By evening, the dining hall had resumed something of its old shape. In cracked bowls, glued pottery shards, jugs, and wash buckets, the least injured Vulcans served a meal of soup and loafs. They huddled together for supper, gradually filling the hall with sounds of life.
Spock strode through the door, returning from bringing bowls to the medical wing. The murmurs ceased and heads rose.
"Good evening," he greeted.
They returned the sentiment, voices strong with the familiarity of ritual.
"We have been through a difficult experience today and it has been a trying day for all of us."
The residents murmured in assent.
"There are some details on which I am still unclear—" His eyes fell on Jim's. "—and I believe now would be a suitable time to discuss what exactly happened."
All eyes turned to Jim. He looked around, then found Spock's eyes again. The Vulcan nodded. Jim put down his spoon and slowly rose.
"There's a water pipe in the compartment," he said. "Quite wide, leading through the building. T'Prylla had a metal bracelet, and I used it create a coil around the pipe. When I connected the end of the coil to an electronic device I had—"
"…it created an electromagnetic field," surmised Spock. "It heated the metal to a critical point and melted it."
Jim blinked. He nodded slowly. "Yes."
"Forgive my interruption," Spock apologized. "Continue."
"That's the whole of it," said Jim, his eyes still on Spock's. "The hole sealed itself behind us, and we crawled along the pipe up to the basin in the water room." He hesitated. "And, because Spock and I were in-communication, that's when he opened the door."
As he concluded the story, the refugees' gazes never left him, but all he felt were Spock's eyes on his. The Vulcan drew a breath and nodded.
"Ingenious," he said. "You have our gratitude."
Jim nodded and settled back onto the bench, squeezing between two Vulcans. Spock continued, "Now, I must make myself clear on two points. Firstly, they may return at any time. Whenever you leave your quarters, hide your personal belongings."
The refugees nodded solemnly.
"Secondly…" He drew a breath. "None are permitted to visit T'Prylla under any circumstances. She is to be confined in her room until I reach a decision."
Jim looked up. However, Spock's face was unreadable.
The residents exchanged a glance. Then, they dipped down to commence the meal.
As evening approached, more and more Vulcans returned from the medical wing, either retiring to their quarters or going to the kitchen to help with makeshift bowls and utensils. When Jim figured that the medical wing would be mostly empty, he slipped down the hall and through the medical wing door.
He passed into a room illuminated by gentle evening light. A young Vulcan stood stocking shelves. The mattresses on the floor were mostly empty, save for the one occupied by Aravik on the other side of the room. McCoy knelt beside him, wrapping a bandage around his wrist.
At Jim's footsteps, McCoy looked up, his eyes bright and tired. "Jim."
"Sorry to bother you, Bones," he said, settling onto a mat. He opened his clumsily bound hands. "I just need to get my hands fixed up."
"Yeah, sure," he said, turning back to the bandaging. "Just give me a moment to savor the fact you came in here on your own free will."
McCoy shortly finished with Aravik, then walked over to Jim. He undid the cloth binding the captain's palms.
"My God, man, why didn't you come in earlier?" he demanded, pulling the blood-soaked cloth away to reveal deep red slashes in Jim's flesh.
"Firstly, I didn't want to be clogging up the medical wing, and secondly—" He glanced back at the young assistant, only to find that he was staring right back at him with his mouth open. Noticing the two looking, he quickly ducked his head and continued sorting the herbs on the shelf, sneaking one last look at the unmistakably red blood on the bandages.
Jim and McCoy simultaneously looked at the crimson cloths pooled on the ground.
"Oh. Well," said McCoy. He balled up the bloody cloths and wrapped them in clean gauze to hide them. Then, sighing, he reached for a salve and applied it to Jim's wounds. He neatly bound them, carefully concealing the red lines.
Jim looked up at the assistant. "I have a blood disease," he supplied.
"Sit tight here for another ten minutes," instructed McCoy. "See if the bandages hold. I'm going to go wash our equipment." He headed to the door and glanced back at the assistant. "Coming?"
The man nodded, put away a few jars, and followed him out the door.
Jim lay back against the mattress. As his stiff muscles relaxed into the ground, he grunted loudly in pain. Aravik, in the middle of ripping a bandage off a raw, bleeding wound, glanced over at him. Jim turned his head and shut up.
Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Aravik minister to his wounds. Aravik quickly ripped off the old bandages and bound his injuries with fresh ones. He winced occasionally, but he remained impressively silent and his face betrayed no pain. Jim couldn't tell whether the impassiveness was due to shock or to being Vulcan.
