The Bite of Synchronicity
Nov. 6th, 2022 10:17 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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Main Points:
Star Trek (the 2009!movie verse)/Constantine crossover
Summary: Kirk and Bones arrive to lend a hand to Captain Spock of the Enterprise.
Word Count: 1735
Rating: Teen
Warnings: not in great detail but tarsus is mentioned
He could get the name, if he wanted. A little hacking, a little chatting up someone with records, brute-force magic methods. If he were free to talk to Bones about magic right now, he’d explain it was a lot like the early days of the internet. Not too much you can do with a name, despite what some depictions of magic might have you believe. A name and something belonging to that person, like hair? Better. A name, blood, and a contract? Well, there’s a reason deals with demons have something of a reputation. A connection taken by force is weakened; one freely given is stronger. A connection easy to obtain (like DNA, like a name) is weak and can barely do anything on its own; one difficult to get (like getting someone who believes in a soul to sign one away) is much more powerful.
But he doesn’t want that kind of power, however weak a thread. Honestly, it’s a game he plays with himself, because the Hellblazer’s always had a bit of an affinity with fire, even if it results in him getting burned.
Unfortunately, the Captain isn’t particularly oblivious, either. Usually, he prefers that kind of working relationship, but at the moment it’s a bit of bad fortune. “I believe you said that you usually prefer to work alone.” Spock, with a raised eyebrow in the direction of the unsuccessfully hiding man that says his attention is piqued. Not a good sign, really.
“I decided to finally take your advice for once.” He starts leading the way to the bridge. Sometimes playing wizard is all about psychology, and in this case playing his cards exactly right and bluffing the rest of the way. Spock might have more curiosity he’s willing to show than your average Vulcan, no matter what kind of logical words he dresses the impulse in, but he’s not going to indulge in that ‘unprofessional’ curiosity when he’s finally on the bridge. That’s a place for only business, for the Captain. “I finally got myself a doctor. He’s the real McCoy.” Behind him, Bones groans. He’d been saving that one up, and now’s as good a time as ever. “You said something about a ghost ship?”
He’d read, in his youth, about various cases. The Ourang Medan, the Marie Celeste, the possibly fictional Flying Dutchman. The real life, in most cases, is much less interesting, but Spock has to suspect something more’s up if he bothered calling. He doesn’t believe in magic, but has seen Kirk get results, though he’s more annoyed each and every time that he refuses to explain how.
“Yes. The crystal you gave me started glowing, even if it was faint. I still have yet to ascertain the exact components.” That’s definitely frustration. Good. If nothing else, it keeps the magician’s mystery.
“What else?” Because there has to be another reason than trying to figure out how he’s making a crystal glow, and something interesting has to be going on for a curse to have been cast.
“It’s a colony ship. For Tarsus.” Spock would deny it, but he has an apologetic, possibly even sympathetic look in his eyes as he says the words.
“What the hell were they thinking? Let the place rot!” He’s aware he’s started trembling; feels the cold chill up his spine.
“The Federation saw no sense in wasting a perfectly fine planet, particularly after one already disappeared,” the Captain explains, and sure, if the only considerations were logic, then that makes perfect sense. It could make a pure happy feel-good story, assuming you didn’t care about the literal thousands of ghosts.
Which means at some point, probably, he’s going to have to look into the fact that there’s a missing planet because unless someone destroyed it somehow, that sounds like a magic thing. But even worse is that feeling of synchronicity. Sure, looking for connections in everything is where madness lies, but in a situation where a curse is already involved, he doesn’t believe in coincidence.
“Jimmy?” Bones asks, hand on his back, and it’d be more steadying if he wasn’t already spinning.
Ruthlessly, he shuts down his emotions, every single little piece. This isn’t the time for it. Maybe sometime later he can get shitfaced and cry about his literal demons to Bones in a conversation they’ll both pretend they never had later. For now, he’s got to make sure they all make it through this alive. He’ll fight the hordes of Hell for that good ending if it’s required. “There’s more,” he states, certain.
