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Poeth Iawn IV was the coolest planet orbiting the trinary star cluster P-I VH10034. Temperatures on the surface averaged 50 degrees celsius at night, and a balmy 63 during the day. It was too hot for a human without about a liter of tri-ox coursing through their veins, and even vulcans declared it “shorts and a t-shirt” weather. The generational ship--sent from Earth in 2112 and arriving just last year--had, of course, not packed any of the tri-ox that would not be invented for another fifty years.
Records of the ship had been lost on Earth, so the Federation didn’t find out about the few hundred human colonists slowly melting on the planet until the distress calls started coming through. The first suggestion was to evacuate. Find a new home for the colonists and declare this planet unfit for human habitation. But humans are stubborn things, and although the colonists had only lived on the lifeless cinder of a planet for a year they had already decided to call it home. They’d scuttled their ship and dug into the ground, where temperatures were a few degrees colder and the air was a few oxygen molecules short of a full breath.
Underground was where Dr. Leonard McCoy found himself shuttling hyposprays back and forth in regular intervals, keeping the scientists and colonists alive as the Enterprise crew installed weather control towers that would hopefully provide a bit of respite.
“Jim, you can’t just wander around shirtless. That’s not a heat reduction plan.”
“Don’t know what you’re talking about, Bones. I’m perfectly cool.”
“Perfectly sweaty is more like. Jim, you’re dripping. It’s disgusting.”
“You wound me.”
“‘Do no harm’ does not apply to your ego.”
“You don’t hear me complaining about your pit stains.”
“Don’t make me jab you with this,” McCoy said, brandishing the hypospray threateningly. “I know all the pressure points in the human body.”
Jim pouted and reluctantly tugged his shirt back on, offering up his arm meekly for the hypospray.
“Honestly,” McCoy muttered. “I should just leave you here to fester. You’d be singing a different tune in about three hours when the last of the HeatSync and tri-ox wear off.”
He slapped Jim’s arm and shooed the captain away. He worked quickly through the line of engineers waiting for their shots, and then the dozen grateful colonists. Forty-seven of them had died of heat stroke before the Federation could arrive with aid, and the remainder weren’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth. Even if said-gift horse did require them to keep their damned shirts on.
When he’d finished he still had one hypospray sitting pretty in his kit. He didn’t have to consult his list to know who had missed their daily regiment. With a sigh, he packed up his things and took out his tricorder. He’d dealt with this problem yesterday, and the day before, and the week before that, so his tricorder was already set to detect Vulcan biosigns.
He followed the signal through the main cave system and past the clusters of engineers drilling support structures into the rocks. Later, the weather towers would have feet that thrust a full kilometer into the ground. They needed to stand firm and tall. Weather control was still an uncertain science, and the surface of the planet would be prone to bouts of extreme storms.
He found Spock hiding in a garden. The colonists had filled the caves with mushrooms and dark-loving plants. It was dim, with only a faint biolumenscent glow from some of the lichen to light the rows and rows of mushroom boxes. Spock stood along the far wall which swooped some three meters up to the curvedceiling. His tricorder beeped steadily as he scanned every inch with delicate precision. Even in the shadows, his body language belied intense concentration.
He thought about clearing his throat and startling Spock, but something held him back. McCoy merely watched him for a moment. Spock’s hair caught the green light from the lichen and his high cheekbones were even sharper than normal in the shadowed light. He finished his examination of the wall and closed his tricorder with a click.
“My apologies, Doctor,” Spock said, turning towards him.
“Lose track of time? Again?” McCoy asked. He tugged on his shirt to get air flowing. It was a few degrees cooler underground but it still wasn’t pleasant, even while standing still.
“No. I was merely...enraptured with a certain problem I believe I am quite close to solving.”
“Does your rapture allow you to get a booster shot? Or will that throw off your flow?”
