"I find him most uncommon," said Jim, settling on his mattress.
McCoy barely looked up from his work on the tricorder as he chucked the Vulcan history book towards Jim. Jim fumbled to catch it. "If your headache's not too bad, try to read up on this era on Vulcan. Let me know if you find anything."
After breakfast, the headache had returned, but Jim willfully ignored it. They spent the next hour or so working. Finally, McCoy threw down the tricorder with frustration. "God, I can't do anything without some decent tools."
Jim frowned at his reading. "I can't imagine what this focal point in time might be. There's got to be something significant that happened—"
McCoy looked up. "Or maybe it's something that didn't happen."
Jim blinked. "Bones?"
He set aside his tricorder. "Remember what you said about either starting or stopping a rebellion? What if your arrival prevents something from happening that otherwise would have happened?"
A knock sounded on their door. Jim sat upright.
"It is Aravik," called a voice. Jim and McCoy immediately snapped on the capes and hoods.
"Come in," Jim invited.
The door opened. The young Vulcan, red cloak freshly washed, said, "The session begins. We request your presence."
"Sorry, what session?" inquired Jim.
"I suppose you have not been told," he said. Though his expression maintained Vulcan composure, his voice and eyes sparkled with enthusiasm. "Taking residence here has certain regulations and requirements, and these sessions are foremost among them. Follow me."
Jim and McCoy exchanged a glance, then rose and joined him at the door.
A few minutes later, Jim, McCoy, and the other residents knelt in rows in a cool, dim earthen room. They all talked quietly amongst themselves, their voices echoing in the small space.
Jim leaned in towards McCoy. "You were saying that it might be something that didn't happen. What did you mean by that?"
McCoy inched his hooded head towards him. "I meant that your arrival might not have caused anything to happen, but prevented something important from happening."
Jim considered, then nodded slowly. "What's a huge event that happened around this time on Vulcan?"
"It could only be the Awakening," replied McCoy. "Somehow, because of your arrival, the Awakening—the rise of Surak, Vulcan turning to peace—that never happens."
"And so Vulcan destroys itself, just as Earth will," murmured Jim.
"That's a possibility, at least."
"But how does the destruction of Vulcan cause the destruction of—"
McCoy turned his attention back to the front of the room. Jim looked up. All around him, the murmur of conversation faded as Spock strode into the room. He knelt before them on a small square mat.
"Good morning."
The Vulcans' tunics rustled as they bowed as one. Beside them, Aravik bent down so far that his forehead nearly touched the ground. Jim moved his head downwards in respect, but dipping it too far hurt his head.
Spock continued, "The subjects at hand are distressing, and indeed, these are dark times. Brother wars against brother, and our planet is ruled by bloodshed and base Vulcan passions. We devote our resources to developing weaponry and to violence. Our actions thus breed war and terror in an unbroken cycle. Vulcans use the immense physical and intellectual capacity to inflict harm on one another."
The words, spoken so serenely and unequivocally, freed something in Jim's heart. He drew a long breath.
Spock looked into the eyes of his attentive audience. "However, we should not view the current state of our race as failure, but as potential. Consider what would result if we devoted the resources and energies we now waste on war and terror—"
A realization sparked in Jim's brain. "—and instead spent them on life," he concluded.
All the refugees turned to look at him. Spock's gaze fell on him, and they locked eyes. Jim felt suddenly short of breath.
"Yes," said Spock quietly, holding eye contact. After a beat of silence, he turned to look at the other refugees, and he continued to talk, speaking of science, analysis, and reason. He described a vision of Vulcan's future, a society upheld by logic, in which all Vulcans worked together as one. He spoke of using the calculations devoted to missile projectiles to one day launch Vulcans into space.
As Jim and McCoy filed out of the room with the rest of the refugees, Aravik strode up to them.
"Extraordinary, isn't it?" he said, eyes alight.
They both nodded. "Very," murmured Jim.
The look on Aravik's face was one Jim had last seen on fresh cadets from Starfleet Academy's recent graduation. Their wide, wondrous eyes were not yet narrowed with cynicism and loss.
Dipping his head to acknowledge them, Aravik turned to the corner to his own quarters. Jim and McCoy exchanged a long look.
"That's it, then," whispered McCoy. "Without Vulcan, there was no interstellar travel on Earth. Without interstellar travel, all of the resources that could have gone into science instead went to war. Humanity destroyed itself."
Jim nodded slowly. "I find him most uncommon," he repeated contemplatively.
At the second meal, it was McCoy's turn to help prepare and serve. Jim, sorely needing a break from their research, accompanied him to give him a helping hand. He picked up the tricorder and tucked it under his tunic, just in case anyone happened to peek into their room.
As they walked down the hall towards the dining room, the sounds of a loud altercation reached their ears. Exchanging a glance, they broke into a run, pattering up the stairs and opening the door. Jim found his hand traveling to his belt for his absent phaser.