“The mission was secret. I wasn’t informed about it until shortly before I asked for your help. Under ordinary circumstances, a special investigation would be conducted, but given that despite your tendency to boast you have thus far managed to be perfectly discreet in your handling of various situations, I thought it best to contact you first.” And, of course, there’s a limit on pseudo-blackmailed wizards Spock can probably contact.
“If necessary, a more thorough investigation will be conducted later, but at least it would be prudent to understand whether this poses any threat to the Federation itself.” Sensible, really. “Apparently they received communication that the colonists had been left at the chosen point and an expected arrival date back at the starbase. No further communication was received from either the colonists or the ship until three days ago, when the Federation Command received an encrypted transmission using no previously established encryption. The location of the ship was found first, and two Starfleet vessels were dispatched to search further. We have been unable to verify if the dropoff took place as expected, as no signs of human life were found on the planet itself. The USS Endeavor was ordered to check the planet while we are expected to examine the ship. First Officer Uhura was able to decode the message, which contrary to expectation proved to be a simple distress call with no clear details.”
By this point, they’ve reached the bridge, and Sulu waves before returning back to fierce concentration.
“But you think it’s a trap,” Kirk states, staring out at the ship. To him, space and ships have always been a source of comfort, despite his own origins. But there’s something eerie about that out there, drifting. The same subconscious associations, he knows from his reading, that those discovering those primitive water ships had when they’d found the ships, not a wreck, but with all trace of life vanished.
“I suppose you scanned the thing?” Bones drawls, fear of being discovered vanished in the fear of space and the possibility, once again, of doing his job and saving people (and that curiosity about the unknown he likes to pretend he doesn’t have).
Spock raises an eyebrow. “We did. No trace of known life is on that vessel.” Which brings up a good question Spock wouldn’t know the answer to and Pike refused to actually answer no matter how many times he asked: whether the scan for life actually detected demons when they weren’t possessing and thus looking identical to humans.
“Anything else you’ve got for me?” He’s itching to start casting a few diagnostic spells right away, but he can’t, not in front of the Starfleet officers, not unless it’s an emergency. Those are the terms, because the more people who know, the more dangerous it gets. A draft for magic users and an escalating arms race would only make the universe a scarier place, and given what it currently looks like, that’s saying something.
“The engine and all of the other technology seems to be in vorking condition, sir!” Chekhov reports enthusiastically, and, well, it’s something, a little light in the dark. It makes him smile. That little spark of hope? No spell more powerful exists.
“We prepared you a viewing deck and instructed no one to enter, as per your standing instructions. Do you require anything else?” As usual, Spock is going to try to spy, he’s going to have to take out the camera, and the half-Vulcan is going to explode from frustration someday.
“Spraypaint, actual paper, candles, two sandwiches, a water bottle and a beer, a padd, a tribble, and a medikit,” he lists off on his fingers, knowing that at minimum the spraypaint and paper will be there already. Spock is nothing if not thorough.
He gets the raised eyebrow at the tribble, but the Captain merely nods and gets on the comm to relay the order to a yeoman.
“I assume Maintenance is on standby?” Probably with padds ready to record the circle on the ground, too.
“Yes.” It’s half a growl, which means it’s probably good to get going. He knows that it probably ticks the Captain off that he keeps making a mess spraypainting a sigil on the floor, but it wouldn’t have the same power if he just asked for more paper and laid it out as carefully as he could. He’d shift one slightly as he knelt in the center and it’d weaken the effect.
He smiles, turning on his maximum charm. “Point me in the right direction?”
“I’ll take you,” Uhura announces from the bridge door, and he shakes his head.
“Sorry, I’ve got to keep this professional for the time being, at least.” Terrible flirting and her hating him is a better use of his time than dwelling, anyway.
She doesn’t even bother to respond, just strides off as fast as she can and if he gets left behind, she doesn’t care.
“Nice to meet you all,” Bones announces before following, polite tone almost entirely concealing the sarcasm within. Eh, it wouldn’t have done to introduce him to everybody anyway. He barely answers questions, anyway. Offering up information of his own free will would have looked suspicious.
Main Points:
Star Trek (the 2009!movie verse)/Constantine crossover
Summary: Kirk and Bones arrive to lend a hand to Captain Spock of the Enterprise.
