[A.N. Braces = suspenders. I can't say Spock was wearing suspenders. It makes him sound like a burlesque dancer... Also, I'm sorry if I haven't replied to reviews. Honestly, I lose track. My life is chaotic.]

11.

'Well, now isn't this fascinating?'

Spock hadn't even noticed the lab door opening, but now he spun to see a middle-aged man standing there, a pipe held in one hand and a jacket slung over the other arm, just looking at him. Instinctively Spock picked up his discarded hat and covered his ears with it, but the man had already seen him, although he didn't seem to react to Spock's appearance. A strangeness in anatomy was probably nothing to the fact that he had been caught breaking and entering a university facility, and apparently stealing its tools and resources.

Spock stood very calmly, saying, 'I beg your pardon. I was in great need of this equipment.'

The man's eyes moved between Spock and the odd assortment of things on the table. Spock picked up the Ney'roni'i device and carefully put it back into the bag he had brought it here in. Wires still trailed from it to the telephone and power supply, but at least the garishly alien device was hidden. He began to carefully disconnect the wires as the man moved closer.

'Who are you, and what are you doing here?' the man asked.

Spock slung the bag onto his shoulder and adjusted his weight between his feet, aware of the pain that still hampered his gait due to his injured ankle.

'I intended no harm,' he said calmly. 'It was very necessary that I use this equipment.'

'You're a spy, aren't you?' the man said. 'Did Arkwright send you? Spying on my research, huh? Come to copy my workings?'

Spock edged a little closer towards the door of the room. The man cracked his knuckles. He looked by no means strong, but very determined.

'Don't you try to run. I've already called the police,' the man said.

Spock ran. Out through the door and down the stairs, pain shooting through his leg as he pounded through the corridors and towards the door he had let himself in by. He could hear the man racing after him but he didn't look back. He opened the door and slammed it behind himself. As he ran down the narrow walkway alongside the building he caught a glimpse suddenly of Elsie standing there in the bushes, her mouth open and her eyes wide. He thrust the bag at her, snapping, 'Keep it safe, hide!' and ran on as she melted back into the ornamental planting. He could not risk that very alien device being found and investigated by people of this time – least not by people at the university, who may actually have enough understanding about it to see how very alien it was.

He pounded around the corner of the building, hearing shouting from behind and then a whistle from somewhere in front of him. Then a stentorian voice shouted out, 'Police! Stop!'

He jerked his head around to see a number of men in uniform pounding towards him, some kind of batons in their hands. Were the police of this era armed? He didn't know, but he couldn't risk it. If he were shot and he was examined by a doctor then the consequences would be dire. He slewed to a halt and his ankle suddenly gave beneath him. He sank to the ground, hissing in breath between his teeth, pressing his hands around his ankle and hoping that he had not snapped a ligament. He had to avoid medical examination at all costs.

'All right, come on, on your feet,' one of the policeman said, walking towards him.

Spock glanced up. It was clear that the man was armed only with a baton at this moment, but he still didn't know if there might be a firearm concealed under his jacket. He stood up, clamping down on the hot pain in his ankle and raising his hands slightly away from his sides.

'I am not going to resist arrest,' he said in a calm voice.

'All right, Jones,' the policeman nodded to his colleague, who came forward in silence to pull Spock's arms behind his back and cuff his wrists together. Spock stood quietly, unresisting as the officer nudged him forward, and he began to walk, trying to conceal the pain in his ankle.

'''''''''''''

The police station seemed a primitive place, to say the least. For now Spock found himself shut into a small cell, a high, narrow room with utilitarian tiles half way up the walls and then painted white to the ceiling. The door was metal and locked tight. The facilities comprised a bucket on the floor. The window was above his reach unless he stood on the bed, which was little more than a platform at the side of the room, but there was little to see through it and it seemed more sensible to recline and rest his throbbing ankle. He sat with his back against the wall and his ankle elevated as best he could on a rolled blanket, waiting for something to happen. At least the cuffs had been removed as soon as he had submitted to a search and been confined to this cell. On the other hand his tie, braces, and shoelaces had also been removed – but at least they had allowed him to retain the bandage he had on his ankle.

He closed his eyes and sighed. At least he had managed to contact the ship. They were aware of where he was. He had a chance now of being located, of returning the stolen device to its proper owners, of securing the Ney'ron people who had infiltrated this time. Since time was flexible as far as his would-be rescuers were concerned, they could appear at any time. His immediate problem was to conceal his identity from the law enforcement of this time. He had no papers, and had given no address, and he had no idea what might happen if he were convicted of breaking and entering, or of stealing or vandalism. It was a given that with the resources of the Enterprise he could be removed from any institution of this era, but that would only happen if the captain brought the ship to this time.

He heard footsteps outside, then the metallic clunk of the door being unlocked and a bolt being drawn back. A policeman appeared in the doorway.

'Come on, sunshine. Out,' he said, jerking his thumb at the corridor outside.

Spock got to his feet with care, resisting asking why the man thought he might respond to the moniker sunshine. It was a term McCoy had used on him occasionally, and questioning its use had never gone well.

The policeman took him silently through to another room, where Spock was invited to sit on one side of a small table. Opposite sat a man who seemed to be of higher rank than those who had so far dealt with him. He was scrutinising a piece of paper in front of him.

'Grayson Spock,' he said, tapping a pen on the paper. Finally he looked up. 'I'm Inspector Rawlins.'

Spock inclined his head gravely.

'And you have no fixed abode,' the man continued. 'No place of work. No relatives to vouch for you. You've been in this city for – what, a day?'

'For approximately twenty three point seven two hours,' Spock nodded. The man glanced up at him again, a look of muted surprise on his face.

