A/N: It's been a while! Hello! I've updated the previous 4 chapters, so please re-read those because I re-wrote a bunch of stuff.
Empty Night
Chapter 5
My vacation at Casa de Prison Cell lasted three days. I was totally misled by the brochures. I expected, nay, demanded foot rubs, Jacuzzis, and drinks with little umbrellas in them. Instead, the food was horrible, the house staff surly and tight-lipped, and my room had no shower. Nary an umbrella in sight.
Despite my evident lockup in SHU, I tried to stay positive. I managed that for probably two days. Or it could have been five hours, I don't know. It's difficult to track the passage of time when you don't have a watch or a window to the outside world. Though, I suppose in space you can't really track the passage of time by conventional methods. With nothing to do, it felt like weeks of solitary confinement. I began looking for ways to occupy my time. Harassing the guards for books, music, cards, literally anything to pass the time was like trying to juggle pixies.
When bargaining didn't work, I decided to do something about the magic circle that was barely adequate for containing my ambient magic. I'm proactive like that. First and foremost, I needed something stronger and more permanent than a magic circle. Since I was confined to the cell anyway, I figured I might as well ward the walls and ceiling. Then, I could make something that would allow me mobility, assuming I ever managed to get out of this room. The rubber sole of my shoe wasn't going to cut it, but I had a handy tube of something like IcyHot that stuck to the walls like a dream.
I drew runes around the door, at each corner of the room, and as high as I could reach on the walls. When I finished the wards, the last few lights flickered and went out.
I needed light, so I cupped my hands together and whispered, "Anor," and narrowed my focus to a small, fluttering ball of light that sprung to life in my hands. With no tools available to me, this was the only light spell I could think of, but I was so out of practice with it that the best I could manage was a dull glow, barely as bright as a 40-watt bulb.
All of that took about ten minutes, after which I reverted to a state or resolute boredom.
With enough practice, I could probably make the orb hot enough to melt the plastic of the dishes, maybe make a shiv. I could set the blanket or pillow on fire... no. I would probably suffocate from smoke inhalation before anyone noticed. That might only get me moved to a new cell. Might even get me sedated.
I stood in the middle of the room, tossing the glow-light from hand to hand and considered my options. What was my goal? What did I hope to accomplish? Did I just need to keep myself busy, or was I attempting an escape? I ran a hand through my hair in frustration and regretted it immediately; I literally could not remember the last time I had a shower.
Abandoning my more destructive plans, I plunked down again, heedless of the mess of the cell, and practiced the light spell.
Countless hours later, I was better at the light spell, and still had no word from anyone. Hadn't even gotten food, or water. Pounding on the door got me nothing but a tender fist. I stared at it in bewilderment. Who did these people think they were? How could they treat prisoners like this? If Kirk wanted me to control my magic so much, why wasn't he helping me get the materials I needed? What the hell was going on?
In frustration, I stomped to the back end of the cell, flung out my right hand, and shouted, "Batho!" which resulted in little more noise than when I was using my fists. I huffed in silence.
"So pathetic," said a high voice to my left, apropos of absolutely fuck all.
Heart in my throat, I screamed, "Gaah!" and threw my glow-light back in the direction of the voice.
Scrambling on the floor, I grabbed the leftover food tray and held it threateningly over my shoulder, prepared to swing with all my strength.
The glow light was held in the hand of a small creature, the likes of which I had never seen before. It was small, short, barely reaching above my knee. Gray skin was stretched over a prominent skeletal structure, interrupted by sharp black spines at the joints. A huge mouth split its head in half and was filled with so many sharp teeth, I don't know how the thing was able to speak. Its eyes were black, shiny pin-pricks on either side of its head. It had grotesquely long, spindly arms, one held high to clutch my glow-orb above its head, which revealed an expanse of wrinkly skin fanning out from its side, like wings. Its legs were tucked underneath a pot belly and bent backwards, like a bird's.
"What kind of ugly motherfucker are you?" I asked the nightmare in a strangled gasp.
"So rude," it hissed, narrowing its eyes at me. "Xhix wonders what lord sees in such pathetic, rude beast." Belatedly, I noticed that its mouth did not move as it formed words, but black tentacles waved in and out of its mouth.
It snuffed my glow light and I heard skittering and wind as it moved.