The scene that greeted them was stranger than any they had anticipated. Aravik stood facing T'Prylla in the middle of the dining hall, with all the other Vulcans retreated at the sides of the room. Her dark green robes were ripped and trailing sand.
"It is not logical," he stated, his voice raised. His shoulders trembled slightly, the crumpled cloak draped over them shot through with blood.
"No," T'Prylla acknowledged, eyes flaring. "It is not. I never said it was."
"You dishonor this sanctuary. You dishonor he who has done so much for both of us. You dishonor Spock's teachings."
She looked him in the eye, nodding slowly. "If you call it that, yes, yes, I do."
At that moment, a door at the end of the corridor burst open. Everyone turned towards it. Spock, black cape billowing, strode down towards them.
"What is the disturbance?" he inquired.
Aravik drew in a breath. In Spock's presence, his hands began to shake. He and T'Prylla both turned towards their teacher. T'Prylla glanced at the young man, but he pursed her lips and looked away. Taking a steadying breath, T'Prylla began to speak.
"Sir," she explained carefully, "during the meal, we discovered that the water was not flowing. After the meal, Aravik went to the oasis to check the pipes. It was dangerous, you see, with the sun already risen, and him traveling alone in the light. When he was late to return, I grew anxious, and I went out in search of him. He had been kidnapped by a slave trader. Aravik and his captor were traveling back to the main camp." She took a deep breath. "I shot him from afar."
Spock's shoulders straightened. "You murdered a defenseless Vulcan?"
"It is against your teachings," she acknowledged. "The slave trader had already put his brand around his wrist, so had the slave trader lived, he would have forever been his legal property. In addition, if he had recognized him…" She trailed off.
Spock was silent. Then, he looked at Aravik. "Aravik, is what she is saying true?"
He turned her eyes down. "It is true," he replied quietly. "I was unconscious. As she carried me back, she took off her own cloak and wrapped me in it so I would not be recognized."
"If he kidnapped him as a slave, it is likely he did not recognize him as a radical. It is also likely that if you returned here, you would never encounter the slave trader again," said Spock.
She nodded. "Yes. That would be likely. However, if given the opportunity, I would do that, and more, if it meant ensuring Aravik's safety and freedom."
Spock regarded the pair. "You are aware of the consequence of murder in my Sanctuary?" He paused. "More importantly, are you aware that your action endangered the entire Sanctuary?"
Aravik turned his gaze to Spock's eyes. "Sir, I am well aware that it is illogical. However, I would have done the same for her."
For a moment, everyone was still. All the Vulcans silently looked toward Spock, waiting for his word.
Finally, he said simply, "T'Prylla, your actions have brought dishonor and danger to everyone here. You will not be brought sustenance or receive visitors until I have made a decision about your state. Return to your quarters and remain there."
T'Prylla looked at Aravik one last time. She murmured, "Are you okay?"
He nodded. "I am okay."
She turned. As she went past Aravik, Jim noticed her discreetly extend two fingers, and he subtly returned the gesture. The pads of their fingers brushed as she walked out through the gathered crowd, disappearing through the door.
Spock addressed the refugees. "The meal will proceed as scheduled. I expect to see you there soon."
He turned, his cape rippling behind him. He strode up the length of the room and opened the door.
A sharp rap sounded on the door. Spock stood upright, his attention snapping back across the room. All the Vulcans around the room froze.
Spock didn't even turn. "Refugees, conceal yourselves. The rest of you, go about your usual business."
Wordlessly, the Vulcans dispersed, some heading swiftly to the benches and others noiselessly gathering behind the counter. As spoons and bowls whipped out from cabinets, a group of refugees flocked to the table. Aravik crouched underneath, pushing aside the slab. In a horde of elbows and knees, Kirk and McCoy crawled underneath and crowded into the hot, airless space as the slab grated shut above them. With the click of a lock, the darkness breathlessly swallowed them up.
Above ground, Spock turned to survey the Vulcans at work at the counter and muttering tensely at the tables. Straightening his shoulders, he coolly strode towards the door and opened it.
At the sight that greeted him, his body tensed. A party of close to twenty Vulcans faced him, dressed in rough tunics, daggers gleaming at their thighs. Spock firmly set his mouth and fixed his eyes onto the man at the head of the group. The angry pink scars along his exposed shoulder denoted his high rank.
"Good day," he greeted evenly.
The leader met his eyes sharply. "Assassin Spock," he said in a gravelly voice. "An hour ago today, we found my brother killed. My comrades report seeing a woman fleeing the scene."
Spock's expression remained unflinching. "I extend my condolences. Who is this woman you speak of?"
"That is what we want you to explain," replied the man, his eyes gripping Spock's. "According to all accounts, the woman is exactly identical to the radical T'Prylla, whom we ordered you to assassinate six months ago."
Spock dipped his head, jaw tight. "As I did. You say this woman was exactly identical?"
