Vulcan Twilight: Chapter 04 - Awakening

There was no Time.

There was no Sensation.

Only Consciousness adrift in the Ether.

This is what Death was like?

If this was death...why was he...

Unconvinced?

That was the precise moment he heard muffled voices.

Several male, several female.

Wait...

He was dead. The dead did not hear muffled voices...

Spock awoke with a soft gasp as his eyelids fluttered briefly, his vision slowly focusing inside the dimly lit room, the condition of his injured body hitting him with the maximum force of a phaser blast.

Ow. Everything hurt but the painful sensations gave Spock, in burning detail, an acute awareness of the presence of his organs and limbs, all thankfully accounted for and intact. Also, his throat was uncomfortably dry and his mouth pasty from disuse.

Now, he knew for certain that he was definitely not dead.

But...how?

He had set his ship on a collision coarse with the Narada. There was a zero probability of survival, and yet...he was alive.

Had he failed or was there an unknown factor that untimely intervened? Perhaps an unaccounted variable had occurred during collision as a result of the futuristic technology contained in both his Vulcan craft and the Romulan warbird?

These and many other questions plagued his mind, but there was no way he could answer any of them if he remained immobile on whatever surface he was laid on.

He began by examining the room with his eyes and slight turns of his head. It was all he could manage, for the moment, weak as he was from hunger and his injuries.

Spock's first reaction: the decor and construction of the room did not conform to either Vulcan or Federation Medical Bay standards. The room's overall architecture matched the interior of a home rather than that of an institution or the section of a starship. All four walls, including the ceiling, were soft white, except for the area directly above him - part of his bed? - which was covered with staggered, similarly-shaped rectangles, each cut showing varied patterns in the wood grain for a deliberate aesthetic quality. Heavy drapes lined the wall to his right, and judging by the rays of sunshine peeking through the fabric, it served to cover a large window. There was a long table at the foot of his bed against the wall, and on top of it, fresh yellow flora - tulips? - were placed inside a transparent receptacle - a crystal vase? - filled with liquid. Just above it was a large square image - an abstract painting? - of haphazard shapes in primary colors. To his left was a sort of chair with a high backrest and large arm rests made from cured animal hide, dyed black. A tall shelving unit bolted to the wall on his left was filled with objects and...books. Books that were bound in a manner similar to those found on ancient Earth. He squinted, trying to read the titles on the books from where he lay, but they were far enough away that the type was too small for even his superior eyesight.

Was this room some sort of elaborate ruse? Perhaps he was in a Romulan prison cell? He needed more information to refute the possibility. His limited movement prevented that, however.

Also, if he was inside a Romulan prison, he highly doubted that they would see to his every comfort if he was injured, since the bed provided was soft and clean, the room pleasantly dim, his wounds medicated and dressed. The many thick blankets piled on top of him served to increase his overall temperature, aiding his body's regenerative properties. It was also a temperature he would normally experience if he stood on the surface of Vulcan.

Vulcan...

His home planet that no longer existed...because of the actions of a mentally unstable future Romulan. More than six billion lives...gone in the blink of an eye.

Spock closed his eyes and waited for the overwhelming heaviness in his chest to subside. He would have time to mourn, as soon as he ascertained where he was, how he came to be here, and if he was imprisoned, how he could escape.

A soft tapping noise came from the direction of...a door? It was a very primitively designed entrance to a room - where one had to manually turn a mechanism in order to open it - as demonstrated by the the tall, humanoid male that made his appearance. Make that two.

Spock watched warily as the two humanoid males approached the bed were he lay, the slightly older blonde coming closer, while the younger brunette with tousled hair, hung back. Both males had complexions much too pale to be humans from Earth and the sharp, amber pigmentation of their eyes was very unnatural for their overall features.

"Y'know, I just realized something. Does our guest even speak English?" the older blonde stated, looking chagrined, turning to look at his younger companion.

"Shit," the brunette muttered. "I totally forgot about that."

"I highly doubt sign language would help, either. Centuries of study...and I have literally no idea how to initiate first contact with an alien," the older blonde chuckled.

"They don't exactly include Extraterrestrial studies in the M.I.T. or Harvard curriculum," the brunette grinned, scratching his head. "What do we do now?"

"You can't tell if he understands us?"

The brunette glanced over and stared directly at Spock with concentration.

"Nope. I'm drawing a blank. Like he's...blocking me somehow. It's weird," the brunette replied. "I guess, now that he's awake...he has conscious control over the thoughts he sends me. I can't...read him anymore."

Although Spock was uncertain of the species the two male humanoids belonged to, he understood them perfectly since they spoke the Federation common tongue. How... fortuitous, especially since he was no longer in possession of his away-mission utility belt where his tricorder was incorporated with a Universal translator. He needed to find a way to acquire another utility belt for himself, among other supplies.

That and other priorities were pushed back in his mind to focus on a more pressing problem: the younger brunette possessed a form of telepathy. Spock had made the correct decision of channeling whatever little strength he had left into protecting his mind. However, what the younger male had said gave him pause since it suggested something too...disturbing to contemplate.

