It wasn't strictly necessary for McCoy to check in on the woman Shashi and her baby. She was already out of the ICU and her nurses were keeping him apprised. But the other Vulcan woman – her cousin, apparently – was still critical. He wasn't nearly as confident in her recovery. A little shot of mother and child goodness was just what he needed right now. Plus, C-section babies had those unsquished perfectly shaped heads.
But the little figure sitting forlornly on the floor outside Shashi's cubicle would have to be tended to before that could happen. He couldn't see her face, buried as it was in her updrawn knees. Only the tips of her pointy ears showed through unkempt hair. Sensing his nearness, her shoulders hunched higher around her ears and her arms tightened around her legs.
"We have chairs to sit in, if you're interested," McCoy said.
Startled, she looked up then hurriedly scrambled to her feet. It was clear she'd expected him to be someone else. He could practically see the battle waging inside her head as she tried to determine how much deference he was due.
"Mr. Spock commanded me to wait here," she said barely above a whisper. Poor kid was going to be wringing her hands in a second.
"On the floor? That doesn't sound like Spock to me. He's a firm believer in chairs."
She inched warily away from him with a furtive but dismissive side-eye, the kind of look characteristic of adolescents from many species when pondering the dangerous stupidity of adults. "Chairs exist. One needn't believe in chairs for that to be true."
"Well," he replied gently, ducking into Shashi's cubicle to bring out a chair, "quantum physics might argue a chair doesn't exist until we're looking at it." He placed it on the deck next to her. "Would you care to sit in this observable chair and tell me why Spock upset you with his command?"
She straightened up to her full not-very-tall height. He got the impression he'd insulted her.
"He did not upset me," she corrected. Yep. Definitely insulted.
"You don't mind if I sit down then? I've been on my feet for hours." He sat. They were closer to eye-level now, but she averted her gaze.
"I do not know you well enough to mind what you do or do not do, sir."
"You're right. Sorry about that. My name is Leonard. I'm a doctor. I helped deliver that baby in there." He aimed a thumb over his shoulder.
"You did well. His head is more symmetrical than some of the other newborn infants I have observed."
"Why thank you."
"I am Tes of the T'Sai Suk."
"Pleasure to make your acquaintance. Is your mother the one admitted a little while ago? "
"Yes. Mr. Spock told me to wait here with Shashi and her baby until he came to fetch me. But then Shashi became fatigued and wished to sleep. Her infant was also sleeping. I went to locate Mr. Spock and inform him of this—" Tes met his gaze directly for the first time, motivated by what was clearly a terrible injustice. "He was displeased I had disobeyed and would not allow me to explain my reasoning. His response was illogical."
And hurt her feelings McCoy suspected.
"Hmm. That is strange. Reasonable explanations are some of his favorite things. Is it possible that what you interpreted as displeasure was actually concern for your safety?"
"But it was only Dr. Mas!"
McCoy was pretty sure there was no one on staff by that name. "I'm sorry. Who is that now?"
"Dr. Mas. She is the physician who cares for us in the compound."
"Wait. The doctor from— She's on the ship? In the Medbay?" She nodded. He got up. "Is Spock with her now?"
"I do not know. He sent me away."
A Romulan doctor. In his Medbay. Why the hell wasn't he informed there was a Romulan doctor in his Medbay? "Show me."
The only move Tes made was a small shake of her head.
"Listen. I have way more authority in this department than Spock does. So, I'm overriding his command. Lead on, missy. You can introduce me to this Dr. Mas."
After brief consideration she started towards the private exam rooms with him behind her. They hadn't gotten but a few steps when the yellow alert sounded.
Hannam ir'Thieurull t'Mas.
Thieurull. "Hellguard." The name of the planet, the outpost, the prison compound itself, the state of existence for those within.
The word was, in the Romulan language, a kind of portmanteau, though the Federation lingua franca rendered it as two distinct words linked together. Spock understood there were layered meanings and an ironic one as well, but he was not proficient enough in the language or in the culture itself to understand more than the superficial concept of something extremely unpleasant but obligatory. It was therefore telling that this woman had adopted Thieurull as her locative name.
