Chapter 2: Dagger of the Mind

Spock mentally walked himself through the instructions the Nomad had helpfully provided him and began piecing the game system together. A week earlier he was contacted, a message embedded in a cache of messages and digital materials that comprised what the humans called a "care package data dump". These data dumps happened once a month, and usually consisted of letters, video messages, replicator recipes, texts, movies, and very rarely physical items. The last time he had received such a message was before he lost his mother, and for a moment after hearing his name called in the mail roster he was stilled.

Now he replicated the plastic game system, assembled the parts, and turned it on. The console broadcast a subspace signal and he moved to the workstation in his quarters. He pulled up his ship profile and put in a comm's request, attaching a thread that would lead the crewman assigned this task to the console's subspace signal.

He nodded as his console screen went from blue to a series of dots, showing that it had caught a connection to a comm's signal outside of the ship's internal communications network. His request had been filled in 89.586 seconds, an exceptionally efficient time for the Communications Department during ship's night. He made a note to send the Lieutenant a message commending her section's speed.

Then the screen changed, and he was looking at an empty black chair, wide enough for two people his size to sit comfortably, and currently serving as a bed for a black litka. The small animal looked just like one he might have encountered on a hike on the Forge. After a few moments it seemed to sense he was there, waking up with a jerk of its head and looking at the screen. Then the litka trilled, curious, and moved up to smell the screen and paw at him.

The small paw looked giant as it touched the screen, and Spock was reminded of Alice, growing so tall she could not see her own feet and even the ceiling of the room was too short for her stretched stature.

His clearly frivolous and illogical musings were all to the sounds of loud, repeated, plaintive cries from the litka, who was suddenly picked up and moved.

"Bad monster! You know you don't stand on the keys!" Nekae, in shorts, a white shirt with gray dashes laid out in a fractal pattern, and a green hoodie landed in the black chair. From that distance she took on normal proportions, and the projected image looked much like a video chat any Enterprise crew member might be having with a family member or friend.

"Hello Bondmate. So you got my message. The plans weren't too hard for you?" She was casual, her surroundings matching the images from the space whale uterus the Bridge crew had seen at the first contact that was now 31 days ago.

"They were not," he confirmed with a nod.

"Void. Lemme get my stuff!" she said and was up and out of the frame again. Spock had begun a list of words and phrases Nekae used that combined Ancient Vulcan vocabulary in what was clearly Modern Nomad slang. Void was used as a human would say cool or awesome. Clipping someone was obviously a threat. Empty could mean what humans mean when they say that things are fine, though it was possible he was still incorrect in that interpretation.

Then she was back in the screen, settling down on the black chair with a small, handheld device and a bowl of food with a spoon-like utensil. She put the small, black device to her lips and breathed in, held it, and breathed out.

He walked into his brother's bedroom. He did not have to ask if he could enter without signaling first-he had been assured of this seventeen times. His brother had something to his lips, an object the length of a finger with a bowl on one end that obviously had something burning inside it. He breathed in, held his breath, and breathed out.

"You are using substances for the purpose of achieving altered consciousness." She looked up at him in response, her demeanor indicating that she was curious.

"You don't like this?" she asked, though without any significant emotion. The tone of her voice was light, and her face betrayed no significant negative emotion.

"I do not have an opinion on the matter." His head rose and he looked away. His emotional reaction was illogical, a reaction to an unexpected stimulus. She was not Vulcan, and after teaching Interspecies Ethics for more than six years to Starfleet cadets he knew his own personal philosophy in this regard would not allow him to judge her for a practice simply because it was unacceptable by Vulcan standards.

"Okay..." she let the word draw out for a moment and then changed the subject. "You got the plans for the controller too, right?"

At that, he retrieved the handheld device he had constructed and held it up.

"Yes! Alright..." she picked up a similar controller and pushed a few buttons. The video screen with her image was then bordered on all sides with a thick black square and the square shrunk and repositioned itself to the top of the screen. The majority of the screen brought up the run screen of what looked like a video game.

For a moment he was transported back to his days as a cadet, when he would walk out of his bedroom to find his roommates in the suite on the common couch, eating large bowls of cereal and gaming.

"Okay, here's how it works. We'll build you a character. You have six to choose from. You can be a Beacon, a Machinist, a Navigator, a Bridge, a Disciple, or a Bruiser." Now the screen with her was in the upper right hand corner and the game screen filled his viewer. There were a group of characters, and as she spoke she used her controller to highlight each one. "Each of these characters is based on an archetype reflected in Nomad communities. Nomads define themselves with these archetypes and that makes it easier to interact."

