Sorry for the lack of update last week! I came down with a bug while simultaneously trying to finish a major project. Here's your chappie :)
Pavel Chekov's first thought, as he forced his bleary eyes open, was that he must be in Sickbay. The pale ceiling and walls, the narrow bed... but the room was a little too bright, the bed a little too soft.
A woman leaned over him. At first Chekov thought she was human, but her ears tapered to delicate points beneath the fine cloth draped around her head. Not human, but not Vulcan, either.
He's regaining consciousness, the woman said. Her lips didn't move when she spoke.
A man, apparently of the same species, joined the woman and smiled gently down at him. How do you feel? he asked.
Telepaths were rare, but Chekov found it difficult to feel surprised. Everything seemed distant and out of focus. He struggled to sit up, and found it harder than it should have been. "What am I doing here?" he asked. "Where am I?"
The small, too-bright room was bare except for another bed like the one Chekov sat on. An unfamiliar human woman with short black hair lay there, her eyes closed and her beautiful face peaceful. Like Chekov, she wore a plain white robe belted at the waist. The room had only one door, and it was closed.
The alien woman laid her hands on his shoulders, gently restraining him. "Please don't try to move yet," she said aloud. "You're very ill."
"Ill?" Chekov repeated. "No, I'm not ill. There must be some kind of mistake—"
He raised his hands to brush off hers and caught sight of something on his hand. Carefully, he pulled back his sleeve and found an ugly swelling, oozing pus, growing on the back of his hand. A frantic survey of his arms and chest revealed more growths.
"Where is Khan?"
All three of them slewed around to look at the black-haired woman, who was sitting up and no longer looked very peaceful. Above the neck of her robe, Chekov could see sores like his own.
The alien woman advanced slowly, as though trying to soothe a wild animal. "Please calm down," she said. "I know this must be very frightening for you—"
"Where is he?"
The woman cast a quick, questioning look at Chekov. When he gave her no response, she said, "I'm sorry, I don't know where the rest of your people are."
The dark-haired stranger jumped off the bed and ran to the doors. She jammed her fingers into the crack and strained. To his amazement, Chekov thought he saw the opening widen slightly. Before she could pry the panels open, the alien man ran to her and caught her shoulder. She whirled and sank her fist into his stomach and then, when he doubled over, brought her joined hands down between his shoulder blades. He dropped to the floor.
The alien woman rushed to a panel in the wall and pressed it. An alarm sounded somewhere, and the door hissed open to reveal two more aliens, both wearing headcloths. They grabbed the human by the forearms and attempted to wrestle her back into the room, but she was clearly stronger and more skilled in physical combat than they.
Just when it seemed she would break free, she caught sight of herself in a reflective panel on the other side of the room. Distracted by the sight of the grotesque growths, she dropped her guard for a moment and the alien man, who had picked himself up off the floor, came up behind her and pressed a small device against the side of her neck. Immediately, she crumpled to the ground.
As the four aliens lifted the woman gently onto the bed, Chekov wondered if he should have helped her, or if he should slip out the still-open door. Neither seemed important. The whole ordeal—the room, the aliens, the woman—seemed as unreal as a dream. He lay back on his own bed, comforted by its softness, and stared up at the white, white ceiling.
The aliens left him in the too-bright room with the strange, unconscious woman, and closed the doors behind them.