#metrons

I’m so sorry this took so long!!! I hope you enjoy it.

Set in TOS “Arena” (1x19)

“What do you mean we can’t beam them up?” Leonard’s voice was rough and anxious in the background of the comm line. “It’s alright, Len.” “How is this–“ “We’ll look after each other,” you assured him, voice soothing even as you crouched behind a pile of rubble. “We’re together. You just better be there when we beam back up.” “I’m not going anywhere,” he rumbled, and you smiled, though you knew he couldn’t see it. “Love you, Len.” “If you two are quite done,” Jim teased, snatching his comm back, “Sulu, notify us when it is possible to beam back up.”

“Lang!” You leapt for cover as their fire rained around you, side stinging with a shot, but your companion wasn’t so lucky. “(L/N), what’s going on?” Your communicator buzzed to life. “Lang’s down, Captain.” You hissed as your hand traced over the burn of something that wasn’t quite a phaser. “Are you hit, Lieutenant?” Spock’s voice, now, low and level, but concerned. “Nothing serious,” you assured him, though it was rather unconvincing when followed immediately by a sharp scream. One of the large, lizard-like creatures loomed over you, phaser in hand. “Lieutenant?” You rolled to the side as it aimed for you, taking its legs out with you. It crashed to the ground, strong and fierce but not agile. Its weapon skidded from its hand and you bolted, snatching up the fallen weapon and plunging behind a further pile as the fire started up again. Someone yelled an order and the barrage stopped for a moment. You peaked out just in time to see your attacker return back to the high ground and you took off, weapons whirring back to life as you skidded out of range.

“It’s fine, Len. We’re together, Len. Stop worrying, Len,” Leonard muttered the mimicry under his breath as Chapel finished taking samples from your seared flesh and bandaged you up. You rolled your eyes, used to the frustration with which he expressed concern. It wasn’t ideal but you’d known him for long enough not to take it personally. “I’m fine, aren’t I?” “Define “fine”,” he retorted, pulling the curtain shut behind Chapel. “You were shot – twice – with an unknown weapon.” “And you’ve fixed me.” You made grabby hands at him and he sighed, but moved into range. You immediately pulled him to you, hands going up to cup his face. He wouldn’t look at you. “Come on, darling. Look at me.” His eyes finally flicked to yours, swirling with fear and relief and love. “I’m sorry for worrying you.” He glared down at you for a moment longer, but you could feel him melting, before he finally brought his lips down to meet yours. “Just don’t do it again.” The words were mumbled against your lips, his forehead pressed to yours. “It is highly unlikely they would intend for this to happen.” You smiled up at Spock as Leonard grumbled. “Are you well, th’y’la?” “They’ve been shot, of course they’re not–“ “Len fixed me right up, ashayam,” you assured him, cutting Leonard off, thumb brushing over the graze on Spock’s cheek. “You’re hurt too!” Instantly, Spock was shoved onto the bed beside you. “Stay there. I’ll get the regen.” He huffed out, curtains swishing around him, and you just leaned into Spock, both of you knowing better than to argue. “I believe we ought to be more careful, ashayam,” Spock mused, as Leonard buzzed about with the regenerator. “If only to preserve the good doctor’s mental fitness.” “Why you green-blooded bastard–“

“What are you going to do, Mr Spock?” Bones demanded, coming up to the Captain’s chair. You sighed, preparing for yet another argument. “I'm going to wait, Doctor. There's little else I can do.” That was not the answer Bones wanted and both you and Spock knew it. “What about the Captain?” He ignored you murmuring his name. “If I could help him, I would.” Spock’s voice was heavy in a way that only those who knew him truly would recognise. Unfortunately for him, the Bridge crew was loaded with those who knew him. “I cannot.” “Now, you're the one that's always talking about logic!” “Bones,” you warned, sliding to your feet. “What about some logic now? Where's the Captain, Mister Spock?” There was no true vitriol in Bones’ voice. Just worry, fear. “He's out there, Doctor. Out there somewhere in a thousand cubic parsecs of space, and there's absolutely nothing we can do to help him.” Silence fell heavily and you wanted nothing more than to gather Spock into your arms, let him know that you were there. But that wasn’t Spock. So you laid a firm hand on his shoulder, feeling Bones lean into your side, weary and scared and hopeful, but still holding you up more than you were him. You locked one hand in the doctor’s hair, letting your fingers trail patterns along his scalp. Spock glanced up at you, eyes warm in his impassive face, then looked back to the screen.

