night air. She’s trembling, she notices, and isn’t surprised because she’s fairly sure they want information about Starfleet and the Federation, and when people put this much effort into it, they’re usually after things like defence codes and weapons capabilities, and usually aren’t too bothered about how they get that sort of information. Dawson doesn’t think she can stand up to torture. And she’s been concentrating on silly away mission stories that end well, when she knows all the stories that don’t. Xiang reaches out her hand, and Dawson hangs on tight, but she knows this can’t end well.
“You wanted to see me, Captain?”
“I—Sit down, Lieutenant.”
“It’s just… is this about Patel and Goncalves?”
“Lieutenant—“
“Because I know budget memo week can get a little bit crazy, and they might have got the idea that the Science Department would be in their debt if we got the chance to talk to you about upgrading the long range scanners, but I’ve spoken to them, and they really didn’t think Crewman Winters was gonna be stuck in there all that time.”
“It’s about Ensign Oyewale.”
“Oh, crap, is he still driving everyone nuts about his film? I swear, Captain, there is nothing I can… it’s not about the film, is it?”
“No.”
“Where is he?”
“I’m sorry, Robbins.”
“It’s gonna be fine,” Xiang says, and Dawson nods as the sun rises. Uhura’s nearly conscious, and as bright rays gild the stony outcrops, Dawson can almost believe it’s true. Everyone says that about Xiang, she remembers. Doesn’t talk much, but you can rely on her. Commander Scott said that. Dawson frowns. He might have been a little bit the worse for drink at the time. That was the time… that was the time what? She rubs her eyes, blinking away the grit from her fingers. They can hear the Dumari again, louder now, shouts and running feet.
“Hey,” says Xiang. “Hey. Just think of the stories we can tell when we get out of this, right?”
Dawson grins weakly, and helps Xiang move Uhura into a more defensible position. “Our own personal Linus Prime,” she says, and starts an ammunition inventory.
“Yeah, what happened there, anyway?”
Dawson shrugs and hand over a replacement plasma cell. “You know the rule,” she says, and they laugh and chorus, “Nobody talks about Linus Prime.”
The Dumari are getting closer, and Dawson thinks, as she pulls back against the rock face, hand sweaty on her phaser, that nobody ever will talk about Linus Prime now. She can smell the Dumari now, hear them talking.
Hear a whooshing noise, and the familiar blackness of molecular disintegration, and the bright, bright lights of the transporter room.
“Hey,” says Kirk, “if you guys have finished sightseeing, what say we blow this popsicle stand?” His face his tight and strained. Half the crew seems to be clustered around the doorway, and Dawson watches Spock walk calmly and rationally and faster than normal to Uhura. And then Lt Lewis is there.
“Hi,” he says. “What happened down there?”
Dawson and Xiang exchange a glance, and grin. “We don’t talk about Dumari Alpha.”
THE END
Author:
chaletianFandom: Star Trek XI
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Next instalment in the village!verse series, following on from Social Networking Is The Future: Ensign Dawson can't help but remember all the other away missions that have gone horribly wrong.
Author’s Note: I have no time to write fic and no fu and I’m really sorry if it sucks! But I had to write a bit more…
“I’ve never really been on a disastrous away mission,” says Dawson confidingly. She’s covered in Uhura’s blood and she suspects that Enterprise just exploded, but she’s very determinedly not thinking about either of those things. “I mean, I’ve heard all the stories. Everyone’s heard the stories.” Xiang tells her to tighten the makeshift bandage around Uhura’s thigh (femoral artery, femoral artery, don’t think about the femoral artery), and she chats aimlessly about the last away mission gone awry.
“I regret to inform you that Crewman Fernandez has been turned into a geometric solid.”
“Huh. Can we turn him back?”
“I believe so, Captain.”
“Well, that’s all right, then.”
“I do not believe Crewman Fernandez will share your equanimity.”
“Come on, who hasn’t been turned into a….”
“A cone.”
“…a cone at least once in their life?”
“Would you prefer the result array to that query ordered by service number or alphabetically by name?”
“Why don’t you just surprise me?”
The sun’s beating down, hot and harsh, and Dawson can hear the Dumari looking for the Enterprise away team. She and Xiang pulls Uhura into the shadow of a rocky outcropping and Dawson watches as Xiang checks their senior officer’s leg, giving silent thanks once again for Dr McCoy’s field training. “We could do with Dr McCoy,” she mutters, and they grin, just for a second. “Or maybe not.”
“For the love of God, Jim!”
“I know, Bones.”
“I mean, they tried to…”
“I know, Bones.”
“And then they…”
“Bones! I know. We all know.”
“What the Captain is trying to convey, Doctor, is that the unfortunate episode was broadcast to the entire planet by means of their networked media satellites.”
“Wait a second, you mean…”
“Congratulations, Doctor. You are now a celebrity across all five continents of Mendella III.”
“Dear God.”
“On the plus side, Bones, I hear there’s a group of very lonely house-meers who want to offer you a… stimulating new home.”
