A/N On November 3rd I got a new prescription for the anxiety disorder that has plagued me for the past four years or so. It'll probably take a few weeks to kick in. Meanwhile, intermittent dread has made it difficult the past month to write as much as I want. And though I plotted out the chapters carefully when I began this project, I had to add more as the characters required of me. I hope you all are still engaged. Reviews, especially in these times, are balm for the soul.
Spock whirled about, jumped up and slide-stepped to the Comms station in a dance-like move that startled Lt. M'Ress and belied the urgency in his voice, "Raise your shields!"
A concomitant flurry of action erupted all around the bridge as Kirk ordered the Enterprise to do the same, but the Romulan scout had already zipped past their starboard side and fired on the exposed shuttle, shearing off a piece of the smaller vessel's outer hull. The Einstein hadn't been able to raise its shields fast enough.
"Go to red alert. Ready phasers. Target its warp nacelle when it comes back around—"
"Captain," Spock said, back at his science station again. "The vessel is not coming back around. It appears to be on course for the planet."
"Do we have all our people onboard?"
"Except for the occupants of the Einstein, sir." Tension rippled. A few glances flicked in Spock's direction.
A barrage of data hummed in the background as Ops scanned the shuttle for damage and relayed that information to engineering. Lt. M'Ress had been frantically calling the Einstein with nothing but static coming back so far. Kirk ordered her to hail the Romulan scout, his fingers drumming the arm of his chair.
"Hailing on all frequencies. No response, sir."
Chekov looked from the forward screen to his console's instruments and back again. "Captain. The vessel has entered the upper atmosphere."
"Can we get a tractor beam on it?"
Spock turned from his station, a single eyebrow raised like a signal flag. He understood the impetus behind the question. Capturing the vessel would be quite a coup, but the odds were not in their favor. "Inadvisable. Engaging a tractor beam would strain our systems and likely hasten its inevitable destruction."
"Inevitable…?" Kirk's eyes narrowed. "A suicide run?"
"Perhaps. At this point a safe landing is not possible, though the pilot appears to be adjusting trajectory to maintain a general heading towards the vicinity of the compound. I estimate that an impact within 400 meters of the area it will cause significant damage to the site."
"Looks like the Romulans are giving us an out and saving face at the same time."
"I am personally reluctant to draw such a conclusion from the action of a single scout ship, Captain." Stating his reluctance gave Spock a logical out while quietly agreeing with Kirk's assertions.
"Captain," Ensign Banks from Ops interrupted, "Mr. Scott says the Einstein's barely holding off a hull breach. He'd like to beam everyone out now, with your approval."
"So ordered." But Kirk's gaze did not leave the forward screen, watching the white-hot glow of the scout ship plunge through the atmospheric vapors of the 872 Trianguli V. The Enterprise's exacting instruments tracked its progression in more minute and precise detail, recording data right up to the second the explosion registered on the surface.
"Did it hit where it was aiming?"
"Close enough, Captain." Spock's resigned tone and lack of precision spoke volumes. But whether it was for the foolish sacrifice of life or the loss of valuable evidence on the planet's surface, Kirk couldn't tell. He thumbed the comm on the arm of his chair.
"Scotty? Do you have them?"
"Aye, sir. Nine lovely lasses, safe and sound… mostly. They're headed to the Medbay. If you could give me a few minutes, sir, we'll haul the shuttle back in."
"How many is a few?"
"Twenty?"
"That already feels too long. Make it faster. Mr. Chekov, plot a speedy course to Starbase 12. Mr. Sulu, as soon Mr. Scott has the shuttle secured, warp 6 us the hell out of here before the Romulan Empire changes its mind."
He was met with a chorus of "aye, sir."
Later, in the lift on their way to the Medbay, Kirk flashed Spock a grin of humble relief and pure astonishment that they'd pulled it off.
Tes huddled under Leonard's desk as he'd instructed and pressed her hands over her ears. The alert status changed from yellow to red, altering the pattern of the flashing lights as well. The pitch of the alarm became excruciating, she could practically hear it in her teeth. It seemed to go on much longer than her internal clock marked. Then, both vocal warning and claxon alarm stopped, but the lights kept flashing. From her crouched hiding place, she watched the flickering patterns on the wall and after a time unmeasured, slipped without intention into the first level of meditation. Her mind stilled, calmed, opened. She could feel the lights beating softly against her closed eyelids. Just floating now, rocking, drifting.
"Tes. Tes. Tes-pi'tekh."
"Mother?"
"Peace and long life, little sprout."
"Mother!"
Fifteen minutes after the stand-down from Red alert the only casualties to show up were from the shuttle Einstein – a petty officer's sprained wrist, a few scrapes and bruises for the passengers and pilot, and a goose-egg knot on Lt. Uhura's forehead.
