Title: New life and New Civilizations
Summary: Six months after the destruction of Vulcan, Captain Kirk and crew are given their first real mission aboard the Enterprise. When long-range sensors pick up a faint distress call in the Neutral Zone, no expects what they find…
Rating: T for language. There will be a pre-slash relationship built here, but there will be NO overt sex, I just don't do that.
Disclaimer: I do not own Star Trek. All non-OC characters, sets, ships, etc. are property of Gene Rodenberry, J.J. Abrams, or someone who isn't me.
"Captain!" Spock shouted, diving at the pair, but it was too late. In a swirl of cloth and a flash of blue light they were gone.
Jim slowly opened his eyes, he had no idea where he was, nor how long he'd been there. His head, lolling against his chest, was throbbing in that way only powerful drugs could make it while his shoulders screamed in pain. He tried to move his left arm and met with mind-numbing pain; he was, apparently, hanging from chains connected to his now very numb wrists. He inhaled deeply and stretched his legs; his toes barely touched the ground, allowing him to take some of the pressure off his aching arms. Lifting his head, he winced as bright light flooded his vision. He was in a small room with heavy metal walls on all sides; they were plain, smooth, and unadorned, save for the single door in the wall opposite him. Between him and the door sat the only furniture in the room, a single black desk, smooth and shiny enough for Jim to just make out his reflection in its surface. It was perhaps an inch thick, maybe a bit more, with a surface that sloped down to form the solid legs on either side; on top of it sat a black tablet of some sort, made of the same shiny material as the desk, and a long, elegant looking silver stylus. Behind the desk sat a large, comfy looking wingback chair, its surface covered in what looked like deep crimson leather. He had a very uneasy feeling about the whole thing.
The door opposite him opened with an ominous hiss; in stepped the being from the station. Gone were the heavy gauntlets around his forearms and the long black cassock, replaced by a long, thick black vest which stretched to the ground and a finer embroidered black jacket underneath. Around his neck and shoulders hung a heavy sliver chain which hung down to the middle of his chest where a heavy looking badge hung. His face was still hidden behind the smooth black helmet. Pulling out the chair, he sat behind the desk and calmly waved his hand over the surface. Immediately the desk sprang to life, images and writing flashed and scrolled across the surface. He bowed his head, seemingly reading the display for several minutes before waving his hand again; screen promptly went blank. Taking the silver stylus in his hand, he tapped it once on the tablet and looked up, fixing Jim with an unseen gaze.
"What was your purpose for attacking a vessel of the Myrrshan Star Empire?" He more demanded than asked. The voice was heavy and artificial, like it had been processed and translated by a computer and seemed to not come from the being itself, but rather from the room as a whole. Jim stared at the alien, confusion washing over his face before determination set in. He had to give him credit, the being had done his homework; he certainly knew how to terrify a human. He fixed the faceless mask with an even gaze; two could play this game.
"James Tiberius Kirk, Captain of the Federation starship USS Enterprise, service number-" a sharp pain lanced through Kirk's body, breaking his response and ripping a snarled scream from his chest.
"What was your purpose for attacking a vessel of the Myrrshan Star Empire?" His interrogator repeated himself.
"Service number sierra charlie-" another shock tore through his body. The alien repeated himself for a third time. "-sierra nine three seven dash zero seven one six charlie echo charlie." Jim finished, unabated. Closing his eyes, he braced his body for another shock. It never came.
Opening them, he saw the alien was no longer staring at him, but rather looking down at information streaming across the desk surface, the stylus he now held in his right hand moved across the surface of the tablet in short slashes and strokes. Straining against his bonds, Jim craned his neck over and peered at the tablet. He could just make out the faint silver writing that was recorded with each stroke of the stylus; it looked very, very familiar. Racking his brain, Jim's mind flashed over the past week since this whole adventure had started. The shuttle: that's where he had seen it. The writing was less heavy and angular when written by hand, but he was sure of it. The memories of the shuttle brought with them others. In the silence of the room Jim found his mind drifting to young George, hoping he was okay. It wasn't that he didn't trust anyone on the Enterprise to watch after the boy, it was more that George didn't seem to fully trust anyone else. The poor kid had had his family ripped from him already, now to have the only person he fully trusted on the ship taken as well seemed like a cruel move to Jim.
As if reading his mind (Jim was fairly certain he was) his interrogator's head snapped up, fixing him with an unseen stare. Standing so suddenly that the chair's feet screeched along the metal floor, the man turned and marched out the door, coat tails billowing behind him. The door opened and shut with a finite hiss.