Keeping perfectly still, I waited. Nothing happened for what could have been a minute or an hour. Time stretched and warped as it tends to do in tense, adrenaline-fueled situations. I was so terrified I was actually afraid of wetting myself. My heart hammered in my chest and I tried my best to control the ragged sound of my panicked breath.
I felt a brush against my left shoulder and I swung the tray, but hit nothing. Instead, a body used my momentum to push me to the floor, and I felt writhing limbs encase my head, blocking my nose and mouth. I struggled, clawing at the thing suffocating me in the dark.
"Such panic," it whispered with an awful, quiet joy. "it cannot fight even lowest of low."
I was trapped and fast running out of air, suffocation a real and ugly possibility. Opening my mouth, I bit down hard on the appendage smothering my face. It shrieked and flailed an arm, but it's hold remained tight. I sucked down a lungful of air before another appendage replaced the one I had bit.
The deep breath helped clear my head a little. I had gained a precious few seconds and I was determined that I wouldn't waste them.
Realizing that my arms and legs were still free, I stood – the thing probably wasn't big enough to do more than cling to my head like a limpet. I struggled to remain upright, disoriented as I was from the darkness and the extra weight on my shoulders. It was holding on so tightly that I couldn't get a finger under its arms and sharp points dug painfully into my temple as I tugged. I was running out of time and oxygen as my heart beat skyrocketed.
As soon as I was upright, I let the weight of the creature overbalance me and I fell, shoving as much as I could to assist the fall. I was too close to the wall, and rather than a heavy blow I had hoped for, I thumped it against the wall and slid back to the ground. The points at my temples dug in harder as I rocked forward and back again, slamming it into the wall with as much force as I could muster.
Over and over and over again, I slammed that creature into the wall. I forced my body to contract until my stomach ached, my throat seized, and I began to see stars. I was fading fast, but all I could do was continue to slam my body against the wall, bashing and pinning it over and over again.
Finally, by pure stupid luck, or maybe the creature was really wearing down, when my lungs were screaming for air, the pressure over my mouth eased. My hand flew to shove it aside and I was able to shout, "Anor!" igniting a brilliantly white-hot globe of light in my hand.
And quite suddenly, there was nothing on my head. It was as if the creature had never moved because it was exactly where I had last seen it, arm raised from where it had held up the light, mouth slightly open and black tentacles waving, weight resting on its heels.
I sucked down huge gulps of air and shook with adrenaline, fear, and the effort of using evocation. The heat and the light of the orb dimmed, as I was unable to sustain it, and I was left blinking at the creature through black spots, looking no worse for wear. It turned its head to focus one beady eye on me.
"A favor," it squeaked, and wiggled, as if getting comfortable.
"You are one sorry, stupid sack of shit if you think I'm handing out any favors," I panted.
The thing cocked its head and laughed. The shadowy tentacles in its mouth quivered before disappearing down its gullet, the line of its throat moving as if it were swallowing something wiggling.
"A favor for the rude one," it said, and spat something on the ground. A small gray stone rattled to and fro on the metal floor, shining in the light of the orb. I looked from the stone to the creature, feeling lost and confused at the rapid shift of events. At this point, I was unsure if my life was still in danger, but I didn't want to drop my guard in any case.
"What the hell is this shit?" I spat. "I'm not accepting any favors either, you little rat bastard."
While I knew this creature was like no sidhe I had ever seen, I was hazarding a guess that the rules of debt and obligation applied to this creature. As a general rule, it's a good idea never to accept a favor from a fae creature without giving one of equal value in return. Otherwise, you'll end up owing them one. Invariably, they will collect on their debt in the most inconvenient way possible.
It is in their nature to extract balance in all of their dealings with each other and mortals alike. If you wrong one, they will seek to punish you in equal measure. If you do them a service, you can expect repayment in kind. If they offer you a favor, you can expect trouble. In my experience, fae who offer favors are never to be trusted.
"The Vulcan failed his task," it said with a giggle. When it didn't continue, I grudgingly asked, "What task?"
"He cannot bring you what you need," it said, cryptically. I resisted the urge to rub my face in frustration. I don't know what I was expecting; answers from the sidhe were never straightforward.