"How so?" If these game characters were roles that Nomads played-jobs or identities or something in between-then playing could serve as a productive intelligence gathering strategy.

"Well Nomads are... you know... nomadic. We're loners. We have families, but most people either live with their mate, or a few family members, or alone and when you meet another Nomad that could be weird if there wasn't like an easy way for you to figure out who they were, what they were like, etc. These roles give me info I can use to figure out what a person might be like, or like, or not like when meeting them."

Spock was fascinated.

"The Beacon is the telepath of the group. Most Nomads aren't telepaths, and in a group the Beacon managers the bonds that connect the members. This character would facilitate communication, defend against other telepaths, facilitate the rapid-but-temporary transfer of skills, and even manage very brief kadrak transfers."

He controlled a reaction to the use of the Ancient Golic form of katra, a Vulcan term that denoted the spirit and consciousness of a Vulcan individual. The idea that any Nomad had these abilities, which for his people would be extraordinary and expected only in an Acolyte of Gol, was concerning, based on the very real possibility (48.69862%) that the relations between the Federation and the Nomads might break down and lead to hostilities. He looked up sharply when she let out a short laugh.

"Yeah, they're scary. You probably want to learn all you can about them, and playing that character is the best way to do that."

Her words chilled him, as they spoke to the very heart of his concern. The idea that she would be sharing so much information about her people with him was disconcerting, as it did not seem very strategically sound. She stated again and again in his presence that his people were her enemies.

"What?"

She was peering into her screen now, as if studying his face. He needed to keep in mind that she was not a member of the Enterprise's crew, who might not even know a Vulcan other than him. She interacted with individuals were biologically-similar to him every day, and this would make her more facile at reading his body language and facial expressions. Being nomadic would add to that facility, if only for necessities sake.

"It seems... unwise that you would reveal so much about your people to me." His father had often modeled how revealing true motivations could be used to forward negotiations.

"Ah! Yeah, that's definitely part of how we are different. You all think that privacy is so important."

"And you do not?"

Privacy was a cornerstone of Surak's philosophy, the privilege Vulcans gave one another that helped individuals better control their emotions. What happens in the family stays in the family. What happens between bondmates is sacrosanct, not to be publicly discussed. And meditation was a completely private, personal affair.

"Nope. We know privacy is a myth." Nekae spoke so casually, and watching someone with Vulcan-like facial features say something so heretical in an ancient version of his own language was disconcerting.

"A myth?"

"Obviously! I mean, you're on camera now, right? I bet your entire ship is monitored with feeds for security purposes."

"That is true..." he began, gearing up to explain the protocols for Security staff that kept even these feeds private.

"And this is true on every space station and Federation world you visit. And all of your online activity and comms activity is monitored."

"That is also true, however..."

"And when you are on a planet where such monitoring doesn't exist, you are inevitably in the company of other people in your Starfleet who would report on your activities if questioned by supervisors?"

"Yes, but-" He was getting annoyed by the interruption, a trait Nekae exhibited that a Vulcan woman never would.

"And, if necessary, there are still telepaths still employed by your own people who will violate mental barriers for national security, are there not?"

And all at once, a conversation which should have yielded him intelligence hit a wall where he was left open to reveal private information about his own people's defenses instead. It was shocking how quickly the Nomad could turn the tables in their conversations.

"Thought so." She then shrugged, as if all of this were completely obvious and normal information. "Like I said, privacy is a myth. Didn't you wonder why it was so easy for your Comms woman to hack into our feeds?"

He had to admit that he had not. Lt. Uhura's skill set was impressive, and he had not questioned it.

"I Love It!" She sang these words, revealing a new behavior that jarred his control, even as he got used to her bizarre use of language and exaggerated mannerisms. "I bet she's someone to meet. Anyway, since you probably have highly trained Starfleet officers going through Nomad personal pages right now looking for patterns, this isn't amazingly personal information that I'm revealing to you. All I'm doing is saving you the trouble of having to deal with whatever weird names they come up with to describe these personality types. You should let them know. Write a paper or something."

As she had accurately predicted exactly what the Enterprise crew were doing and what he intended to do with the information he gathered from their games, he felt no reason not to agree.

"Good. So, what kind of character do you want to make?"

[Please commend the officer on duty and note the efficiency tag for this week's performance. 89.6 seconds is an impressive connection time for personnel requests.]

Lt. Uhura read the note from Commander Spock and smiled. Her department was on it, and in the middle of the night too.

