Scientific apparatus
An attempt to answer the 'No man is an island' challenge at Ad Astra
By Gumnut
20 Apr 2009
Wooden poles were slapped by canvas as the breeze waltzed between the market stalls. It carried the sound of voices, most declaring their wares to be the best available, others bartering as if their life depended on it. Every now and again, the wind would toss up a small dust devil, the fine sand spun into the air to tease at unsuspecting nasal passages.
Spock pulled the cloak tighter, hiding his head further beneath the hood.
Raxus Prime, a planet he doubted he would find any great pleasure in visiting. Rather backward, it sported crime as one of its major exports and kept a fair share for domestic use. The presence of the Enterprise in orbit would likely curb business for some time, however, and Spock found some mild satisfaction in that. There was an advantage in advertising their presence. The great starship was the largest vessel in the system and their arrival unplanned.
He had not neglected to notice the scramble that arrival had created. If fact, he had masterminded the sudden drop out of warp that enabled the snatch and grab of several major black market dealers out of the Raxus sky.
Spock had also not neglected to notice the gleam in the captain's eye.
It was a role they did not usually play. They were not the police. But as Spock had a need to visit the planet, he saw no reason why they could not make the effort doubly worthwhile.
A hand grabbed his arm and he automatically flinched away, drawing the rough cloth closer over his face.
"Silver! Finest grade silver!" The woman shouted at him, her frazzled hair dancing in punctuation to her words.
He did not answer, merely nodding slightly and backing off to continue his errand.
He only wanted one thing in this market and he did not want to risk revealing his identity to the general rabble. The clothes he wore were rough and much closer to the colour of the dirt at his feet than the Starfleet blue he was more familiar with. The hood and cloak were darker and he hid in their shadows.
A Vulcan would likely be unwelcome here. His people were well known for their law abiding nature and while not all of Vulcan was crime free, crime held little logic. He would be seen for what he was, a stranger and possible opponent.
The market was at the base of a sandstone cliff, iron oxide running red in rain induced streaks down the face of it. As he came upon the stall he wished to visit, he realised it backed onto and likely into the rock itself. A wooden table, shadowed by the same canvas that shaded all the other makeshift businesses, lay empty at the entrance. On it sat a scribbled sign in a language he did not understand. He suspected its meaning, however, and reached out a gloved hand to rap on the wood.
A gnarled face appeared immediately, a pair of intelligent eyes widening just slightly as the brain behind them realised who was standing outside his tent. "Do you have it?" The words were whispered urgently.
"I do."
The eyes blinked. "Come in, come in." The man ushered him around the table and into the depths of the tent. "I did not expect you so soon."
"W e arrived on schedule."
"I didn't tell you where to find me."
"You did not need too."
The man waved a dismissive hand in Spock's direction. "It is amazing what you can do with those fancy Starfleet sensors. Give a man a spyglass and he thinks he has a right to look into his neighbour's yard."
"I do what is necessary."
"I do what is necessary." He parroted with pursed lips and airs of snobbery. "As long as you think you have the right, you'll do what you bloody want because you can."
"I did not come here to debate privacy rights. Do you have what I require?"
Another parroting session, this time under the man's breath, was accompanied by him waving the Vulcan through a flap at the back of the tent. Beyond the canvas, the walls turned to the expected rock and he was led down a long, but well lit tunnel. They passed several doors, their lintels carved into the sandstone, until they reached the tunnel's end, another door, this one much larger than the others.
"But there are places your sensors can not go, Vulcan." The man's eyes were confidence itself as he flung the door open.
A large cavern, big enough to hide the small starship sitting nestled at its centre. The craft's elegant nacelles were in complete contrast to the market outside. Spock's grip on his cloak tightened just slightly, but he did not let his surprise reach his face. "Theatrics do not impress me. I require what I asked for."
"Bloody Vulcans." The man turned away and waved at one of the workers stacking crates to one side of the starship. "Hey, Jerry, where'd you stash the Vulcan's 'scientific apparatus'?
Jerry waved them towards the other side of the cavern and quickly turned back to what he was doing. Spock took note of the name and added the face to his mental catalogue.
It was a simple and plain wooden box, approximately sixty centimetres square, labelled 'scientific apparatus'.
"The label was unnecessary."
"We aim to please. Now whip out the gadget you have under your skirts and verify its contents. I don't have all day to be playing patsy to a one time dealer."