Dr. Mas's physical affectations were, he surmised, a show for his benefit, vacillating between guilelessness and a seeming insouciance regarding her circumstances. It confirmed what he had observed in her thus far – a cunning desperation that would turn to sycophancy or repudiation as the need arose.
One thing she had made clear, he had not handled Tes's disregard for his authority appropriately. Mas's tacit approval of his "firm hand" was steeped in sickening implications. He found himself actively disliking the woman, though he had laid eyes on her only two minutes and twenty seconds ago. An emotional response. One of many of late.
Practicing self-forgiveness was one thing, but the ease with which his various … feelings surfaced went beyond the acceptable parameters of daily meditation. Careful examination of emotional states was not the same as allowing them free rein. The temporary measure he'd devised over a year ago was intended to act as a safety valve to relieve pressure when the loss of his mother and home threatened to overwhelm him. Now it seemed an unhealthy self-indulgence, not conducive to his well-being in the long term. He would need to address the issue once this current crisis was resolved.
Dr. Mas smiled vaguely at him. The masseter muscle over his right jaw twitched. Behind his back, his left hand curled into a fist.
"This woman is Romulan, not Vulcan. She should have been confined to security detention the moment she came aboard."
The nurse whose name tag read "Chapel" said, "We made an erroneous assumption, Commander, and for that I apologize. We were told the adult females were all Vulcans."
"Did no one bother to run a medical scan over her when she arrived? Surely that would have saved you an erroneous assumption."
Chapel took up the gauntlet of irritation he'd thrown down and lobbed it back at him. "I believe I've already explained that she was beamed directly from the planet to the Medbay in an unresponsive state—"
"Actually, you did not mention an unresponsive state. You said—"
"—non-physical trauma! Yes. Yes, I did, didn't I?" Her voice snapped at him, acerbic, right on the edge of insubordination. "At the time of her arrival, she was assessed as unresponsive in a manner that suggested catatonia related to psychological trauma or schizophrenia. Given the circumstances of captivity—"
"Vulcans do not suffer from schizophrenia."
"Mr. Spock," Nurse Chapel said, whipping out a medical scanner, "there was a lot going on at the time. We were a little too busy to reference the DSM for Vulcan mental disorders."
She circled Dr. Mas, invading Spock's space in the process so that he was forced to step back to prevent physical contact. He asked, "Is she well enough to receive medical treatments while in a security detention cell?" His vocal inflection at least sounded unperturbed.
"She's currently demonstrating several indicators of stress, all attributable to the situation." Nurse Chapel's eyes were an icy blue. He took note because of how disapprovingly focused they were on him just then. "It's your call, sir."
"Commander?" the security officer interjected. His professional demeanor suffered under the weight of the news he was about to impart. "If you remember, sir, the cells in the brig are at capacity."
Of course, he remembered. The cells were technically over capacity.
"Also, the, uh, prisoners? They're all male, sir."
And rapists. Could not forget that. Nurse Chapel had her arms crossed over her chest, watching him, her expression only slightly less trenchant.
"I can provide information," Dr. Mas said softly.
And there it was. He thought it would have taken her longer. She was not present when Perren attacked Kaol and caused the damage that currently rendered him useless, Spock was certain of this. But Dr. Mas was now their only viable source of information. It seemed unlikely she knew it and yet...
Did she understand what was being said about her? Or merely adept at reading the room?
The two humans were looking to him for translation or summary. He gave them neither, just in case. "I will contact the quartermaster and arrange other secure accommodations. Meanwhile—"
Emergency lights started flashing. A calm, pleasantly female voice announced ship's status as "yellow alert." A moment later he was called to the bridge.
Kirk glanced over his shoulder as the lift doors parted and Spock entered the bridge. "Romulan Scout ship, we think," he said as his first officer moved to his station. "Just idling there. Probably knows we're aware of it by now."
"A scout ship does not pose much of a threat to the Enterprise, Captain. However, if little has changed from the last intelligence we had on this classification, it is likely equipped with a banned cloaking device."
"Yeah. We kind of figured that out already."
"It must still disengage its cloak to fire a weapon."
"Nose mounted disrupter, I'm assuming. Photon torpedoes?"
"No more than two, if it is even equipped with such. These stalker scouts are quite fast, however, with a running warp speed of 7.6 to a maximum of 9.67."