Truthfully, the parts of her job that required her to manage the seventy-four crewwomen and men in the Communications section were the most daunting for her. She had trained as a new staff member in Communications, only to be field promoted on her first mission to Bridge Officer and formally promoted to Communications Chief at the end of her first mission.

It was the first time in her life she'd regretted an award.

The few weeks of downtime they got after that first mission, after running the gamut of briefings and trainings, were spent in furious preparation. She met with Commander Breilani, the only surviving Communications Chief, now detailed to Starfleet Academy to teach. And she'd poured over everything from schedule templates to First Contact webinars, all in the hopes that she could somehow train herself to take over her new responsibilities with some level of confidence.

In their quarters, Spock watched this behavior in between his own briefings and a short stint teaching an intensive Interspecies Ethics course for a group of cadets that were being fast-tracked out into space. He channeled any anxiety he might have felt at her frenzied studying and drilling into making sure she had all of the food, water, tea, and clean clothes she could ask for, moving around her with a ninja's discretion.

None of it made up for Gaila's absence. She would have traded her Vulcan ghost mother for a meddling, distracting, completely chaotic Orion in a heartbeat.

Now these little boosts were better than a cup of real, non-replicated coffee. Her hard work had paid off, and at this point in her short career she felt like she'd hit her stride. It was an insane job, the hardest duty she'd ever dreamed of drawing, but she was phenomenal at it.

Her board lit up and she honed in on a signal that pulled at her already tense shoulders. It was from Tantalus, a Federation penal colony that housed the curable but intensely sick criminals of the Federation, all individuals with profound mental illness.

And the call Enterprise was receiving wasn't from a staff member.

"Call from an inmate at the Tantalus Penal Colony. Do you accept the charges?"

She signaled an accept with one hand while typing a quick note to the Command Team with the other. She knew they would be making their way to the Bridge, but even that didn't soften her shock at the face that came on her screen.

Khan Noonien Signh

She had forgotten that Khan was at Tantalus. Technically he was not yet formally a prisoner there. Starfleet was testing out the facility as a cage for him and the rest of the Augments, primarily as a response to pressure from Sentient Rights' groups. They were testing out whether his anarchist, narcissistic personality traits were curable with long term therapy and medication-and by extension whether or not the other Augments would be as well.

The fact that they were still holding seventy-two people in stasis was against Federation law, and teams of Sentient Rights' lawyers were fighting for their awakening. This housing of Khan at Tantalus was meant to be a security precaution and test run in preparation for that larger goal. And there were plenty of Starfleet Admirals rooting for the colony to fail, so they could justify putting them to death.

It was one thing lately that she and the higher ups could agree on: that Khan needed to die.

"What is the meaning of this call, Inmate?"

As she addressed him, she heard the turbolift open and felt the Captain and Mr. Spock walk past her. She muted the line.

"Khan is calling us from Tantalus Colony."

"What the devil can he want?!" McCoy, who had already been on the Bridge watching a couple of new Engineering techs get trained on the Bridge controls, was the first to bluster in response. The three of them huddled together for a few moments as Khan replied in her ear.

"I need to speak to Captain Kirk, immediately."

"He wants to speak to you, Sir," she said, spinning to meet Kirk's eyes. He nodded slowly.

"On screen." She cued Khan's face on the main viewers and felt the emotional tone of the Bridge change.

"What do you want, Khan?" The Captain was both straightforward and calm, and she watched as Spock took position at his right side.

"Dr. Tristan Adams is using the penal colony prisoners as guinea pigs for a series of experiments with a device called the Neural Neutralizer. Have you heard of it, Captain?"

"If you have a complaint, file it through the penal colony's channels. There's more than one doctor on the colony."

"Is there?" At that, the call cut out.

"This is obviously a trap, Captain," Spock spoke first, already at his side.

"I agree. There's a Dr. Van Gelder over there who I took a subspace seminar from a few years back. I can't imagine he'd condone neural experimentation on prisoners." McCoy came in on his other side. Kirk was nodding.

"Just to be safe, let's get a briefing together. In two hours, I want us all to be experts on Tantalus.

"That's a ridiculous question."

Spock watched her in the top right corner of the screen, the video chat screen smaller as they played through the adventure game that served as a training simulator and social networking space for the Nomads.

He had chosen to play a Beacon, precisely for the reasons she had earlier inferred, and she a Navigator. And though she made it clear to him that Navigator was not the role she took in her own family, the character seemed to suit her well.

The Navigator was a social lubricator, keeping a wide list of contacts, business connections, and personal friends in all corners of the galaxy. Her role was to balance the more socially introverted Beacon by knowing people that made their ability to achieve game goals easier.

