They had barely made it onto the bridge before Sulu, at least, was raising an eyebrow at them. Jim sent him a pointed look, though somehow his nervousness increased, flowing through the bond and wearing at Spock’s carefully constructed calm. Nyota sent him an inquisitive look of her own, though he could not acknowledge it immediately. Instead, he paid no more mind to his superior and walked to his station, breathing deeply.
The nervousness would not abate.
Instinct, Spock, Jim projected. It’s logical to trust your instincts. Mine are saying this is bad news.
Out loud, he merely glanced over the bridge and cleared his throat. “Admiral Komack wishes to observe the bridge for Alpha shift. Do your best to perform your duties as usual,” he ordered, striding to his chair. “We will engage in tactical drills A14 through B12 today, in random order. Mr. Spock, if you will please begin the simulation?”
Spock nodded, letting his hands take over for his mind. The programming was simple to initiate, and not a second after he activated the scrambler, the view screen changed to an image of a Romulan warbird.
“Ouch,” the Ensign at the helm winced. “We’re starting with this one?”
“Ensign,” Jim snapped. “We are in a drill. Please take this seriously.”
Spock knew Jim’s temper was unraveling alongside his nerves, and hard as he tried, there was no way he was capable of soothing him yet. His mate’s protective nature aside, the nature of the simulation might be taxing him as well. A quick touch of Jim’s mind confirmed it.
Why’d you start with this one, Spock? Jim asked, eyes fixed on the warbird. There are 22 to pick from. Why this?
The computer program chose it, Spock replied, feeling a cold, almost viscous trepidation seep down his spine. Jim no doubt sensed it as well, turning his head to look in his direction and barking an order to open hailing frequencies. Despite his mate’s obvious concern and trust in his body’s reaction to mental and hormonal stimulus, Spock forced himself to remain calm.
“They are not responding,” Nyota called over blandly, flipping switches on her board. “I’ve tried all channels. No response.”
Jim turned to Sulu. “Are they charging weapons, Lieutenant?” he asked. The man shook his head.
“Negative. However, their shields are at maximum power,” the helmsman answered quickly, scanning through the readings his consol displayed. “Scans report engines are idling. They may be preparing to enter warp.”
“Mr. Spock?” Jim called over. Spock did not turn from his station.
“Likelihood of offensive action is approximately seventy percent,” he informed him, calculating it as he spoke. “Ship design is consistent with early warp-six capable vessels. Most likely, these ships are sentries placed to guard a recognizance brigade. I am advising extreme caution. It would also be advisable to power shields to at least forty percent.”
“Make it sixty,” his husband ordered, waving a hand at Sulu. “Any weapon activity?”
“Their weapons appear to be online,” the man confirmed, hands steady. “Do you want me to engage targeting?”
