Author: iam_spock aka sylar
Fandom: Star Trek
Word count: 1078
Notes: No notes. No warnings. Just a little snarkfest between Spock and McCoy on an away mission. One year later, I finally get off my ass to continue this fic.
Our wagon ride to the capital was a bone jarring, tongue biting affair according to Dr. McCoy. At each bump in the road, he would inform us of how much damage was being done to the lumbar region of his spine. I, for some strange reason, found his complaints comforting. If he stopped, I would worry that he was sick or genuinely angry with me. The silent treatment was his deadliest of weapons, and fortunately I had never endured it myself. But I had seen him apply it to the Captain. Jim found it most distressful.
The doctor and I braced ourselves for a battle when we reached the main gate of the city, but our hosts were successful in passing us off as workers on their farm come to the celebration to assist at their booth to sell their wares. We were told where to bring our trio of wagon, and then the doctor and I helped our hosts set up their booth and their goods.
I watched the proceedings around us, looking for other out worlders, but I saw nothing out of the ordinary. So far the Doctor was the only individual that had to hide his misshapen ears with a hat. I found it refreshing to not be the one hiding my appearance although my eyebrows were quite distinctive none of the natives seemed to take note of them.
It wasn’t until after sunset that the Doctor came to inform me that he had noticed something strange. We slipped away from the booth and made our way along the edge of the festivities until he showed me what had drawn his attention. It was a door—a very well made door.
“Now tell me that doesn’t belong here,” he whispered in my ear, as he pointed. “That was not made out of the local materials.”
“I believe that you are correct, Doctor.” The door was slick and shiny black, made of an alloy that was at odds with the wooden doors and iron gates that we had seen in the rest of the city.
“An’ as much as I hate to say it, Mr. Spock, I think you were right too. There’s a fox in the henhouse.” I opened my mouth to tell him that while we had seen a native fowl that was domesticated and did have hens, we had seen no evidence of any type of vulpine, but then thought better of it when he glared at me. “Don’t.”
“I would not think of it.” I stepped past him, into the shaded alcove where the door awaited us. I pulled out my tricorder, risking permanent damage to the device and attempted to scan what was sealed behind it. The scanner hummed. Its readouts flickered, wavered and flashed twice before the entire screen when blue. It grew hot in my hand, and I had to shut it off for fear of it burning me. “Well that is that. My tricorder is useless.”
“More than it was before.” McCoy did not reach for his medical scanner. It was calibrated differently, but it was logical to assume that it would also be ruined by whatever force was emanating from inside. “So we’re going to have to do it the hard way, then. Don’t suppose you know how to pick a lock?”
“I have learned a great many things in your company and the Captain’s.” I stood on my toes, reaching along the edges of the door, looking for a hidden latch. There was a static charge that make the hairs on my arms stand on end, but it was not sufficient to cause me any damage. “But that skill is not one of them. There also does not seem to be an archaic lock to pick.”
“What the hell!” McCoy yelped when a loud explosion shook the ground, and the sky was filled with lights. We both instinctively reached for our weapons—weapons that we were not carrying because they were also malfunctioning—and ducked deeper into the alcove’s shadows. “Dammit, fireworks! Should’ve known they’d have fireworks for the party.”
“Fireworks?” I looked past McCoy and saw a blossom of bright red and green lights spread across the dark sky. “I see. It always fascinates me the similarities in evolution between worlds that are so many light years away from each other. On Vulcan we did not develop a recreational use for gunpowder. It was only used as a weapon.” I found a catch at the edge of the door and turned toward McCoy. “Please keep an eye out. I believe that I have found a latching device, and I will use the noise from the fireworks to mask the sound of me attempting to break it open.”
“I can’t see a thing,” he noted as he leaned over my shoulder. “It’s too dark.”
“Vulcan has no moon. I have excellent night vision.” I wedged the end of the knife that I had taken from our hosts into the latch and twisted applying even increasing pressure. I was uncertain which would give first—the lock or the knife—but I was rewarded with a snap that was not the blade of the knife snapping.
The door opened silently on well greased hinges, and we crept carefully into the building. Once the Doctor was in, I carefully resealed the door as much as possible considering that I had broken the latch. “Hopefully we will be on our way before anyone notices that I have broken their door.”
“Don’t think that’s going to happen, Spock,” McCoy said, his voice filled with tension, and I heard the sound of a weapon being prepared behind me. “Seems they’ve already noticed.”
“Drop your weapon and turn around slowly!” I turned with my hands up, dropping my knife when I saw a trio of men with projectile weapons trained on the Doctor and myself. A fourth had a long blade pressed beneath McCoy’s chin, and I bit the inside corners of my mouth when I saw a trickle of his blood run down his throat.
“We surrender,” I said, letting one of them search me for more weapons.
“Move,” the one with the knife said, as he shoved McCoy down the hallway toward a brightly lit area.
“We’re going,” McCoy stammered as he caught his balance and he grumbled as we made our way. “Looks like we’ll find out what’s goin’ on the way that Jim usually does it—by gettin’ caught.”