"No, just take your shit and leave," I growled. I had enough on my plate without debts to little, creepy, nightmarish fae.
"Use it," it said.
"No."
"Your freedom is at stake."
"Still not making any more sense, Chucky."
"Then die, Wizard," it spat.
Before I could say anything else, the light in my hand was snuffed out. I hastily re-kindled the glow-orb, trying to light the room before it could attack me again.
The creature was gone. The little gray stone was left in the middle of the room.
0.o
The third day was indistinguishable from the second day. After the strange encounter with the creature from a six-year-old's nightmare, I didn't sleep, and kept a tight grip on the two-tined fork in case I needed to stab something.
Ravenous from the effort of fighting off the creature and sustaining the glow-orb for hours on end, I finally caved and tore open the MRE packages of... SPAGBOL, which was apparently spaghetti in meat sauce.
After slurping down the mushy, bland goop of overcooked pasta and under-seasoned meat sauce preserved to within an inch of its shelf life, I had one of my more inspired strokes of genius.
Carefully tearing open a pouch, I flattened it, licked the insides clean, and polished its surface with a corner of my ill-fitting shirt. Then, emptying half of the white medicine tube onto the dry surface, I used the flat edge of the fork to spread the cream around in a thin layer over the silvery material of the pouch.
I didn't have paper and pen, but I now had a passable substitute. If I wasn't going to sleep, at least I could work.
Using a tine of the fork, I scratched numbers in the layer of cream, kind of like I would do to a flat sheet of clay. It took a few hours, and I won't bore you with the details, but I eventually reached a conclusion I was not happy with. At all.
That damn rock was absolutely perfect – as far as I could tell, not knowing a damn thing about what it was or where it came from. I wasn't even intending to use it (because that would be stupid), I just picked it up because I needed a reference point for a stone resonance. I really hoped that creepy thing was wrong and that Spock and the Captain came through.
When I heard the clang of the door opening again I didn't look up. This was strange for a number of reasons.
I was backed into the furthest corner of the room, sitting on the bench with the flattened MRE pouch in front of me. My notes were in front of me, and the glow light hovered a foot or so above my work space, casting dim light through the room. I had been in a strange state of high alert and intense focus, at once on lookout for the creature's return, sustaining the glow-orb, and absorbed in strings of calculations.
I was a bit distracted, but I was ready to turn around and stab anything that twitched. Instead, I noted the opening door and discarded that information in favor of worrying and gibbering over what my equations were telling me.
"Miss Carpenter, are you well?" I looked up and Spock was standing in the too-bright light of the open door, glancing from my face to my temporary little tablet to the glow-orb above. I put down the fork.
"That depends, Spock," I answered, blithely, "on whether or not you have little umbrellas with you. And Pina Coladas."
He stepped into the room and the cell door closed behind him, shutting out the bright lights from the corridor beyond. He was carrying two covered trays, stacked on top of each other, and had a satchel slung across his chest.
"Then I must extend my apologies, Miss Carpenter. Little umbrellas and pina coladas were not included in your list of requested items; however, I have brought as many items as possible from the list as well as an evening meal."
"Please tell me you didn't bring more of those gross cubes," I groaned.
"I did not," Spock said, stepping forward and holding out the trays. I took the top one and opened it while Spock sat at the opposite end of the bench and sat the second tray on his lap. "Dr. McCoy has confirmed that you are in good enough health to consume standard food rations, and Captain Kirk suggested that you might appreciate something familiar."
The hot smell of salt and grease bombarded my nose and I very nearly cried at the sight of a lovely, greasy cheeseburger and a pile of golden fries. I may have blacked out for a second or two as I tossed the lid aside and dove in. I was reduced to a nonverbal state as I clutched the magical creation in my hands. Soft, yeasty buns, rich, peppery beef, gooey cheese, and the perfect ratio of condiments-to-beef-to-bun.
When I came back to myself, I glanced at Spock sheepishly, and just said, "These make me very happy," in explanation of my rather pornographic reaction to a simple burger.
But the thing about hanging around someone who has no facial expressions is that… they don't react to pornographic noises like a normal person would. No embarrassment, no awkwardness, no leering or suggestive eyebrow-wiggling.