His nostrils flared, and his eyes blew wide with fury. "I say that you are a liar and a cheat, and you are harboring T'Prylla—and maybe others—here in your sanctuary!"
In the hot, tight silence that followed, Spock heard the sounds of bowls clattering and spoons stilling as the Vulcans behind him stopped what they were doing. Clasping his hands behind his back, he made a small signal for them to resume their activities.
"I understand that you are distressed over the death of your brother, and again, I extend my condolences," Spock said, attuning one ear to the continuing clanks and rattles behind him. "However, I entreat you to think through this logically. If this woman were fleeing, as you described, the men likely were unable to clearly see her face. It is highly probable that their impression of her features were mistaken."
"You can say what you like, with your logic and your reason," the leader returned, his hot breath steaming on Spock's face. "However, we have come to investigate ourselves."
Spock's lips tightened. He dipped his head. "Please."
The leader gestured over his shoulder and strode into the sanctuary, pushing Spock aside. Clad in rough, sandy tunics, they swarmed into the sanctuary like locusts. They seized upon the Vulcans at the table, tying lengths of rope around their wrists, while a few more fanned out to the counter and tore away the Vulcans they there. Spock stepped forward, but the leader shoved him roughly back against the wall, pressing a dagger against his throat.
The warriors pushed the innocent Vulcans against the side wall, one or two men per Vulcan, gripping their bound arms. The men and women struggled against them helplessly. The leader walked down the line, carefully inspecting each face. He stopped before one Vulcan, grabbing his chin and looking him up and down. Finally, he let go and continued his walk.
After several rounds, he stopped in front of Spock. "If you confess now, we will spare your life."
Spock lifted an eyebrow. "While it is a tempting proposition, I am afraid that I have nothing to confess."
"Begin the search!" growled the leader.
The refugees, huddled in the crowded space, listened to the noise of heavy boots, cabinets slamming, and shouted orders. Jim sucked in the hot, moist air through his nostrils, and his lungs gasped for more. Sweat crawled over his skin, and he felt his joints and collar growing slick.
A thud sounded above him as the warriors lifted and dropped an object in search. Jim shifted his position, fighting for relief for his cramped joints. His arm ended up pressed against a Vulcan's torso, and he felt the hard hammer of a heartbeat. He wasn't sure whether it was the Vulcan's or his own.
He attempted to draw a deep breath, and his chest tightened. The noise of footfalls sounded right above them. The refugees pressed together in the sticky heat, holding their breaths until the footfalls passed.
Above them, they heard a voice report, "We've found nothing, sir."
"Then continue searching," the leader ordered gruffly.
As Spock looked on, pinned against the wall by a swordswoman, they swarmed out the door into the halls. The remaining men crawled all over the dining area, inspecting each crack in the wall and every small opening.
The leader stood at the other side of the doorway from Spock. Without turning his head, Spock glanced swiftly sideways. The man's brow deepened in mounting fury, and the muscle in his jaw throbbed.
A group of warriors swarmed through the door and spread into the kitchen for the third time, opening cabinets and sweeping through them. Turning his eyes away, Spock looked over at the men and women lined up against the wall. Their faces remained stoic, but they trembled against the blades held up to their necks.
A crash. His eyes snapped back to the kitchen in time to see their earthenware bowls shattering to the floor. Sweeping out of the kitchen, three of the tribesmen strode grimly out of the wreckage up to their leader.
"We have searched the entire sanctuary, sir," one woman said quietly. "There are no doors or possible escape routes. We can only assume that Assassin Spock was truthful."
From the corner of his eye, Spock watched as a green flush rose from the leader's neck up to his face, exploding in verbal rage. "This is the only habitable place for miles around!" he roared. "Where else could anyone be? Where?"
"Sir."
At the calm voice, the woman, the leader, and Spock all turned. Spock's chest tightened. A tribesman knelt by the table, holding up a triangular earthenware shard.
"When the bowls shattered, a few shards fell into this crack here, sir. I think you should come and take a look."
Spock clasped his hands tightly behind his back, suppressing the tremble rising through his body. He drew in a long breath as the leader made his way over to the table. The leader stopped beside his tribesman, exchanged a few muttered words, then ducked under the table.
He rose from the ground with a sharp intake of breath. His eyes pierced Spock's. "A keyhole."
"It may be," replied Spock, his voice quiet with the effort of keeping it steady. "The door has been there since before I arrived. I am afraid that I do not know how to open the door or the purpose of it being there."
The leader raised an eyebrow. "Is that so?"
Spock tightly dipped his head. "I wish I could tell you otherwise."
"Very well." He turned and gave his men a signal. Nodding, they turned to the innocents and began to press the daggers against their necks.
As the cries and muffled pleas welled up around him, the leader turned to Spock and smiled. "Unless you open this door for me," the leader stated, "your little guests die."
Well, this is as much as I've posted on AO3! From now on, I'll be updating simultaneously. :) I hope you've enjoyed the story so far! Callie out.