“This is the U.S.S. Enterprise calling the Metrons. Our channels are open. Come in, please. We urgently desire a conference. Please answer.” “The ship, our engines, our weapons. It's just inconceivable that we are immobilised,” Bones was trying to be hopeful, frustration brimming through his voice. “But it has happened, Doctor.” The room dimmed, screen swirling to life in a blaze of colour. “We are the Metrons. Your Captain is losing his battle.” Your heart dropped in your chest. “We would suggest you make whatever memorial arrangements, if any, which are customary in your culture. We believe you have very little time left.” “We appeal to you in the name of civilisation. Put a stop to this!” Bones demanded, and this time neither of you noticed the tired look Spock offered him. “Your violent intent and actions demonstrate that you are not civilised. However, we are not without compassion. It is possible you may have feelings toward your Captain.” Bones spluttered, and you squeezed his hand tightly. “So that you will be able to prepare yourself, we will allow you to see and hear what is now transpiring.” “Not without compassion?” You snarled, and the image that was appearing paused, flickering back into the whirlwind of colour that had spoken. “You speak of compassion and civilisation but if this is your sick idea of entertainment what does that say about you?” You heard Spock’s warning tone, but you were going to finish this if it killed you. “Both of those beings down there are people. They have crews to care for. Friends. Family. And you’re forcing them to kill one another? Just so that you can kill the losing crew?” The light snapped an angry red. “If you’re powerful enough to immobilise our ship, to send them to a world where they can create weapons, then you are powerful enough to prevent negotiations from becoming violent. So put an end to this and let us negotiate.” “You cannot negotiate! You are violent and uncivilised!” “No! We are hurting!” Silence echoed. The screen flashed into blackness, then an image of Jim and the Gorn appeared. Jim stuck his finger into the powdery substance encrusting the rock and brought it to his lips, screwing his face up and immediately spitting it out. But there was realisation in his eyes. “If only there was some way we could contact him,” Bones lamented, wrapping an arm around your shoulder and pulling you to him. He pressed a kiss to your head, kind enough not to acknowledge the tears gathering in your eyes. “Yes, indeed, Doctor, if only there were,” Spock agreed, for the first time. “Notice the substance encrusting that rock. Yes. Unless I'm mistaken, it's potassium nitrate.” “So?” “Perhaps nothing, Doctor.” He paused, eyes fixed to the screen. “Perhaps everything.” “Gunpowder.” You rolled your eyes at Spock’s riddled musing, fondly exasperated. His lips twitched into a slight smirk, almost invisible except that you knew what to look for. Bones huffed beside you and you grinned up at him, despite yourself.

One of the Star Trek podcasts I listen to often asks its guests, "What was your First Contact with Star Trek?" In other words, when was the first time you encountered Trek and became a fan?

As a kid in the 70s, Star Trek TOS was always around in the form of reruns on CHSJ-TV (later to become a CBC station) on Saturday afternoons so I was always aware of it but rarely paid it any attention.

This changed on a family trip to Maine when I was in a hotel room flipping through the more numerous channels that we didn't have in the Maritimes. I came across an episode of The Animated Series, "Yesteryear", and settled in to watch. In the episode, written by D.C. Fontana, sees Spock travelling back in time to help his younger self and repair a broken timeline in which he died as a child. Spock realizes that the "cousin" who helped him was in fact, his future self, effectively creating a causal loop. I never saw TAS again until it appeared a few years ago on Netflix but that one episode hooked me.

The second episode that hooked me was the TOS episode "Arena," aka, Kirk slowly fights a Gorn. Well, to young me, the Gorn was terrifying but what stuck with me was Kirk's refusal to kill his opponent. What I drew from it was that humans can choose another way other than violence. And the godlike being in the sparkly toga who forced the fight in the first place said there was hope after all for humanity.

Pike x fem!reader (3)

It was the third day when your sister dragged you out of medbay and stood watch over you showering and sleeping. According to the clock, it was 5 hours and 13 minutes since you had gone to sleep that you were woken by the door chime. Una had obviously gone back to work because the armchair was empty as you knocked it over in your bleary-eyed scramble to the door. You opened it, hand still habitually hovering behind you, ready to grab a knife at any sign of danger, but only found yourself blinking up at a young Vulcan who really has no right to be this tall.