You'd be surprised if you took a moment to notice how much your behavior is dependent on the reactions of the people you are around. I'll tell you… It's rather freeing to know, or suspect, that Spock wasn't reacting because he, honest-to-God, didn't care. Maybe another person would wonder if he was silently judging, but I just heaved a huge sigh and continued stuffing my face.
Spock had his own tray, which just had a bowl of soup. He was sipping from his spoon in careful, controlled movements, occasionally glancing at my notes, the runes, and the glow orb. When I noticed his eyes on the glow orb, I concentrated and broke off a portion of the orb into a smaller bead of light. One by one, I kept breaking off small pieces of light until I had one slightly larger ball and four small pin-pricks of light. I almost attempted one more, but I didn't think I could maintain focus enough to keep them from collapsing back into one orb.
Showing off, I played around with them, making them dim and brighten in patterns, moving them around and making them chase each other. It was kind of fun. I hadn't shown off for anyone who would appreciate my magic in years. At least, I assumed Spock was appreciating the entertainment, since he had stopped eating.
It was intense work focusing on the orbs, though, so I didn't notice much else.
I wanted to start eating again, though, so I dropped most of my focus and the little lights snapped back together. You know those magic-eye pictures? Once you have your eyes focusing the right way, it's easy enough to keep them there, but you have to be careful not to mess it up. That's kind of what maintaining a spell is like, at least for me.
Spock set his tray and half-eaten bowl of soup on the floor and I sighed in delight when I took a sip of a bubbly drink that turned out to be Coke. As I ate, he studied my notes, got up and examined the runes, but didn't ask me questions. As soon as I finished, I expected the Spanish inquisition, but Spock only asked, "May I inquire after the origin of these characters?"
"Oh, yeah, they're uh… a writing system called Angerthas Moria, which is used by the Dwarfs in Tolkein's Lord of the Rings trilogy - which is fiction. They're great for warding because of how angular the characters are. You can easily carve them into stone, wood, metals, or embroider them onto cloth and leather."
"And their purpose?" He continued.
"They're wards, which is a kind of magic spell that I can set up and not have to maintain all the time. The one on top is a barrier. It's the Khuzdul - or Dwarven - word for steel: ascȗd. That one is inactive right now, but I could activate it to keep out anyone I didn't want to come in.
"The second one is a passive alarm to let me know when someone is on the other side of the door; that's just the word for "change" – dem. When the condition of "no one" changes to "someone" it rings a bell.
"The third one is what I came up with to keep my… let's call it my personal magic cloud from drifting into other areas and breaking your extremely advanced technology. It says "Warrev vanyali mérna" or, "Forget magic pool."
"Does this language not have enough vocabulary to be more precise with your instructions? Why limit yourself to such imprecise coding?" Spock asked.
"That's actually a great question, and an accurate comparison. It actually is a lot like computer coding, from what I've read about it." Spock turned to face me fully, but his eyes kept flitting around the small space.
"The reason I'm limited in vocabulary is for two reasons. One: is that it's a made-up language, and Tolkein spent more time developing the elvish language. Two: is that it's actually a big problem for the user to regularly speak and write in the language they're using for magic. If I used English words and letters to set up the wards exclusively, and often (which is what needs to happen to get any good at doing it), I would start to have issues when writing regular correspondence and notes."
"What kinds of issues?" he asked.
"Well, let's say I used the English word "steel" for all my barrier wards. Every time I wrote "steel" down, it would have a little bit of magic unintentionally added to the written word, which might make that paper now indestructible, or strangely heavy, or render it useless because I couldn't write on it anymore."
"But such a limited language can surely only result in a limited set of scripts. Would it not be more efficient to use English, or even a currently spoken language that has a long history of evolution and meaning, to more precisely control outcomes? Could you not then take precautions to avoid such accidental issues as warding correspondence?"
"It's not actually an issue that the runes themselves don't have a lot of meaning because they're not the vehicle of intent when setting up wards – my Will is. And when I say Will, I mean the power I put into the ward and the intent I have for its purpose. Wards are basically instructions to carry out a magic spell, and they're encoded partially in text, and partially in the Will I charge them with.
"Think of the written characters as an anchor point. The word says and means "steel," but because I've put down hundreds of wards with those characters, and every time I do, I intend that to mean "set up a barrier that no one can cross, on my signal," the result is something that is more than just the word "steel." The runes become a representation of my Will, which will persist long after I have stopped paying attention to it or supplying power to it."