Spock inclined his gracefully. With a laugh, McCoy moseyed over and pressed the hypospray against Spock’s arm. McCoy brushed his thumb over the injection site. Doctors hadn’t used needles in over two centuries, but he still indulged in a few comforting gestures now and again. He let his hand trail down and interlaced his fingers with Spock’s. A warmth infused him as Spock shared a wave of contentment with him.
“So, what problem are you working on?”
“One that I believe will provide a more lasting solution to the Poeth colonists’ weather problem.”
“Oh? Weather towers aren’t good enough for you?”
“Indeed, they are not. Even on Earth, where the use of weather towers is most mature, the technology has never successfully changed global temperatures by more than four degrees.”
“I thought you said the scientists were hopeful they could build a better system here?”
“Initially, yes, that is what I believed. However, even if projections prove to be accurate the global temperature will be reduced by a mere five degrees.”
“At least it would be livable, if not comfortable.”
“Then there is the issue of tower maintenance. For a new colony that has yet to establish a reliable food source this may prove to overwhelm their capacity.”
McCoy sighed. He leaned in and rested his head against Spock’s shoulder, breathing deeply to steady himself. Spock was the only thing on this whole planet that didn’t smell of sweat. He just smelled a bit warm and a bit earthy, probably from hanging out with mushrooms all day. “Yeah,” McCoy muttered. “I was thinking about that, too. The Federation will have to establish a supply line.”
“Given how close such a line would come to the Romulan neutral zone that is not a guaranteed solution. Ships do not come this far often, and if even one were to go missing it could upset the delicate balance of supplies here.”
“So? What’s your grand, Vulcan plan to solve the problem and save all these people?”
“Simple. I will move the planet.”
“Move the--Spock, I think you’ve been spending too much time communing with the fungus.”
“Although it is no easy task, it is one we have accomplished before, albeit to a lesser degree. When we deflected the course of the asteroid bound for Amerind we utilized similar principles to the ones that may yet save the people of Poeth Iawn.”
“That was just an asteroid. You’re talking about moving an entire planet. And if I recall correctly it nearly blew out every circuit in the ship.”
“As I said, it is no easy task.”
“Mr. Spock you are the master of understatement,” McCoy said dryly. He leaned in to give Spock a peck on the cheek. “Well, can I help at all? What are your calculations looking like?”
“The calculations are complete. I know how to move the planet. I was merely scanning the cave structures to determine the likelihood that the underground system would be destroyed in the process.”
“Will it?”
“With the proper support structures in place I believe upwards of 83.2% of the cave structure will remain intact during the moving process.”
“That’s good. As dingy as this place is, it’s still these people’s home. I suppose I can let you get back to your study.”
“Not necessary, Doctor. I am ready to report my findings to the Captain.” Spock’s eyes flashed brightly in the dim light. “Would you care to indulge in one of your human traditions with me? I believe this calls for a ‘celebratory kiss.’”
McCoy laughed. “Why, Mr. Spock, I would be delighted.” He bounced up on his toes and met Spock in the darkness, sliding together with the ease of long practice, and with the ease of a rather gross amount of sweat. McCoy hummed as he felt Spock’s hot hand settle onto his lower back. They kissed in the sweltering cave among loam and mushrooms, a brief celebration cut short by the itchy heat.
McCoy pulled away and tugged at his shirt again. “Sorry, Spock, but it’s a bit too warm for a true celebration.”
“A pity,” Spock said. He let his hand fall and McCoy sighed in a mixture of disappointment at the loss and relief at the removal of Spock’s overwhelming warmth. “Perhaps later, when it is cooler.”
“You took the words right out of my mouth.”
After that came the real work. Spock’s plan wasn’t easy, and it required a complete redirection of energy from everyone working on the planet and on the Enterprise. Not to mention the hours of negotiations with the Captain and the leaders of Poeth Iawn. Surprisingly--or perhaps not--the colonists were eager to try Spock’s plan. It was Jim who required convincing, and after a few late nights poring over Spock’s data he finally agreed to go through with it.