"Didn't get your safety harness on in time?" McCoy asked, swiping the dermo-regenerator over it a couple of times. The purplish bruising faded slightly.
"I was too busy telling everyone else to put theirs on." She tried to push her hair back from her forehead, but her fingers got trapped in the snarls on top of her head. She scrunched up her nose in exasperation, which McCoy found adorable and dared not vocalize.
The two petty officers and the pilot had already been dismissed, but the Vulcan women stood passively waiting for a yeoman to escort them to their assigned quarters. Three of them looked damned young to him, like fresh-faced Academy first-years after grueling morning exercises, but the one in close consult with Nurse Chapel was older and maybe five or six months pregnant. All the rescued Vulcans needed thorough exams, and his staff was coordinating with Operations and Admin to schedule those, but he figured unless they were in severe distress what they needed most was some decent food, a nice hot shower, clean clothes, and a bed with clean sheets.
He loaded a hypo and pressed it gently to the flesh behind Uhura's ear. "Mild analgesic and an anti-inflammatory. Best to let the body take care of this kind of thing in its own wise way. Grab a cold-pack from the dispensary and you're good to go."
"Okay." She hopped down from a diagnostic bed she totally didn't need, looking around distractedly, as if suddenly attuned to a subtle disturbance in the ether. The doors slid open and the "disturbance" entered with the captain. Spock's gaze zoomed in on Uhura and his body followed his eyeballs. Kirk ambled alongside him, smiling at the Vulcans, then remembered after he'd passed that smiling at them was not de rigueur. McCoy turned away, hiding his own grin.
"Wow," Kirk said, drawing a circle in the air at Uhura's injury. "That is quite a lump."
"It's feels gargantuan." She touched it gingerly.
"It's massive. Also, looks like your hair did battle with a squirrel. And lost. Big time."
Uhura snorted. McCoy rolled his eyes. "If messy hair and bump on the noggin is the worst you get from not wearing a safety belt then count yourself lucky."
"Does it look horrible?" She had turned to Spock for reassurance, which seemed like a bad choice.
"Clarify."
McCoy laughed. "That's code for 'I would prefer not to answer lest my frankness get me into trouble, so I'll just obfuscate until she gives up.'"
Uhura grinned. Spock clumsily changed the subject. "I regret, Lieutenant, that I was unable to alert you in time to secure your safety restraints."
"Not your fault. It happened too fast."
"Indeed. Your injury looks painful. Your hair needs some attention."
"Maybe you can help me with that later." A faint olive flush crept up from Spock's jawline to the tips of his ears. Huh. Maybe hair grooming was something sexual in Vulcan culture? McCoy put that on his list of "things to look into later."
Spock and Uhura proceeded to gaze into each other's eyes until Kirk couldn't take it anymore. "All right, enough of that. You guys can kiss and make up on your own time." He grabbed Spock by the biceps to tug him along. "You said she was in one of the exam rooms, right?"
"Wait? Who?" McCoy interjected. "Are you talking about a Romulan doctor? The one who magically appeared in my medbay? The one nobody gave me a heads-up about?"
"Can't give you a heads up if I just found out myself." Kirk grunted. His attempt to tug Spock after him met with substantial resistance – resistance so strong he stumbled back, almost losing his footing.
Spock had suddenly turned into a boulder, stiff and unyielding beneath the captain's hand, his expression shuttered, impassive and void of any sentiment whatsoever. Uhura rolled her eyes and slowly stepped away, knowing better than to engage when Spock was in full Vulcan lock-down.
That's when McCoy realized the entire exchange, from Spock's single-minded focus on one human woman to Kirk's "kiss and make up" line, had been witnessed by the other Vulcans present. It must have seemed a shockingly overt emotional display by a member of their own species.
Four of the women averted their eyes immediately – out of respect for Spock's dignity and perhaps to hide their own embarrassment. The older woman who'd been conversing with Christine Chapel, actively pretended not to have noticed at all, which was a more typical response of Vulcan decorum. (But then again, she clearly had other issues on her mind. McCoy's clinical instincts were tingling, and he had a feeling he'd know what those issues were soon enough.)
The fifth young woman reminded him a little of his ex – gorgeous and singularly unimpressed with pretty much everything. She did not avert her eyes or pretend not to notice, but instead, focused her attention mercilessly on Spock's person, scanning him from head to toe, her head cocked slightly, lending an illusion of blunt antennae to the cone-like buns on her head. When she turned her sloe-eyed regard to McCoy, he almost dropped the dermo-regenerator. Was she doing some Vulcan mojo on him? He shuddered, scrambling to gather the threads of his thoughts—
"Uh, yeah, well, Spock's young friend Tes was taking me to see her when the alert sounded."
"Tes?" Kirk suddenly connected the dots. He gripped Spock's arm tighter and gave it a shake. "That little girl we rescued?"