Word Count: 1735
Rating: Teen
Warnings: not in great detail but tarsus is mentioned
It’s a little funny when they get on board and Bones attempts to hide behind him. It doesn’t work, really, not when Bones, if anything, is slightly taller. But he can lend a hand, distracting the crew members meeting them at the hangar. The First Officer will be easy enough to tick off. A punch or a screaming argument about how he’s a fraud would be ideal. “Astra?” he guesses. She doesn’t even bother to answer this time, just glares and walks off. That was faster than he’d been thinking. At least there’s one less witness to stare, which is something, because she’s sharp-eyed.
He could get the name, if he wanted. A little hacking, a little chatting up someone with records, brute-force magic methods. If he were free to talk to Bones about magic right now, he’d explain it was a lot like the early days of the internet. Not too much you can do with a name, despite what some depictions of magic might have you believe. A name and something belonging to that person, like hair? Better. A name, blood, and a contract? Well, there’s a reason deals with demons have something of a reputation. A connection taken by force is weakened; one freely given is stronger. A connection easy to obtain (like DNA, like a name) is weak and can barely do anything on its own; one difficult to get (like getting someone who believes in a soul to sign one away) is much more powerful.
But he doesn’t want that kind of power, however weak a thread. Honestly, it’s a game he plays with himself, because the Hellblazer’s always had a bit of an affinity with fire, even if it results in him getting burned.
Unfortunately, the Captain isn’t particularly oblivious, either. Usually, he prefers that kind of working relationship, but at the moment it’s a bit of bad fortune. “I believe you said that you usually prefer to work alone.” Spock, with a raised eyebrow in the direction of the unsuccessfully hiding man that says his attention is piqued. Not a good sign, really.
“I decided to finally take your advice for once.” He starts leading the way to the bridge. Sometimes playing wizard is all about psychology, and in this case playing his cards exactly right and bluffing the rest of the way. Spock might have more curiosity he’s willing to show than your average Vulcan, no matter what kind of logical words he dresses the impulse in, but he’s not going to indulge in that ‘unprofessional’ curiosity when he’s finally on the bridge. That’s a place for only business, for the Captain. “I finally got myself a doctor. He’s the real McCoy.” Behind him, Bones groans. He’d been saving that one up, and now’s as good a time as ever. “You said something about a ghost ship?”
He’d read, in his youth, about various cases. The Ourang Medan, the Marie Celeste, the possibly fictional Flying Dutchman. The real life, in most cases, is much less interesting, but Spock has to suspect something more’s up if he bothered calling. He doesn’t believe in magic, but has seen Kirk get results, though he’s more annoyed each and every time that he refuses to explain how.
“Yes. The crystal you gave me started glowing, even if it was faint. I still have yet to ascertain the exact components.” That’s definitely frustration. Good. If nothing else, it keeps the magician’s mystery.
“What else?” Because there has to be another reason than trying to figure out how he’s making a crystal glow, and something interesting has to be going on for a curse to have been cast.
“It’s a colony ship. For Tarsus.” Spock would deny it, but he has an apologetic, possibly even sympathetic look in his eyes as he says the words.
“What the hell were they thinking? Let the place rot!” He’s aware he’s started trembling; feels the cold chill up his spine.
“The Federation saw no sense in wasting a perfectly fine planet, particularly after one already disappeared,” the Captain explains, and sure, if the only considerations were logic, then that makes perfect sense. It could make a pure happy feel-good story, assuming you didn’t care about the literal thousands of ghosts.
Which means at some point, probably, he’s going to have to look into the fact that there’s a missing planet because unless someone destroyed it somehow, that sounds like a magic thing. But even worse is that feeling of synchronicity. Sure, looking for connections in everything is where madness lies, but in a situation where a curse is already involved, he doesn’t believe in coincidence.
“Jimmy?” Bones asks, hand on his back, and it’d be more steadying if he wasn’t already spinning.
Ruthlessly, he shuts down his emotions, every single little piece. This isn’t the time for it. Maybe sometime later he can get shitfaced and cry about his literal demons to Bones in a conversation they’ll both pretend they never had later. For now, he’s got to make sure they all make it through this alive. He’ll fight the hordes of Hell for that good ending if it’s required. “There’s more,” he states, certain.