"It's all right," the older man said and held his palms up in front of Spock in full view. "I was only going to check your I.V. line." He pointed to something with his fingers.

Spock saw a thin, translucent tube that led to a pole where a bag half-filled with fluid hung from a hooked protrusion. He then reversed direction and followed the tube to find it...attached to his arm.

This was not good. Although Spock sensed no immediate danger in whatever chemicals they were giving him, did not mean it was safe to assume he wasn't being drugged. At this point, he had no knowledge of the length of time he was unconscious or knew the exact moment they began administration of the unknown compound into his system. A part of him feared the adverse effects. Had these humanoids been slowly poisoning him? Or worse yet, seeking control over his mind?

Who were these beings, and where in the galaxy was he?

"If you can't read his thoughts, Edward, perhaps Jasper..." the older blonde suggested.

The brunette named Edward, reacted to the older male's statement with a few expletives he had heard before, used during his time as a Cadet in his four years attending Starfleet Academy in San Francisco on Earth. Edward then promptly left the room, presumably to retrieve this 'Jasper.'

"Well, you're finally awake and you seem coherent, at least. I just wish we could understand each other. There are so many questions I want to ask you," the older blonde said to Spock, looking directly at him in a manner that appeared and sounded sincere.

To answer the man's question, Spock did understand him, every word he and his companion, Edward, had spoken. He also noted that the older blonde's behavior conveyed an amiable quality. Perhaps his feigned ignorance of their language might provide some answers? He was willing to test that theory.

Another humanoid male strolled into the room. This one looked slightly older than the male named Edward and with blond, wavy hair. Most likely, the one called Jasper.

Spock watched as Jasper cautiously took a few steps forward, stopping just behind the leather high-back chair by his bedside. The male stared at him with a blank expression but with an underlying alertness.

"I'm getting...something but it's faint. Almost as if..." Jasper trailed off, his brow furrowing.

The new arrival, Jasper, was an empath. In his weakened state, with his concentration fully occupied on shielding his mind, Spock wondered if he had adequate reserves to spare toward total emotional suppression. He would find out soon enough.

"He's suppressing his emotions," Edward finished.

"Yeah...but not deliberately, not forcefully. His emotions feel more...disciplined," Jasper added, as he tried to explain what his empathic senses detected. "It's actually kinda neat."

"Well, that's a start. He might be able to answer simple yes or no questions," the older male said. "I hope."

Edward shrugged. "Let's give it a shot. Who wants to go first?"

The three males exchanged rapid glances. Soon, the older male turned away, slowly neared the bed, stopping short of the leather chair.

"I'd like to take a seat next to you, if you don't mind," the older man said.

"Uh, Carlisle, what happened to simple?" Edward smiled. Jasper chuckled.

Sighing, the older male called Carlisle gave his younger companions a reproachful look, then turned to gracefully sit in the large, leather chair.

Spock swallowed reflexively. Carlisle, who belonged to a humanoid species of unknown origin, now sat a mere two feet away from him. In his current condition, he was physically helpless to defend himself should the need arise.

"He's...nervous," Jasper said as the alien looked sharply at him. "Whoa. He really doesn't like the fact that I'm reading him."

"Guess I'd hate it too, if I were him," Edward replied, leaning against the leather chair's backrest with his head on his forearms. "At least we're getting somewhere. Can you set him at ease?"

Again, the one named Jasper stared in concentration, then slowly shook his head.

"No effect," Jasper answered.

Spock made a mental note: the one named Jasper was no ordinary empath.

"Wait..." Carlisle said slowly, gazing steadily into the alien's eyes. "We mean you no harm. I'm Carlisle. I'm a doctor. These are my sons, Edward and Jasper. You're in our home. My wife and I found you unconscious and severely injured in the forest a few days ago. You lost a lot of blood. Frankly, we thought you were going to die."

Edward quickly placed a hand on Jasper's shoulder to stop him from commenting. He knew Carlisle was using the timbre of his voice in an attempt to calm the nervous alien.

The three of them watched the alien's eyes bouncing rapidly from one face to another. His severely angled eyebrows moving closer, ever so minutely.

Spock was starting to get dizzy. His body badly needed to ingest fresh food and water, but the only way to get the sustenance he craved was to communicate his requirements clearly and precisely to his indefinable hosts in a language they could understand. He would have to be the one to initiate first contact.

Mustering his remaining strength, Spock spoke loudly and as confidently as he could manage with a dry throat.

"Why have I been brought here?"

to be continued

Author's Note:

My eternal gratitude to the Twilight Lexicon website and S.M.'s The Official Illustrated Guide for my Cullen character needs, and to both my Star Trek 2009 websites, Memory Alpha and Star Trek Online Geekipedia, for my Vulcan character info. (Without these websites, I'd be lost!) :3

Obscure Stranger - Heh. I'm glad you like it. Thanks for the support! (meh appreciates it greatly)

Sorry, if this chapter's too short. I wanted Spock's monumental awakening to stand by itself.