Spock raised an eyebrow. "You will have as much time as I require, Mr Hobbs. You have little choice in the matter." But he did pull the tricorder out from under his cloak and scanned the box's contents. Fortunately they were what he had requested and there was no need to act in a drastic manner. "Satisfactory."
"Funnily enough I already know that. Now, where is my payment?"
Spock stood still for a moment, his stoic gaze aimed directly at Hobbs. He aimed to unnerve and was successful. His reason for doing so was purely emotional and he was not afraid to admit it to himself. It was also tactically sound. Reaching into a pocket of the robe, he brought out a small felcra pouch, it soft velvet-like material bringing up memories laced in emotions that had far too much to do with logic.
Hobbs' eyes pinned the pouch to Spock's palm. His expression did not betray his eagerness, but a Vulcan is used to identifying the subtlest of emotion, and Hobbs reeked of anticipation.
Spock slipped the delicate hair comb out of the pouch and it caught the light, scattering it in a million directions. His heart clenched and he clamped down on the emotion. He should not care, emotion was not permissible, but the dancing light spoke of past aims and goals. Given to him at age seven, he had kept the betrothal gift with him as he had moved out into the stars. He had taken it as a reminder, as a link to T'Pring and the day he knew would likely come.
It came.
He handed the piece of Vulcan jewellery to the smuggler in payment for services rendered.
Hobbs' eyes didn't leave it for a moment. Beyond its beauty, its worth was considerable. Such items rarely left Vulcan.
"I trust it is sufficient."
A distracted hand was waved in his direction. "Take your 'apparatus'." Hobbs turned away as if to covert his acquisition.
Spock lifted the box, comfortable with its weight, and pulled out his communicator. "Mr Hobbs, I hope you are conscious of exactly how aware I am of your activities. Should I discover your simple smuggling racket has branched into the darker crimes, I will ensure its collapse." He resisted the urge to smile. "I will be watching." And before the now wide-eyed man could answer, Spock ordered beam out and he found himself in the transporter room.
"Did you get what you wanted?" Kirk's expression powered the question across the room.
"I did."
"Are you going to tell me what it is?"
An eyebrow tilted just slightly and Spock dangled the possibility in front of the curious captain. "Not at the moment."
"Why not?"
For your own safety? Perhaps. "I reserve the right of privacy."
"Not when that privacy draws an entire starship off its scheduled course."
"I have made the necessary course corrections to prevent any delay."
"You took advantage of Mr Scott's eagerness to exercise the engines after their tune up."
"It was convenient."
"Don't change the subject. What's in the box?"
"Unless you order me to reveal its contents, I reserve the right to keep the knowledge to myself."
For a moment, he thought Kirk was about to do exactly that. His calculations on the captain's personality gave a fifty percent chance of the man deciding either way. But then Kirk was anything but predictable and there were aspects that Spock had proven many times were not quantifiable. They were the same aspects he encountered when his king was checkmated.
It was a gamble. A gamble on trust.
Kirk held his gaze for a moment longer. "Mr Spock." He turned, the doors responding as he neared them. "After you."
Spock bowed his head slightly in Kirk's direction before walking briskly out of the room.
-o-o-o-
The Enterprise warped out of the system within the next half hour, leaving a trail of jailed suspects. When queried by Starfleet as to the reason for their detour, Kirk cited the criminal element, along with a brief stop for supplies. Not a lie, just not the entire truth.
Spock appreciated the faith Kirk had in him. He wasn't entirely sure of what the captain's reaction would be if he discovered the contents of the box. It was best he did not know. Deniability was the safest route.
He waited until the end of his shift that night to actually open the crate. Holding up one of the glass containers to the light, he had to admit that it did possess some beauty despite its contents.
It took only a moment to place it carefully into a plain paper bag, kindly supplied by Mr Scott the previous day. The Scotsman had a dozen questions on his face as he handed it over, but he had not asked a single one.
He altered his handwriting to make it unrecognisable as he filled out the card with a simple 'For your birthday'. He did not sign it. It was highly likely the captain would surmise its source, but beyond ordering a DNA scan or search of Spock's quarters to locate the other bottles, he would have no proof and Spock was gambling that Kirk would not pursue the matter.
There was an eighty percent chance that he would collude.
He slipped into sickbay, unseen and placed the paper bag on McCoy's desk.
While Spock did not understand the lure of alcohol, that lack did not preclude providing a moment of pleasure for a close friend.
And apparently Romulan Ale was one of the most pleasurable of them all.
-o-o-o-