“The mission was secret. I wasn’t informed about it until shortly before I asked for your help. Under ordinary circumstances, a special investigation would be conducted, but given that despite your tendency to boast you have thus far managed to be perfectly discreet in your handling of various situations, I thought it best to contact you first.” And, of course, there’s a limit on pseudo-blackmailed wizards Spock can probably contact.
“If necessary, a more thorough investigation will be conducted later, but at least it would be prudent to understand whether this poses any threat to the Federation itself.” Sensible, really. “Apparently they received communication that the colonists had been left at the chosen point and an expected arrival date back at the starbase. No further communication was received from either the colonists or the ship until three days ago, when the Federation Command received an encrypted transmission using no previously established encryption. The location of the ship was found first, and two Starfleet vessels were dispatched to search further. We have been unable to verify if the dropoff took place as expected, as no signs of human life were found on the planet itself. The USS Endeavor was ordered to check the planet while we are expected to examine the ship. First Officer Uhura was able to decode the message, which contrary to expectation proved to be a simple distress call with no clear details.”
By this point, they’ve reached the bridge, and Sulu waves before returning back to fierce concentration.
“But you think it’s a trap,” Kirk states, staring out at the ship. To him, space and ships have always been a source of comfort, despite his own origins. But there’s something eerie about that out there, drifting. The same subconscious associations, he knows from his reading, that those discovering those primitive water ships had when they’d found the ships, not a wreck, but with all trace of life vanished.
“I suppose you scanned the thing?” Bones drawls, fear of being discovered vanished in the fear of space and the possibility, once again, of doing his job and saving people (and that curiosity about the unknown he likes to pretend he doesn’t have).
Spock raises an eyebrow. “We did. No trace of known life is on that vessel.” Which brings up a good question Spock wouldn’t know the answer to and Pike refused to actually answer no matter how many times he asked: whether the scan for life actually detected demons when they weren’t possessing and thus looking identical to humans.
“Anything else you’ve got for me?” He’s itching to start casting a few diagnostic spells right away, but he can’t, not in front of the Starfleet officers, not unless it’s an emergency. Those are the terms, because the more people who know, the more dangerous it gets. A draft for magic users and an escalating arms race would only make the universe a scarier place, and given what it currently looks like, that’s saying something.
“The engine and all of the other technology seems to be in vorking condition, sir!” Chekhov reports enthusiastically, and, well, it’s something, a little light in the dark. It makes him smile. That little spark of hope? No spell more powerful exists.
“We prepared you a viewing deck and instructed no one to enter, as per your standing instructions. Do you require anything else?” As usual, Spock is going to try to spy, he’s going to have to take out the camera, and the half-Vulcan is going to explode from frustration someday.
“Spraypaint, actual paper, candles, two sandwiches, a water bottle and a beer, a padd, a tribble, and a medikit,” he lists off on his fingers, knowing that at minimum the spraypaint and paper will be there already. Spock is nothing if not thorough.
He gets the raised eyebrow at the tribble, but the Captain merely nods and gets on the comm to relay the order to a yeoman.
“I assume Maintenance is on standby?” Probably with padds ready to record the circle on the ground, too.
“Yes.” It’s half a growl, which means it’s probably good to get going. He knows that it probably ticks the Captain off that he keeps making a mess spraypainting a sigil on the floor, but it wouldn’t have the same power if he just asked for more paper and laid it out as carefully as he could. He’d shift one slightly as he knelt in the center and it’d weaken the effect.
He smiles, turning on his maximum charm. “Point me in the right direction?”
“I’ll take you,” Uhura announces from the bridge door, and he shakes his head.
“Sorry, I’ve got to keep this professional for the time being, at least.” Terrible flirting and her hating him is a better use of his time than dwelling, anyway.
She doesn’t even bother to respond, just strides off as fast as she can and if he gets left behind, she doesn’t care.
“Nice to meet you all,” Bones announces before following, polite tone almost entirely concealing the sarcasm within. Eh, it wouldn’t have done to introduce him to everybody anyway. He barely answers questions, anyway. Offering up information of his own free will would have looked suspicious.