"So, like five seconds for it to get from there to here," Kirk said.
"I would estimate in the range of 10 to 12 seconds depending on speed."
"Let's just say pretty damned quick. Interesting it shows up now that we're nearly finished with this operation. Any idea how long it's been hanging around, Mr. Spock?"
"We've been running constant sensor scans since we crossed the Neutral Zone, sir," Sulu offered, unprompted. "Both long and short range." Kirk detected a hint of defensiveness.
"These vessels are designed for both stealth and speed, Mr. Sulu," Spock said. "As yet, Starfleet has no consistently reliable technology for detecting cloaked vessels no matter how diligent and thorough our scans."
"Captain," Lt. M'Ress said. "Crew on the surface have begun transporting equipment up."
"No, no. Inform them they are to beam themselves up first."
He smiled sympathetically at Spock's sigh of resignation. "We'll get the stuff if we have time, Mr. Spock."
"Of course, Captain."
He turned back to M'Ress. "Hail the shuttle."
We are finally leaving this place. We are rescued. We are free.
Despite that fulfillment, the passengers of the Einstein are oddly subdued. T'Izhlen's fellow Vulcans share a hazy telepathic drift, equal parts vague disquiet, and relief. In the cockpit, the human pilot and Lt. Uhura talk quietly to each other with the ease of amiable co-workers. The two human women (who are not commissioned officers) sit across from T'Izhlen and Vareshi. They have stripped their protective outer garments and lean back in their seats, heads lolling, eyes closed, drowsing. Their odor is not pleasant, but then none of the Vulcans can claim much better. There is the promise of bathing and clean garments soon.
About midway through the flight, Uhura ambles from the cockpit to the small hygiene booth at the back. When she emerges, she pulls the elastic band from her hair and sits in one of the empty seats in the cabin. Her fingers dig into her scalp, drag through the loosened tresses, and scratch with abandon until the crown of her head sports a tangled nest. She catches T'Izhlen's eye, doesn't quite smile, but it is as if they share a deep understanding about constricting hairbands. Her gaze floats over the others without focusing on anyone, and for a while she seems merely lost in thought. Then she asks, "Were any of you on the SS Chibuzo?"
It is a rude question asked in the rude language of the Federation, a question with questions beneath. Are any still alive? How did they die? T'Izhlen is sure Uhura knows there is no way to answer such a question in vuhlkansu that would not be invasive, transgressive – even the dead have a right to some privacy.
There is a moment of silent exchange. In the rude common language of the Federation, T'Lie says carefully, "None that are on this shuttle."
"There are none left," T'Izhlen amends. What is the point of guarding secrets now? "The last of those women died 3.4 planetary rotations prior."
For a human, Uhura manages her response with little emotional expression. "I grieve with thee," she says, reverting to vuhlkansu. "I would honor her name."
"She was T'Aimnu," Vareshi replies. "Our children are siblings."
Uhura's equanimity falters. She appears … distressed. Surely, she understands the odds of several women bearing children from the same genetic donor were high in the circumstances.
"Oh. Um. You mean, the little girls all around four or five years old? Half-sisters?"
An odd phrase. "Sisters of different mothers," T'Izhlen clarifies. She is one of their mothers.
Four girl children born within days of each other, all sired by the same man. A matched set Kaol had called them, held in reserve for some different scheme, some future horror. He gave them "amusing" names…
They are free now.
Almost free.
From the cockpit comes a chiming sound, "Enterprise to the shuttle Einstein."
Uhura scrambles to the cockpit, toggles a switch. "Enterprise this is Lt. Uhura for the Einstein."
Without preamble Captain Kirk says, "Your pilot needs to pick up speed, Lieutenant."
The pilot's eyes stay fixed on the control readouts. "Lt. Kochulaev here, Captain. How much speed does the situation call for, sir?"
"You're still fifteen minutes out and I need you in the hanger bay five minutes ago."
"Aye sir." Primary thrusters engage for the second time, and the vessel gives a subtle jump, barely sensed by its occupants – unlike the sense of urgency they now experience.
"What is happening?" T'Lie asks.
"Safety harnesses everyone," Uhura says.
Mr. Spock's voice cuts in, suddenly. "Raise your shields!"