Chapter Nine - Hidden Meanings
The instant Spock's hand touched Allison's face, a warm feeling washed over her. For a moment, she forgot everything; where she was, what she was doing, and why she was mind-melding with Spock.
Then, blind panic took over as she felt her mind being read, her thoughts being absorbed, her consciousness fading...
Do not panic! I am here, with you. Trust me.
She relaxed almost instantly at the sound of the voice. Okay. Proceed.
The tickling sensation spread to various parts of her brain, and she "sat back" and let Spock do whatever he wanted. Images were called up; the trip to the convention, the friendly bickering with Jessie, the abduction and blackouts. And then, at last, the mutation process that spread through her like someone had splashed water on her...
And then images, flashing past so fast it was painful...
I have been, and ever shall be, your friend...
The needs of the one outweigh the needs of the many...
The probe's call is the songs sung by whales...
Where's that damn torpedo?...
They looked so familiar, yet so alien. Allison didn't realize what they were for a moment, until it finally clicked. She was reliving Star Trek episodes!
Kroykah! she thought desperately, not realizing she was speaking in Old High Vulcan until after it was done.
The whirlwind of images stopped, frozen on a representation of Spock himself.
And then, slowly, the tendrils of thought retreated. The heightened senses gave way until all she felt were Spock's fingers on her face. Then, even those were gone.
She opened her eyes, breathing harshly. "Oh my..."
"Are you well, Ensign?" Spock asked, geniunely concerned.
"I think so, sir. Just give me a minute."
Spock nodded and stood, slowly walking over to his desk and trying to sort out the hurricane of memory that he had been assaulted with. So many images...both of his shipmates, and of the young Vulcan herself. He had seen almost her entire life, flashing by in an instant. There were things he did not wish to see. Death. Devestation. Remorse and heartbreak.
"What year were you abducted?" Spock asked, his voice rough and slow from the shock of absorbing so many thoughts at once.
"Near the end of 2001," Allison replied, quickly recovering from the mind-meld. "September 21st or so."
Spock turned around slowly, unmasked shock radiating from his sharp features. "The beginning of World War Three," he breathed in surprise.
Allison's eyes grew wide. "World War THREE?"
Spock nodded, standing straight and tall. "It was too early for you to tell at that time," he admitted. "It all began with-"
"The crashes at the twin towers," Allison interrupted, finishing his sentance.
Spock raised an eyebrow. "Correct. The United States retaliated against the terrorist Osama bin Laden and his allies, leaving the Middle East in ruins for several years. In 2016, a massive military strike against the United States was carried out by survivors of the Afghani Taliban. Thus, World War Three began. It lasted for fourteen years. The United States were victorious in the end. However, much of the country was bombed before the Taliban was eliminated."
Allison just sat in shock. "I didn't think it'd be that bad...Spock, was Michigan bombed in the war?"
Spock hesitated. "Yes. Much of it remains untouched today, preserved as it was after the attack in 2017."
"Commander...do you think Captain Kirk would allow us to return to Earth for a short time, after the mission at the unnamed planet? I'd like to see what's become of my hometown." She spoke softly, carefully.
Spock nodded. "It can be arranged, if you wish it. The crew is due for shore leave soon, and no doubt many of them would like to return home for a short time. It should not be a problem."
"I'm sure Jessie will be glad to hear that, also." She didn't mention any more details, since Spock had already seen their friendship through the meld.
The two sat in silence for a moment, regaining their composure. Finally, Spock turned to face the younger Vulcan. "I noticed you have rather poor mental control," he said. "You are using crude methods to control your telepathic powers. There is an easier way..."
It would be several hours before the lesson was finished.
~~~~~~~
Ship's night.
Most of the crew were asleep in their cabins, humans and Vulcans alike. The night command crew took their positions on the bridge as if nothing were different. The nocturnal Security teams patrolled the halls with hourly rounds, as per regulations. All was quiet.
But in one cabin, all was not peaceful.
Michael's sleep was troubled, and he tossed and turned on his narrow bunk. He was deep in dreams, visions, images of the future...
He clung to the sturdy branch like a bird, clutching a wooden bow in one hand and sporting a quiver of arrows on his back. A tan doe stood nearby, keeping watch.
He silently dropped from the tree, landing at the side of another. "The Captain is in the village now," he reported.
"Good," the one with pointed ears replied. "All is proceeding as forseen."
"I don't think I can stand to wait for two months," the deer complained. "We're all alone now! Besides, what if they don't know we were missing?"
The other turned to her, smiling slightly. "Don't worry. Jessie will definately notice."
"In the meantime, what do we do?" he asked the two. "Do we stay out here, or do we join the people in the village and hope to keep from notice?"
"For now, we stay. If we are needed, we will venture to the village."
"Sounds like a plan to me. I don't really care for getting shot," the deer said.
"Then shapeshift, smart one."
"Fine then." The deer-form flowed into a human girl with brown-red hair. "Man, I wish I was at home..."
Michael awoke with a start, sitting bolt upright for a moment and breathing harshly. His dream refused to leave his memory, and he wondered if it was some kind of message. After all, his telepathy was not under complete control yet.
He glanced at the chronometer, and groaned when he saw that it was almost time for alpha shift. He was really not looking forward to facing his "boss," Security Chief Chekov, this early in the morning.
Sighing, he reached over for a fresh shirt.