“I’m never leaving this tin can again.”
The sun dips lower, and a sharp breeze runs down Dawson’s back. Uhura’s unconscious, but still alive, and that’s good enough for the time being. The temperature starts to drop, and Dawson registers it absently. Noticeable highs and lows; usual in desert areas. Enterprise is always temperate. Was always temperate. She concentrates on stories of terrible missions that turned out all right in the end.
“Dude, I thought we were goners.”
“Me too. Lucky you had your sword, no?”
“I mean, when their champion came out and he was, like, I don’t know Hulk…”
“Goners for absolute sure. My mother, she would have been wery sad.”
“And he had that… what was that, a mace? A mace and an axe, combined! And all I had was my sword…”
“There would be weeping. My sisters also.”
“And blindfolded! I’m telling you, we were dead for sure.”
“Maybe a kind of shrine in my town. They are wery proud of me there.”
“And then when that giant pig monster came out…”
Uhura’s cold, and Dawson shifts position, holding her closer, and doesn’t think about that moment in the mess when she’d glanced up to see Spock brushing his fingers against Uhura’s shoulder and Uhura’s face turning to his. It’s getting so cold, and Dawson doesn’t think about movie nights or science-offs or dancing down Enterprise’s bright corridors when there’s no-one to watch. She doesn’t think about Kirk, noble and childish, or Spock, remote and patient, or Lewis, sweet and not-stalkery, or Duchamps, bitchy and awesome. She can’t think about them.
“They stole what?”
”His brain.”
”They stole Spock’s brain.”
“That’s about the size of it.”
“You’re telling me aliens stole Spock’s brain.”
“Well now, I’m trying to, Jim, but you’re making it kinda difficult.”
“But… how does someone even do that?”
“Interesting you should ask. What I think they did – and it’s pretty damn smart, if you ask me – was…”
“Bones.”
“Yeah?”
“I really don’t want to know how they stole Spock’s brain.”
“I’ll be honest, I thought that level of scientific curiosity was uncharacteristic.”
“Just get his brain back.”
“Aw, d’we have to? What? Fine, we’ll find his damn brain.”
She can hear the Dumari again, the sound of people clattering across stone loud in the clear night air. She’s trembling, she notices, and isn’t surprised because she’s fairly sure they want information about Starfleet and the Federation, and when people put this much effort into it, they’re usually after things like defence codes and weapons capabilities, and usually aren’t too bothered about how they get that sort of information. Dawson doesn’t think she can stand up to torture. And she’s been concentrating on silly away mission stories that end well, when she knows all the stories that don’t. Xiang reaches out her hand, and Dawson hangs on tight, but she knows this can’t end well.
“You wanted to see me, Captain?”
“I—Sit down, Lieutenant.”
“It’s just… is this about Patel and Goncalves?”
“Lieutenant—“
“Because I know budget memo week can get a little bit crazy, and they might have got the idea that the Science Department would be in their debt if we got the chance to talk to you about upgrading the long range scanners, but I’ve spoken to them, and they really didn’t think Crewman Winters was gonna be stuck in there all that time.”
“It’s about Ensign Oyewale.”
“Oh, crap, is he still driving everyone nuts about his film? I swear, Captain, there is nothing I can… it’s not about the film, is it?”
“No.”
“Where is he?”
“I’m sorry, Robbins.”
“It’s gonna be fine,” Xiang says, and Dawson nods as the sun rises. Uhura’s nearly conscious, and as bright rays gild the stony outcrops, Dawson can almost believe it’s true. Everyone says that about Xiang, she remembers. Doesn’t talk much, but you can rely on her. Commander Scott said that. Dawson frowns. He might have been a little bit the worse for drink at the time. That was the time… that was the time what? She rubs her eyes, blinking away the grit from her fingers. They can hear the Dumari again, louder now, shouts and running feet.
“Hey,” says Xiang. “Hey. Just think of the stories we can tell when we get out of this, right?”
Dawson grins weakly, and helps Xiang move Uhura into a more defensible position. “Our own personal Linus Prime,” she says, and starts an ammunition inventory.
“Yeah, what happened there, anyway?”
Dawson shrugs and hand over a replacement plasma cell. “You know the rule,” she says, and they laugh and chorus, “Nobody talks about Linus Prime.”
The Dumari are getting closer, and Dawson thinks, as she pulls back against the rock face, hand sweaty on her phaser, that nobody ever will talk about Linus Prime now. She can smell the Dumari now, hear them talking.
Hear a whooshing noise, and the familiar blackness of molecular disintegration, and the bright, bright lights of the transporter room.
“Hey,” says Kirk, “if you guys have finished sightseeing, what say we blow this popsicle stand?” His face his tight and strained. Half the crew seems to be clustered around the doorway, and Dawson watches Spock walk calmly and rationally and faster than normal to Uhura. And then Lt Lewis is there.
“Hi,” he says. “What happened down there?”
Dawson and Xiang exchange a glance, and grin. “We don’t talk about Dumari Alpha.”
THE END