The towers, half-built, were dismantled rapidly and repurposed into support structures for the winding cave systems. Anyone who wasn’t working on supporting the caves prepared for a temporary evacuation. They harvested food, put their experiments in stasis, and said goodbyes to rocks that may be buried under rubble in a few day’s time. Humans were funny like that, McCoy mused as he continued the only job he was good for: administering shots. The colonists had developed connections to the planet, connections that ran deep despite their short time here. They had favorite underground streams and familiar crystal formations. Some loved this passageway or that the way one loves a treasured pet. Spock’s estimate of how much of their home was likely to be destroyed didn’t sit well with them, that much was clear. They wanted to say goodbye while they had the chance.
It took eight days to secure the underground caverns and to transport the colonists to the Enterprise. Quarters would be tight during the moving of the planet, but staying four or five to a room was safer than trying to stay standing on a planet that was about to be rocked. McCoy found himself rooming with Scotty and Sulu, and the three stayed up late toasting to future successes. McCoy awoke with a headache and a bad taste in his mouth, his skin tingling with anticipation for what the day would bring.
The whole ship was overtaken by a hush, despite the overcrowding situation. People passed each other with only a whisper, everyone’s thoughts on what would happen on the planet below.
McCoy found his way to the bridge with a headache hypo he discreetly delivered to a very-thankful Sulu. After that he loitered near Spock’s station, carefully out of the way. He could feel Spock’s nervous energy even without touching him and he radiated back as much calm contentment as he could. Occasionally Spock looked up from his calculations, his mouth pinching in at the sight of McCoy. It could have been called a smile, if McCoy had wanted to insult his partner.
“We are ready to proceed, Captain.”
“Good. Captain to Engineering. Scotty, any final adjustments?”
“Not a one, Captain. We’ve got the hatches battened down firmer than drum.”
“You think the Enterprise will hold?”
“Aye, Captain. You give the order and she’ll hold, even if I do have to nurse her through it.”
Jim nodded, sitting back in his chair. A slight tinge of anxiety rippled through the bridge as everyone poised to act. McCoy wasn’t useful for this part of it, and he hoped to hell he wouldn’t be made useful by anything blowing up.
“Mr. Spock, you may begin.”
Spock’s hands flew over the controls. Sulu and Chekov both moved in unison to bring the Enterprise about. McCoy was certain he imagined the slight shudder as the ship crept into position. Through the viewscreen, the barren landscape of Poeth Iawn IV crept into view. Stark red rock broken only by dry riverbeds and the occasionally wispy cloud peered up like an eye examining the ship.
“Begin tractor beam on my mark,” Spock said. His voice didn’t waver, but something about the way he said it made McCoy reach out one hand and light brush Spock’s wrist bone. “Three, two, one...mark.”
The entire ship really did shudder as the most powerful tractor beam ever conjured shot forward. It was a brilliant gold color, and the vibrations of it set McCoy’s teeth on edge. The beam fired in waves, each driving precisely into various points across the planet’s surface. They concentrated near the equator, tiny spurts of incredible force. The planet appeared to move, but in reality it was the Enterprise skirting around to improve the angel McCoy knew it was a delicate balance between moving the planet and not knocking it completely out of orbit or accidentally stopping its rotation.
Spock’s gaze was fixed on his readings, so McCoy watched the sight of the tractor beam bathing the planet in gold with fixed interest, attempting to commit it to a memory that he could share with Spock later. Spock deserved to see all the fruits of his labor, not just the numbers and calculations.
It took nearly eighty minutes for the dazzling light show to die down. When the last beam fizzled out, everyone on the bridge breathed a sigh of relief. Jim called down to engineering and found out that only a single switch board had blown; the engines were fine.
“We could do it again if you’d like, Captain.”
Jim smiled. “No, Scotty. Once is enough.” He relaxed back into his chair. “Report, Mr. Spock?”
“Planet movement is within margin of error. The spin has been increased by approximately thirteen Earth-minutes, bringing the total length of a Poeth Iawn day to twenty-two hours and forty-nine minutes thirteen seconds. If the planet continues on this course it will move far enough from the planet to equalize to a temperature on par with pre-Industrial Revolution Earth. Most interestingly, we are seeing climate patterns emerge for the first time.”