“Spock,” you smiled, before spotting his sister behind him. “Michael.” “You’re wanted in the medbay immediately,” Spock instructed, as stoic as always despite the fear trembling in his eyes. You stepped into the hallway. “Why? What’s happened?” you demanded, turning to lead the way with Michael and Spock both close on your heels.  “I am currently unaware of the situation, only that you were required,” he answered, simply.  “I hate when they don’t tell us things,” you groaned, earning a sharp laugh from Michael as the three of you entered medbay. “What’s going on?” Hugh approached immediately and pulled you aside. “Hugh, what’s going on?” you demanded, in a whisper. “Is Chr–the captain ok?” “He started bleeding again and we had to give him another transfusion,” he answered, gently, grabbing your arm before you could bolt to Chris’ room. “But whatever they shot him with isn’t a normal phaser. They’ve used some kind of chemical that causes the wound to continually expand. We need to know what it is before we can do anything.” You glared at the door to Chris’ room, then looked back at Hugh. “How long do I have?” you queried. “As far as we can tell, two days until it reaches his heart or lungs,” he answered, shortly. “The labs are working on it but we’ve got no guarantees.” You set your jaw.  “I’ll be back in two hours. Call me if anything changes.”

“You’re in command of the ship, Yllka,” you told your sister for the millionth time. “You can’t beam down with me, and we both know it.” She glowered at you, blue eyes flashing in her glare. “Fine,” she snapped, folding her arms. “But I’m coming after you if you’re not back in an hour.” “Aye aye, Commander,” you answered, wrapping her in a hug that she returned, still scowling. “Unë të dua (I love you). See you soon.” “You better.” The transporter beam activated around you, and you smiled at your sister through the golden glow. The surface of the planet was hot and dry, sandy and shaded from an unforgiving sun only by rocked peaks. “Halt!” A multicoloured glow flowered before you, materialising into a golden-haired young boy. “You cannot be permitted to enter our system with violent intentions.” “Your system?” you queried, raising an eyebrow. “Who even are you? We’re here for the lizard people. We need to know what they use in their weapons.” “I am a Metron. You seek the Gorns,” the boy said, and you wondered how he managed to keep his skin so perfect in this desert. “You have imprisoned some of them aboard your ship.”  “They attacked our ship,” you answered, still holding your phaser, though you pointed it to the ground. “And shot our Captain. I need to know what they’re using in their guns!” A party of Gorns approached, and you could hear them snarling as you raised your phaser again, spinning to face them. With a snap, the boy appeared between the two parties, freezing you both in place. “It seems I have no choice,” he said, turning to the Gorns. “Elect a leader. You will fight for the lives of your comrades.” A Gorn with a golden stripe on its waist stepped out. “Oh for fuck’s sake, I’m not here to duel anyone!” You stepped up from behind the Metron, and faced up to the Gorn leader. “Your people attacked our ship and have wounded our Captain. I am here to ask why, and to ask your help in healing our Captain. I don’t need some pretty-boy alien interfering and making us kill each other when we don’t need to!” The boy opened his mouth to protest, offended, but the Gorn held his hand out to you.  “I am Slar of the Gorn,” he announced, gruffly. “We will negotiate.” You huffed out a sigh, and clasped his hand in a handshake. “I am Lieutenant Commander (Y/N) (L/N) of Illyria, aboard the USS Discovery,” you answered, as the Metron stared on in astonishment. “But... you are not civilised!” he exclaimed, “How can you settle this when you came with such violent intentions?” “On the contrary, pretty boy,” you answered, tilting your head, “I think giving one another the opportunity to negotiate despite our mutual anger is more civilised than jumping immediately to a duel, don’t you? Perhaps you Metrons ought to consider your own state of civilisation if interfering in others’ conflicts is your kind of sick entertainment.”

It had been several long, slow hours before you were finished negotiating with the Gorns. Thirty minutes in you had been allowed to contact the ship and inform them of the chemical, actually some form of liquid-like bacteria they’d managed to harness, and that you would return with a draft agreement for the Federation to review. Evidently, their close proximity to Qo’noS had been worrying them since the breakdown of their alliance with the Klingons, and your ship had been mistaken for a hostile one. Fair, given that you were unknown and flying towards Klingon space. They were eager to join the Federation, and you could only imagine the Federation would be eager for an ally in such a close tactical position to the Klingon homeland. “We will meet again, Commander (L/N),” Slar farewelled you, formally, pressing his hand to yours. “On better terms, Commander Slar,” you answered, as the golden transporter beam wrapped around you.

"You're not ready to know us." Bitch, we don't want to know you. You're the embodiment of everything what's wrong with aliens who reached higher planes of existence and see everybody alse as violent brutes.