Spock unlocked his hands from behind his back, and Kirk let go. "I beamed her up with her mother."
"Hmm. You didn't mention that. Did we miss something? Is she all right?"
"She's fine," McCoy said, cautiously looking from one man to the other. There was a story there he'd need to dig out, but for now— "Currently hunkered down in my office. Seemed the safest place. Although, she's probably climbing the walls by now."
Spock opened his mouth, a precursor for clarification, but must have decided the statement was idiomatic. "Doctor, would you ask one of your staff to make certain she's reunited with the rest of her family? I believe they are already quartered."
"That will not be necessary." The officers turned to the young Vulcan woman with the funny hairdo and enervating gaze. "Her mother will be unavailable to care for her we are given to understand. Therefore, we will insure she is safely returned to what is left of her family."
There was a heavy load of judgment in there, but Spock acknowledged her offer with a terse nod.
Kirk stood now with his arms crossed over his chest, frowning, and impatient.
McCoy pointed from one to the other with the dermo-regenerator. "If the two of you are having a chat with our new resident physician, I want in on it. I have a lot of questions for that woman."
"Doctor McCoy?" Nurse Chapel called, walking towards him. She eyed Spock askance as she moved past him, and his jaw twitched. A bit of tension there. McCoy added another mental note to the many things he needed to check into it later. She handed him the medical tricorder. "Can you take a look at this?"
After a few seconds perusal, he sighed. "Damn. Okay." He didn't look up from the device but said, "Looks like you and Spock will have to start without me."
"That's fine, Bones. Honestly, we just want to find out if she's got any actionable information or if she's screwing with us. She'll be interrogated thoroughly at some point like the rest of them. You'll be able to ask whatever questions you need to ask then."
"Great. Thanks."
Kirk looked at Spock and jerked his thumb in the direction of the gently curving wall that led to the exam rooms. Spock raised a hand requesting a moment's forbearance. "Captain. Might I suggest Lt. Uhura join us. Dr. Mas does not appear to speak Federation Standard, but it's possible she's attempting to deceive us in that regard. I believe having someone fluent in Romulan present would augment our use of the universal translator and make it easier to judge the veracity of her responses."
Kirk nodded at the wisdom in the approach but Uhura looked unconvinced for some reason. "You want me to make sure that what she says is what you hear?"
"Yes. Essentially. I am not as fluent as you in the Romulan dialects," Spock admitted. She tried and failed not to look smug. "Nor am I as adept at reading body language and facial expressions. Your expertise will be invaluable."
"Agreed," Kirk said.
"Thank you, sirs. Uh…can I have a few minutes to fix my hair?"
It was more than few minutes and by that time they had figured out an approach.
"Please may I inquire as to the welfare of the woman Talu?" It is the first thing Hannam wants to know after all. She asks before her interrogators have a chance to make any queries of their own – a tactical advantage she hopes, a chance to throw them off balance.
The humans, at least, look confused by her query. It's a good start.
She is seated with her interrogators around a table in some sort of small conference room. She'd been moved to the room and then left waiting here alone until now. To her left sits a brown-skinned human female with an oval protrusion on her forehead. The Vulcan male is on her right, and the beige-skinned human male (whose eyes are disturbingly bright blue) sits across from her. They are all creatures of the Federation. Starfleet officers. The human male is captain of the ship.
It's chilly in the room, intentionally so she surmises, but the Vulcan is probably more uncomfortable, so how advantageous can it be to keep her shivering when he must do as well?
All three interrogators started scrolling for information on their personal devices as soon as she asked about Talu. She sips from a tumbler of water and clarifies, "Talu was beaten severely by Commander Kaol recently. I – I was – sadly unable to come to her aid." The female officer (whose name Hannam has already forgotten) tilts her head slightly at this and makes a note on her device with a stylus.
"There is a woman matching that description currently listed in critical condition in our intensive care unit," the Vulcan says. His gaze is direct, unflinching. His expression gives nothing away. She's forgotten that this is how Vulcans typically behave.
"That must be Talu. I would like to look in on her. See for myself how she fares."
"As her physician?"
"As a concerned friend." This time the human female scowls delicately before making a notation. Hannam takes another small sip of water, swallows hard. "When might I be allowed to see her?"
The captain leans forward slightly, his hands clasped together on the table, his expression schooled into one of polite neutrality. It's not quite a Vulcan expression, but admirably close. "I don't think that would be a good idea right now. I can assure you she's being well-cared for by our medical staff."
"I'm sure she is, Captain. But I'm worried. You can understand that, can't you? We formed a connection over time. She assisted me in the infirmary. We became close companions."
The human female makes a hmm sound.
"I doubt that is her perception of your relationship, Dr. Mas," the Vulcan says.