He sat up and turned to Aravik. "Those look pretty nasty," he said. "Are you all right?"
"They are large, but shallow," Aravik replied. "The pain is not great. How are you?"
He looked down at his bandaged hands. "I'm all right. Just some cuts."
They sat in silence for a while. Then, he said, "The Doctor is your friend?"
"He's a physician. We've…travelled together." He studied Aravik's bandages. "You seem pretty skilled. Are you a doctor, too?"
"No, though I suppose I am now. I was a technician. I only learned medicine when I fled my home and I needed to acquire the skill."
"What happened?"
Aravik drew a breath. "My mother participated in a plan to assassinate the tribe's leader. When it failed, they discovered her part in it, and my family had to split up and hide."
Jim looked away. "I'm sorry."
Aravik's eyes screwed shut. His fists briefly clenched before he eyes opened again, and he quickly regained his composure.
Jim frowned. "Aravik, are you all right?"
He nodded stiffly. "Yes, thank you." As he said so, he winced again.
Jim began to get up. "I'll get McCoy."
"No."
The conviction of Aravk's voice made him turn. "But your wounds—"
"It is not my wounds." He shut his mouth immediately after saying that, but had no choice but to continue. "It is rather…internal pain," he finished. When Jim still remained with his hand on the door, he sighed. "A man such as you would not understand."
"What do you mean?" he asked.
"It is something T'Prylla told me. You likely do not recall, but she accidentally bumped your hand as she reached for a water jug at breakfast."
Aravik looked up at him, and he shook his head, indicating that he had no recollection.
Aravik continued, "She said that she did not sense much, as you heavily guard your thoughts. According to T'Prylla, the shields on your thoughts are stronger than those of many here. However, she immediately felt that you have absolutely no comprehension of this."
His brow furrowed. "Of what?"
His voice grew quieter. "T'Prylla. In my body, I feel the living pattern of her thoughts."
Jim slowly nodded. "Oh."
"She is alone, confined to her room without food, deeply distressed: shock, guilt, horror, fear." He looked down. "I can feel her, but she cannot touch me."
"I'm sorry," Jim said gently.
"I do not believe you understand, but thank you."
They sat in silence. Jim opened his mouth, then closed it. Aravik looked over at him, but he didn't speak.
After a few moments, he drew a deep breath. "Aravik?"
He turned to Jim. "Yes?"
"What's it like?" he asked quietly.
The Vulcan thought. His face was drawn, yet sharp in profile.
"Is it too complicated to explain?"
He immediately shook his head. "No. It is rather the opposite." He paused. "It is a simple feeling."
The sanctuary had already grown lively again by breakfast. While McCoy helped with serving, Jim sat down, greeting the Vulcans around him. They returned his courtesy, then returned to their conversation.
"According to logic, saving one life and endangering a number of others is a mistaken endeavor," the Vulcan across him said.
Another Vulcan made a noise as he painstakingly detached a piece of bread. "Indeed," he said, prizing away a perfect rectangular piece. "Furthermore, it is uncertain whether or not the rescued one's life was truly at risk in the first place."
Jim's headache began to return at the realization of what the conversation was about, and at the thought of the conversation's subject. He ripped off a chunk of bread and chewed it thoughtfully.
"Then why do you hide in this sanctuary?" Jim inquired. "For some of you, it's likely that the tribe isn't even aware you exist. You come to this sanctuary because of the chance—the slight chance—that you're in danger."
"That is true," conceded the Vulcan across him. "However, in our particular case, our presence here does not endanger anyone."
Jim looked up. "It endangers Spock."
A bowl plunked down beside his. Squeezing onto the bench by his side, McCoy muttered, "That's enough."
At that moment, the room fell silent. Before Jim even turned, he knew the reason. The silence grabbed his breath and his heartrate quickened as he turned towards the tall, slender form at the head of the table.
Spock greeted them, and they returned the greeting. He said, "I am aware that the incident involving T'Prylla weighs on your minds."
All the Vulcans nodded.
"Once a decision is reached, I will inform all of you," he stated. "Until then, I remind you again that no one is permitted to visit T'Prylla in her chamber. Is that clear?"
The Vulcans murmured in assent. Spock dipped his head, bid them farewell, and disappeared through the door again.
Drawing in a quick breath, Jim lifted the bowl to his lips. Over the curved rim, he watched as the other Vulcans resumed their conversations. Then, with his other arm, he subtly nudged the bread off the table. He felt it land on the cloth napkin on his lap.
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