“Look,” McCoy said. “Is that...snow?”
Even Spock turned to gaze at the screen. The wispy clouds dotting the planet had thickened and coalesced, coming together to form something which, form above, appeared suspiciously similar to a snowstorm. It was difficult to make out from this angle.
“Captain, recommend the deployment of a surface team to measure the effects.”
“Request granted. Assemble the team.”
Spock called for the ship’s climatologist and for two geologists. Of course, McCoy and Jim went as well, if only because they were curious. Based on Spock’s initial measurements everyone wore the winter uniform: gloves, hats, long sleeves, and thermal undershirts. It felt odd to prep for an away team that involved a scarf.
McCoy beamed down to the surface of the planet for the first time. It was quiet, almost eerily so. The stone beneath his feet was rough pumice, and although there was a faint chill in the air there was no snow here yet. He looked up and watched the clouds gather, twisting and turning.
A few feet away Spock was scanning madly. After a moment he clicked shut his tricorder and turned to Jim. “Captain, I can report that the structural damage to the tunnel systems was minimal. We can begin reintegrating the colonists at this location immediately.”
“Shouldn’t we go to their cave system and see it ourselves?”
“We are at the cave system, Captain.” Spock pointed to few disturbed stones nearby. “This is the entrance.”
Jim looked down at the ground, perhaps imagining, as McCoy was, all the miles and miles of tunnels just beneath their feet. After a moment, he nodded. “Very well. Specialist Tian, coordinate with the shuttle bay and transporter room. Let’s get these people home.”
A breeze picked up as everyone scattered to their tasks. McCoy shivered, shoving his hands deep into his pockets. It took only a few minutes for the whine of the transporters to begin. It would be hours before everyone was back on the planet. The initial six that beamed down appeared to be a family: two mothers and their kids, plus an elderly grandfather, all gazed wide-eyed up at the sky.
McCoy looked up, grinning. There was a glint and then--yes, there. A single snowflake twirled through the air down, down towards the red surface. McCoy followed it’s path, entertaining himself with thoughts of snowflakes boldly going where no snow had gone before.
The flake landed in Spock’s perfectly coifed hair and McCoy laughed, ambling over to brush it away. “Mr. Spock, you’ve prevented the first snowflake from landing. That’s mighty cruel of you; after all the hard work it put in to forming itself way up there you didn’t let it reach the ground.”
Spock blinked at him. “I do not believe snowflakes have an opinion about where they land.” As he spoke, more snow dusted his hair and his long eyelashes.
McCoy watched him as he was slowly covered in snow, a grin on his face and warmth in his heart. It was falling faster now, the kind of fast, warm snow that he’d only seen during fall days spent visiting the Midwest. Behind him, the children began to shriek with joy and run screaming around the rocks.
All around them the world was slowly coated in a layer of white. The red vanished piece-by-piece, replaced by a snow so clean that it hurt to look at. McCoy laughed and watched his breath crystalize in the air. He lifted his face towards the sky and threw his arms wide, welcoming the snow and the cold and all that it meant for this planet and its people.
“My god, Spock. Will you look at that?”
“I am looking, Doctor.”
He turned and felt his breath catch as his eyes locked with Spock’s. Spock gazed at him evenly, lovingly, and McCoy shivered even though he no longer felt cold.
Spock slipped closer, reaching out to entangle their fingers and share a bright burst of happiness with McCoy. “Will you indulge me, Leonard?”
“A celebratory kiss?”
“If you would be so kind.”
McCoy laughed, and it was the easiest thing in this world or any other to lean in and press their bodies together. He felt all of Spock--his warmth and solidity, his stoic energy, the smoothness of his lips. McCoy let Spock pull him close into that warm embrace and kissed the dewy snow from his cheeks.
They kissed as the world turned beneath them, altered for the better, and as snow piled up around their feet.