He hung there, limply. The bright lights were starting to give him a headache and his shoulders were nearly popping out of their sockets. Sweat dripped from his brow down into his eyes, stinging him every movement. Jim had no idea how long the alien had left him for. He was pretty sure it had been an hour or so, but in his situation, who knew. It was funny, in a cruel, ironic fashion; his week had started trying to help an unknown alien and now here he was, stuck in the chains of another unknown alien.
Jim's head jerked up at the ominous hiss of the door. His interrogator stepped back into the room, the door closing behind him. In his left hand was a metallic rod, it was square, about as wide as his palm, and came up to his hip. This was not good. Jim steeled his body, readying for the blows. He'd been beaten before, Frank had made sure of that, but, despite what he always told himself as a child, it never got easier. The interrogator stopped behind the chair, seemingly fixing Kirk with an unseen gaze. With measured, even steps, he walked around the chair and the desk, stopping between the desk and Kirk; he set the end of the rod on the floor with an echoing clank. He stood silently, staring and Kirk. His body was rigid, left arm tucked behind his back while his right rested on top of the rod. Without looking away, he depressed a hidden button on the top of the rod with his thumb. Whatever Jim's subconscious mind had been preparing him for, this was not it.
The rod quickly unfolded into some kind of rickety looking camp chair. Walking back to the desk he waved his hand over it and pressed one of the holographic buttons. The chain holding Jim in place slowly unwound, lowering him to the ground, he sighed deeply as his arms flopped down onto his chest, the muscles of his arms and back twitched involuntarily as he felt the pins and needles flooding his limbs. The alien bent down and unbuckled the shackles around Jim's wrists, pulling him, not unkindly, up and into the chair. Jim felt the chair take his weight, it was surprising solid. Gently he rocked his shoulders back and forth, reveling in the dull ache of the movement. He watched his interrogator settle into the leather chair across the desk. He picked up the tablet and stylus, moving them to the side of the desk. Interlacing his fingers, he laid his hands on the desk.
"James. Tiberius. Kirk." The faceless being repeated Jim's name, slowly pronouncing each one of the unfamiliar syllables. Something had changed; some minute detail that Jim was just noticing now. The voice no longer filled the room, nor was it heavy and electronic. It seemed almost muffled, as if coming from something hidden behind a plate. Realization flooded Jim's mind and he snapped his head up.
"Yes, that's my name." Jim spoke slowly, unsure of this new setting.
"Captain. USS Enterprise." The being continued.
"Yes," Kirk replied, fixing the blank, expressionless face with a even stare. "Who are you?"
"What happened to the shuttle?" The alien completely avoided Jim's question. His voice was just as formal as when Jim had been hanging from the wall, but now there was a hint of something that Jim was having trouble identifying; it wasn't fear, but it also wasn't happiness. It was more like the man had simple resigned himself to a disheartening fate.
Jim made a snap decision. There was something going on here behind the scenes and that shuttle had everything to do with it. With an even, steady voice Jim told him about the shuttle and finding George. He watched the alien opposite him, looking for any clues. The mask made things difficult, but he saw the being's body flinch at the mention of the bodies in the shuttle. Consciously he chose not to tell this stranger about his budding relationship with George, something held him in check. The faceless being sat quietly, unmoving, listening to Jim's story. When he finished with their arrival at the station and chance meeting with the alien itself, he fell silent, It knew the rest.
"Where is…George?" He faltered over the name, as if he had wanted to call the boy something else. Jim decided to try a gamble. It was just possible that this whole mess could be salvaged, that the Federation could gain a new friend instead of an enemy.
"He's on my ship. My ship's doctor was able to heal him and we've been taking care of him best we can." Jim paused, thinking to himself, adding, "I think he really wants to go home though." The two stayed silent, staring at each other. With the slightest possible movement, the interrogator jerked his head to the right. His helmet, a flat, shiny expanse of black, split down the middle, the pieces folding in on each other as they tucked away behind the man's neck. Staring back at him was an older version of George. He had the same messy dark hair, pale skin and pointed ears, though there were no spots on his forehead. Both the man and George had small, pointed noses and high, aristocratic cheeks. Staring at him were the same bright eyes, the vertical pupil unnerving Jim, almost as if his instinctual mind was warning him of a predator. George's eyes had been a shiny copper color; these were a cutting, hard gray, like the edge of a knife.
"My name is Tellar Istari," He spoke clearly, voice filling the room, "and I thank you Captain Kirk."
"Who are you?"
A/N: Thanks again for the reviews everyone, keep them coming! Until next time…