'So, you were caught in the university, having broken into one of the labs and stolen some equipment?' the officer asked.

Spock shook his head. 'I admit that I gained entry to the university, but I did not remove anything from the premises that I did not bring in myself,' he said honestly.

'You left with a bag in your possession. It wasn't on your person when you were arrested.'

'That is true,' Spock said. 'However, it only contained that which already belonged to me.'

'Then why did you throw it away. What was in it, and where did you throw it?'

'I threw it into the bushes,' Spock said truthfully enough. He didn't need to mention that Elsie had been there to catch it. 'It contained a communications device,' he said, since that was the function the device had been performing most recently. 'My reasons for discarding it are my own.'

The man sighed and scratched his head.

'You're an odd looking chap, aren't you?'

Spock lifted an eyebrow. 'My mother had no complaints,' he said.

'What were you doing in the university?' the officer asked, passing over what some might have regarded as cheek.

'I required access to the equipment and facilities in the lab,' Spock said honestly. 'I didn't believe I could have gained that access by asking. As you say, I have no fixed abode and no one to vouch for me. In those circumstances, the only option I had was to force entry.'

He had declined to mention the boarding house that he was registered at, or his connection with Elsie Kirk. It seemed best to protect Elsie and her relatives as far as possible from any investigation from the authorities of this time.

'The only option,' Rawlins murmured, jabbing at the paper in front of him with the tip of his fountain pen. Spock watched, wondering how long the nib would survive under such abuse.

'Professor Alcock from the university thinks you were sent by a rival to spy on his developments in nuclear theory,' Rawlins said.

'I was not,' Spock replied.

'Then what were you doing?' the officer asked, impatience breaking into his voice.

Spock closed his eyes briefly, then regarded the man and said as honestly as possible, 'I am a long way from home and I urgently needed to contact my people. I believed I could only do that with the equipment at the university.'

'Why didn't you just use the damned telephone service?' Rawlins asked him, starting to sound exasperated. For a moment he reminded Spock strongly of Dr McCoy. 'Or send a telegram?'

'My people are not connected to the telephone service,' Spock said, honestly enough.

'You're American, aren't you?' Rawlins asked, leaning back to consider him.

Spock inclined his head. It was half a truth, at any rate. He had been born to an American mother, and his accent was certainly influenced by hers.

'But you don't have a passport or any papers? You don't have any record of your entry to this country?'

'I do not,' Spock said.

'So you are, in effect, an illegal alien?'

Spock's eyebrow quirked upward at that. If he had been human, he would have laughed.

'Yes, I imagine I am,' he nodded.

Rawlins sighed. 'You're obviously an intelligent man, Mr Spock. You know how this is going to go. You refuse to give us any more details than your name and age. You refuse to tell us exactly why you broke into the university. You refuse to go into detail about the bag you discarded, and why you discarded it. It's possible we could clear this all up, if you're honest with us. But otherwise it's going to mean prison, and you won't enjoy that, believe me.'

Spock blinked. He could not be more honest than he was being. It could be that he would have no choice but to be tried and sentenced. As long as he could avoid more than the most cursory medical examination, he might be safe. But the idea of being incarcerated in this time did not appeal. He couldn't imagine that he would serve a sentence of whatever length without at some point having the truth of his identity revealed.

He leant forward across the table, resting his arms on the flat surface.

'I assure you, Inspector, I meant no harm when I entered the university. I did not intend to remove anything from the building. It was very necessary that I contact my people, and this was the only way I could conceive of doing so.'

'Who are your people, Mr Spock?' the Inspector asked quietly, folding his arms and leaning back in his chair. 'You keep talking about your people. Who are they, and why do you need to contact them in this way? Why not just send them a letter if they don't have telephones?'

Spock regarded him for a long moment, wondering how honest he could be with this man. He seemed intelligent and rational, but that didn't mean it was safe to reveal more than he already had. Even with the evidence of his differing anatomy it had taken some persuasion for Elsie and Jim to believe his story, but at least when they had their thoughts hadn't turned to study or vivisection. If he revealed it to this man, in custody and without the chance to run if necessary, he could be leading himself into extreme danger.

'I cannot tell you any more, Inspector,' he said. 'I am sorry.'

The inspector sighed and rubbed a hand over his forehead.

'I'd like to help you, Mr Spock. You seem like a good chap. But I can't if you don't give me more to go on. All I have at the moment is a vagrant who has broken into a very important building and who refuses to help himself by being honest. What can I do?'

Spock shook his head.

'There is little that you can do,' he said. 'I do appreciate your intent – but I cannot say more.'

The inspector sighed again, pushing his chair back from the table and gathering his papers together as he stood up.

'The sergeant tells me you injured your ankle when you were running,' he said. 'Would you like us to take a look?'

Spock shook his head. He already had the bandage around the injured ankle, and he had taken the liberty of unwinding and reapplying it when he was in the police cell.

'I don't need medical attention,' he said.

'Well – do you need breakfast?' the inspector asked as if he wanted to do something for his hapless prisoner. 'I'd say it's a given you missed it this morning?'

Spock's eyebrow lifted. 'That is indeed a given,' he said. 'Are you able to cater for vegans?'

'Is that a religion?' the inspector asked blankly.

Spock shook his head, opting for the more simple, 'I am a vegetarian. I don't eat animal products.'

'I'll have them send something in,' the inspector told him. 'Let's get you back to your lodgings.'

Spock stood, the inspector's hand on his arm. For a moment he harboured a most illogical hope that the man was returning him to the boarding house – but of course he didn't know about the boarding house, and was merely referring to the cell in a jocular manner. Spock walked carefully, unable to conceal his limp, the inspector's hand tight under his elbow to give him support. In another time, perhaps he could have cultivated a friendship with this man.