To Spock, this seemed like a very fitting role for her to play, as that was the function she had served for them on Organia.

"How is it ridiculous? Clearly I do not know the answer, and surely it is not confidential..." he replied, using wordplay to remind her of their time on the planet as he had just been reminded. She smirked.

"I'm worried that if I answer you, it'll upset your delicate aristocratic sensibilities."

"I am prepared." She laughed outright at this, though strangely enough she did not correct his frivolity or question his humor. While she constantly questioned him about lying, deception, or violence, humor did not seem to come off as strange to her.

"I eat them." He paused then, mind pulled into a memory.

His parents were away, on a diplomatic assignment. This was one of the first times they had chosen to travel without him, and his brother was in charge in their absence. Spock was relieved, because he knew his older sibling would not make any unexpected demands of him. He was also ahead in his studies, and had already allotted the hours until their parents returned between the piano, the lyre, and care of his mother's rose and tomato plants.

It was in this pursuit that Spock entered the kitchen, arms full with a basket of tomatoes ready for washing, blanching, and slow cooking into a kind of human-vulcan hybrid dyrk yon-savas. He was composing a song on piano to welcome his parents home with as he walked into the kitchen, and did not realize there were people at the small table they often ate at as a family until he heard one of them react to his presence.

"Is it proper that he be here?"

And then his brother answered, "Of course. Spock values privacy." That was their cue that one or the other might be doing something questionable. Spock focused narrowly on the counter and the tools he would need to accomplish his task. If his parents asked, he saw nothing amiss.

There was an odor, though, one he had never before smelled. It was savory, but odd to his nose, and he was unsure if he would categorize it as pleasant.

"This is not an incorrect action, so there is no lack of propriety in any case," another voice responded, female and belonging to a Vulcan girl of his brother's acquaintance.

"Indeed not," Sybok said, "as they would otherwise have gone to waste. Without the mother they would have perished. With us their death serves new life."

It was only later, on a trip with his family to Earth, that he would learn the smell of eggs is universal, almost irregardless of the creature producing them.

"You eat the eggs?" He could not help the feeling that rose from his stomach to his throat.

"Oh, lemme guess, that's not something followers of Surak do?" He shook his head.

"Are you judging me right now?" Her rejoinder quoted him, also from their time on Organia.

"No. You are not of Vulcan. You may follow whatever customs you like in regards to your culinary habits."

"Okay okay hold up. I don't even think my eating her eggs is a violation of Surak's tenets. And since we are in the middle of a cultural exchange, it is about time you offered up some insight into the ethics of your people. Agreed?"

"Agreed." He was much more comfortable with their interaction as it got more balanced.

"Good. So, I live inside a space whale. In the uterus, which is warm and wet and full of microorganisms that eat metallic rust, so the frame of the ship around me will last much longer than it otherwise would. That's a pretty void deal, right?"

"Presumably, yes."

"Of course it is!" She took another drag off her dark handheld pipe and then continued. "But it isn't free. I mean, it is if I wanted to be a parasite, but what honor is there in that?"

"It would seem dishonorable..." he ventured.

"Exactly. So I offer to do something for her in return. And since she has a rider-that's another person living inside her, like me, but not like me like I'm like you, and in the brain-I have a way to communicate with her. So I ask the rider what she wants, and he tells me. And in this case, what she wants is to not get pregnant anytime soon."

"You act as her contraceptive?"

"Yes! So yeah, I'm eating eggs, but I'm doing it for her. And in doing so I'm less of a parasite and more of a symbiote. Is that really against Surak's tenets?" He contemplated her question, chains of logic unfurling for each possible choice and argument.

"No, so long as it is not enjoyed." This response prompted more laughter.

While a part of his brain graphed her response alongside her prior ones in the matrix he was using to attempt to successfully predict future responses as he learned to read her, another was preoccupied.

"What?" How did she always know when he was preoccupied.

"I am contemplating the differences in our lives, and how difficult other Vulcans would find even imagining life as you live it."

That stopped the laughter completely, and he looked up. Not satisfied with the smaller video window, he toggled the screen so the Nomad's face was large and centered and the game was in the upper right corner.

"I have said something amiss?" He kept his voice light, but he was starting to be concerned about the serious expression her face had taken.

"I was just thinking about my ancestor, T'Zenia. You know, sometimes you wonder about something you think is normal, like, 'That must have been crazy the first time someone tried it, right?' And T'Zenia was born in the desert before having to flee to space. As weird as you think this is, she must have been desperate to even attempt it."

They both sat in a silence Spock was unequipped to break as the Enterprise cut through space towards Tantalus.

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