Chapter Text
“Captain, we’re receiving a deep space transmission.”
Captain James Bond swiveled in his command chair. Lt. Cmdr. Eve Moneypenny had both hands on her controls, listening and adjusting whatever was in her headset with a look of intense concentration. Whatever message she’d received didn’t please her, and that was cause for concern. Meticulous and intense, Moneypenny was probably one of the scariest and most competent women he knew. He once saw her put a Klingon on his ass when he made the bad decision to comment on hers. If she wasn’t happy, Bond thought he wasn’t going to be, either.
“Who is it from?”
“I’m not sure,” she said. “It’s staticky, but I think it might be a distress call.”
“Put it through.”
“This is—requesting assistance—tack!-…Surrounded. Need help—” the transmission fizzled out.
“I’m sorry, that’s the best I can get, sir.”
“I’m scanning for the origin of the transmission,” said Commander Q. “I believe it is coming from a small planet called Althusee.”
“Why does that sound familiar?” asked Bond.
“There is a scientific outpost there, Captain.” The Vulcan looked nonplussed. “However, the outpost is very close to Romulan space. I thought they had all been evacuated, but perhaps I was wrong.”
“Ms. Galore, new heading. Warp Three. Let’s go see if we can help.”
“Aye, Captain.”
“Ms. Moneypenny, please inform Starfleet Command that we’re going to render aid to Althusee and request further information on the installation.”
“Aye, Captain.”
“Very good.” Bond settled back into his chair, content to watch the star field zoom by in one of the few quiet moments they got aboard the Intrepid-class starship, the USS Skyfall. It seemed like every week there was a new disaster to prevent or fix. He felt more than heard the movement by his side. Although it would steam his Vulcan ears if Bond ever said it out loud, Q was a sneaky shit when he meant to be.
“Captain, I feel impelled to warn you that this could well be a trap.”
“That would just make it a normal Monday, Q,” Bond said.
“I fail to see what the day has to do with it,” Q said. “But I feel extra caution is warranted, considering the proximity to Romulan territory.”
“The Romulans haven’t caused much trouble lately.”
“That,” said the Vulcan drily, “is what concerns me.”
“Noted, Q.” Bond smiled up at the Vulcan, wondering for the thousandth time what the man’s face would look like if he ever returned the smile. Would the expression be ghastly and look alien on Q? Somehow Bond didn’t think so. The Vulcan’s features were fine-boned and slim. Bond wouldn’t call him handsome, but he did have a certain arresting quality, especially during those rare times when he could be convinced to untwist a little for a moment.
Maybe it was a good thing. The last thing Bond needed to be was deeper in fascination with his first officer. Particularly since he sometimes got the impression that the fascination might not be unrequited, but returned in equal measure.
Q arched an unimpressed eyebrow and returned to his station, padding as softly as his pet cat. Ostensibly, he kept the beast because he claimed that even in space, vermin were a fact of life. Bond thought that was a crock of shit. Bond had caught him cross-legged on the floor, playing with the cat with little stuffed squeaky mice more than once. Q doted on his cat in his own very Vulcan way and kept it in his quarters most of the time.
“Approaching the outpost, Captain,” called Lt. Galore. Catherine “Pussy” Galore was a tall, shapely woman with short hair and the sort of unimpressed, no-nonsense demeanor that meant she’d make captain someday, if you could pry her away from the helm. She was one of the best pilots in Starfleet and had been at the academy at the same time as Bond. He’d met her at a party, and then accidentally introduced her to her future wife and co-pilot, Gala, who he’d been casually dating at the time. By the end of the night, he wasn’t dating Gala anymore. Bond had no hard feelings. He promptly took up with a guy named Tiger Tanaka for a few months and that was that.
“Yellow alert,” Bond said. “Onscreen.”
The image of the outpost shimmered onto the screen as Bond felt the very slight vibration of the ship dropping from warp to impulse. From the outside, nothing looked amiss. Bond frowned.
“No life signs, Captain.” Q sounded faintly puzzled. “There should be at least ten people stationed here. I don’t see any indications of attack.”
“Hail them, Ms. Moneypenny.”
“Aye.” She sent the standard identification and greeting three times, then shook her head. “No response, captain.”
Bond drummed his fingers on the armrest. “Well then, we’ve tried knocking. Perhaps we should just pick the lock. Bond to Dr. Leiter.”
“Leiter here, sir.”
“Grab your med kit. We’re going to make a house call.”