She didn't know how long she had laid there, listening to the sounds filtering in to her mind around her. Beeping, like that of a bug but it seemed… flatter, as though faked. Certainly it wasn't natural. Voices too, some accented in ways different to others. Once or twice she had felt hands on her, studying and swift, checking at her wrists and neck. Finally however, her eyes opened and almost instantly closed again. Too bright, too glaring and too directed just at her. Movement to her left.

"Doctor McCoy, she's awake." Female, and the dialect unfamiliar.

"Ah, good."

A face leant over her. Male. The features were not heavily marked or wrinkled, although it did not have the glow of youth to it either. Strong-jawed, with a suggestion of stubble, and brown eyes. Odd… there was white at the edges rather than the black she was so accustomed to. She frowned a little, then took in her surroundings properly. Her heart rate began to elevate, and it was then that she became aware of the tube within her; a thin thing, and a point into the flesh. Scrambling at it with her nails with a quiet hiss, McCoy reacted instantly. He rested a hand on her wrist, trying to still the movement before gently but firmly guiding it away.

"You're alright… you're safe."

But while the panic did not subside fully, she did stop for a moment and focussed on him properly. Now sat up, she was able to make proper eye contact. Before he could speak again however, he felt something heavy brush against his mind… before, through that touch, came a barrage of emotions.

Confusion, puzzlement, fear… flashing scenes of a battlefield raging around them, of fire being wielded out of someone's hands, of blood boiling within veins, of others fleeing and gaining speed away from the conflict at a distance greater than normal humans were capable of… curiousity then stirred to the surface.

Panting heavily, he let go sharply and wheeled away before making sure that she hadn't moved.

"Stay…." His tone was firm, certainly that of an order. Hopefully if she didn't understand what he said, then she would at least understand the tone of his voice and the gesture. Then, just as she seemed to do as he suggested, did he dart forwards and swiftly inject the hypnospray into her neck. Her eyes widened… then she slumped back onto the bed. Breathing out strongly through his nose, he then secured bindings to her wrists and ankles as a precaution. No need for her to struggle and risk tearing open her shoulder again. He briskly made his way towards the Bridge.

Spock had been studying the charts diligently when McCoy entered the room. Looking up briefly to study the man, he was mildly intrigued to note his expression. Exasperation or confusion, and a mild suggestion of worry all poorly concealed. Poorly concealed to him at any rate. But evidently, Kirk was not entirely blind either, and he looked at the Doctor properly as well.

"What is it McCoy? You look rattled."

"Your composure is indeed rather more outwardly discomforted than usual."

Spock didn't react to the scowl that he got in return, but a brow quirked up slightly as the man made his explanation. What he was saying was certainly fascinating.

"The woman we took up. She's awake. I don't think she can honestly understand what we're saying, but as I was trying to get her to keep still she…" He paused, considering best how to word it. "…touched my mind with hers. I saw flickering imagery, and emotion."

Spock's attention was focussed then intently. Telepathy was not an alarmingly common trait or at least, it was not common to hear of someone who could initiate such a link with someone who had no ability whatsoever. Usually that required at least a degree of sensitivity, which he had deduced that McCoy did not have. Kirk knew this, and he too looked mildly surprised.

"What was the telepathy like?" Spock's question came next, brisk and curt.

"Christ, I don't know. It was a confusing blur for me half the time. If you want to find out, go and ask her yourself. Or not, seeing as how she doesn't seem to understand what I'm saying verbally."

Uhura, naturally, overheard and turned in the chair she was sat in to better face them. This was what she was trained for after all; alien languages were her speciality, her forte and passion all rolled into one.

"I can always try and talk to her." Nobody noticed the brief look that Spock sent towards her, or the fact that it was returned. Always exceptionally subtle, barely distinct flickers that differed from their normal composure. Kirk considered the options.

"Uhura, please go and see if you can calm her down and get some sense out of her."

Bones paused for a moment, then followed. He didn't trust the woman – the indigenous one that is – and at any rate, she was still healing and he didn't want her attempting to overexert herself at all right after he'd stitched her up. That, and he had yet to run a full diagnostic on her physiology. Questions plagued his mind doggedly.

Uhura sat on a chair beside the bed, briefly taking the time while the woman was still sedated to observe her properly. Her clothing, bundled up on a chair nearby for now, was similar to a dull leather jumpsuit, with reinforced layers of the material over the shoulders, forearms and upper thighs. The boots, heeled and soled in metal, seemed similarly designed and decorated. There were no real embellishments; it all seemed quite practical and to the point. Her features were sharp, bordering on masculine, while still being distinctly female – strong was what came to mind. There were scars visible under the hospital gown, some fresher than others. She stopped her studying then, then looked to McCoy and wordlessly nodded in confirmation. Pumping the adrenaline into the hypnospray and then injecting it into her neck with a distinct hissing sound, he stood, ready to hold her down. Not that she could move too far, judging by the bindings. Stirring slightly, her eyes opened. Black sclera, with an ember orange iris. They remained vacant for a moment, then focussed sharply as she struggled into a clumsy sitting position.

Uhura leant forwards, slowly and slightly, before making the world-wide open-palmed gesture that meant 'look, I'm not carrying a big nasty weapon'. The other eyed her suspiciously. Uhura could empathise as to why, to a degree. How would she feel, if she was surrounded by strange people on a strange craft? But, she was here for a reason, and it was time to try.

"Do you know what I am saying." English, no response.

"What about now?" Klingon. No reaction either, not even a flicker.

"What is your name?" Nothing there either, and that was Orion.

"We just want to help you, to try and understand you…" Vulcan made her eyes narrow, but no words. For the next hour, Uhura tried every dialect she could think of, every language that she could even partially recall from her years of study. Nothing. Occasionally there seemed to be a faint reaction, as though perhaps a word on its own was recognised, but never any verbal reply. Finally she leant back on the stool with a quiet sigh of exasperation and looked to McCoy.

"This isn't getting anywhere…"

McCoy frowned. He'd been observing both of them the entire time. The woman – still nameless – had on occasion made it seem as though she had wanted to react. A tensing in her throat, a swallow-like motion, a jawline muscle working.

"I think I know why."

Moving forwards, he took the woman's chin in his hand. She tensed, her muscles tightening in preparation to react. He kept up the grip, but didn't move otherwise. Slow and steady. Unlike Kirk and other members of the crew who he felt comfortable ordering around, she was an entirely new kettle of fish. He tried, then, to calm her… making quiet sounds out of his throat, like one might do to a spooked horse. He certainly didn't want a mental assault like last time, thank you very much. He prised open her mouth… blocking anyone else's view, before letting go and gesturing for Lieutenant Uhura to follow him back onto the bridge. Christine Chapel looked at them, before making a note on her board. She'd also figured it out, more so from the grim look on the doctor's face than much else.

"What is it? What did you do?"

"There's a reason she can't reply back."

"She didn't understand me, no matter what I tried."

"She understood you with some of those words. But she could not have spoken back even if she wanted to." His lips tightened then, and expression mildly darkened.

"Someone's removed most of her tongue."