On her lap her hands tighten into fists and she says too quickly, too sharply, "You doubt it? How would you know her perception of it, Vulcan man? Did you force your way into her mind while she was unconscious?"
Both the humans look affronted for his sake, the captain going so far as to inform her she must address the Vulcan as Commander Spock or not at all. But Spock himself is unfazed.
"No, Dr. Mas. I doubt because of the opinions about you expressed by others."
She experiences a twinge of betrayal. "Those women should be grateful for my dedication to their welfare. I kept them from infections and venereal diseases. I made certain they were healthy for the duration of their pregnancies. I safely delivered their infants. But Talu and I were lovers, Commander Spock. We had to keep that secret from everyone or Kaol would have killed her."
He is not as discomfited as she'd hoped by the word "lovers" or the suggestion of sex for pleasure. "Sexual preference would not have prevented her from bearing children, as I'm sure you know, Doctor. And, as that appeared to be the purpose of her captivity, it seems unlikely he would kill her over her sexual preference. Assuming of course that it was, in fact, a preference and not, as suggested by others, coercion."
Hannam shifts in her seat. She hates that it was both. She hates that Talu may have told others.
"She's also sterile." The words leave her lips like she's throwing a challenge tile onto the board. "He definitely would have killed her if he'd known that."
But he did know. Or so Talu said. But she said it to inflict pain. And it wasn't why he tried to beat Talu to death. Again, the human woman eyes her unpleasantly.
"You can call it coercion if it makes it easier for you. Call it whatever you like. I tried to help her. I tried to help all of them."
The captain, who has mostly been observing her reactions as the Vulcan challenges her, suddenly asks, "How many babies have you helped deliver for the Vulcan captives, Dr. Mas?"
"Safely delivered, around seventy-five."
"There are only eight with their mothers right now. What happened to rest of them?"
"I will happily, happily tell you what I know after I've seen Talu."
"You haven't given us any indication that you have information worth bargaining for. We'll need more convincing before we'll consider making deals with you."
A test. Of course. She scrambles to think what she might tell them that would ensure they'd offer protection in the hopes of more. She needs to see Talu. She needs to beg her forgiveness. To make her understand. It was just an argument—
"The Vel," she exclaims.
The human woman and Commander Spock tip their heads in tandem as the translator burps on the word Vel. It is not a Romulan word.
"Vel is a Vulcan word for thing or object," Spock says. "Are you using a Vulcan word here?"
"Yes. Commander Kaol amused himself by creating hybrid names. There are four of them – Velhwi, Velkre, Velsei, Velmne."
The translator agrees that these are names and don't need a literal translation.
Spock translates anyway. "He combined the Vulcan word for thing or object and the Romulan words for the numbers one through four." His statement is strangely open-ended as if hoping she would dispute his conclusion.
"Oh my God." It is the first thing the human female says.
"For the sake of clarity, the names given, these refer to the four children we found at the compound that are all approximately four years of age?"
"Correct. They were all sired by an illegitimate son of the Praetor's cousin. Born within days of each other. He was a prolific young man. I did the embryonic screenings myself and can confirm the relationship if needs be. Kaol had intended to use them as bribes or gifts to the Praetor's political rivals but I imagine they could easily provide the Federation with leverage in any negotiations."
For a moment, the two humans just stare at her, open-mouthed. Then the captain inhales deeply through his nostrils and leans way back in his chair, dragging his hands over his face, pressing the pads of his fingers against his closed eyelids. He blows the air out with a whoosh and rises suddenly. The chair screeches across the deck as he heads for the door.
"Yeah," he says, waving away the Vulcan's question before he uttered it. "I need a minute."
But it is many more minutes before his associates suspect their captain will not return anytime soon. They gather up the information devices on the table and leave her alone in the room, a guard on the other side of the door.
She idly picks up the tumbler and discovers she's drank all the water.
The chance of crossing into death while in a healing trance seemed a fair exchange to Talu as she lay for hours in the dirt. Pain for peace, temporary or eternal. Unfortunately, her assumption that she'd slipped blissfully into a healing trance was not supported by current fact. She'd merely lost consciousness from physical trauma, may even have been comatose, and now, struggled to rise to the surface of a murky anesthetic haze. The pain itself was indistinct but everywhere, like a soft gelatinous substance in which she lay suspended.
She'd been sedated. The sedation was wearing off. Sedation implied medical attention. Medical attention implied relative safety. And yet she could hear Mishih's voice sounding an alarm as light flashed against her shuttered eyelids. "Awaken. Awaken. Awaken."
A sticky substance over her eyes prevented her from opening them, yet the colors struck at her over and over - hot white, ochre, orange like the sky before it turned black, red like the mountains collapsing into black. Black pain opened a blossom of colors that were also sounds.
Oh. Mishih was dead.
The sounds came out of her mouth.