"I see. And it is because of the habitual action you have cultivated by repeated application of Will with a keyword that causes an involuntary response when that keyword is used in a casual context?" Spock asked.
"Yes, exactly! I could probably catch myself from adding Will every time I wrote the word "steel," but that would be un-training my ability to cast the wards properly when I wanted to, and when I didn't catch it, it would cause problems."
"I assume this isn't the only manifestation of your abilities. When we first met, you spoke a word that disrupted communications and other systems in the immediate vicinity. Moments later, you generated a localized heat source between you and the captain," Spock observed.
"Yes, that's right! For casting and enchanting, I use elvish mostly, which has a very curved quality to the written language – similar to arabic. That kind of writing isn't great for carving or embroidery, but the language is much more developed and I can put together more precise and pretty complex instructions with it."
Spock nodded and sat on the bench to watch me sorting through the pile of goods. He still seemed interested, after my long, technical explanations, and I was surprised how great it felt to talk about my craft to someone who didn't know anything about it. If I ever got back home, I don't think I would mind at all eventually teaching others.
There was quite a lot of costume jewelry in the bag, but only two actual semi-precious stones with some impurities. I knew at a glance that they would crumble before I had gotten through half of the enchantments.
There was also pen and paper, chalk, a salt shaker, matches, a hand-full of scrap wire, a wire cutter/stripper, pliers, bits of scrap sheet metal, six different candles of varying sizes and color, hemp rope, a blue and gold striped tie, and a little bottle of fragrance oil.
I slid to the floor, kneeling by the bench as I laid out the different pieces in separate little piles. The mysterious gray stone went in the same pile as the yellow and speckled green gems.
"Will these materials you requested be used in a spell?" Spock asked.
"Yes. My plan is to add enchantments to a semi-precious stone that will mimic the third ward I placed on this room, then put that stone in a necklace."
"Thus enabling you to move freely without causing danger to the ship or crew."
"Yes, exactly."
"You did not ask for carving tools. I assume the object will not use the same runic carvings as the ward?"
"You assume correctly. The ward is a temporary measure for a couple of reasons. It's sloppy – I had to use three words instead of just one, and that's because I just literally made it up on the spot. A ward made up on the fly like that isn't nearly as strong or effective as one I've been setting for years, but I can compensate a little by using more anchor points.
"I do have a feeling I'll be casting more wards like that because I can't realistically always be wearing a necklace, so I'll be able to refine that ward with more use. For the necklace, though, I'll be using enchantment. For enchantments, instead of runes serving as anchors, I'll use various objects to represent the five elements: Water, Fire, Earth, Air, and Spirit. The exact objects I use for each element, and the combination of all of them, will serve the same purpose as the words I chose for the warding.
"Why would there be such a difference in process between wards and enchantments?"
"Because they're acting on the world in different ways. With wards, I have defined a space, given the wards instructions and triggers, and supplied them with power in order to carry out those instructions. With enchantment, I'm essentially altering the fundamental nature of the object in question.
"I'm changing this object - which has no inherent magical qualities - and giving it magical qualities with a specific purpose," I said, holding up the cut turquoise. "Well – not this object."
"Is it insufficient in some way?" Spock asked.
"Unfortunately, yes. To be honest, high-quality precious gemstones would be better, but I didn't think anyone would want to hand over their family heirlooms for a complete stranger. It can't be a man-made gemstone, either, because the time it takes for the jewel to form is a factor in how suited it is to take on the properties I want it to.
"What qualities are required? I could assist you with determining the suitability of a number of other rare gems that you would be unfamiliar with.
"Other gems? I'm pretty familiar with most of them. I make a lot of jewelry."
"You would not be familiar with gemstones found on planets other than Earth, as humans did not begin trading common goods with other species until well after you disappeared from Earth."
I felt like my brain needed a full minute to reboot after that. I hadn't even considered that they'd be an option, and honestly, I had completely forgotten they existed and so hadn't even realized that I could think of them and then discard the idea as unviable.
"Oh, um… yeah. I guess that's an option. There are some – it needs to be made naturally, the longer it takes to form the better. It needs to be nearly flawless, but not 100%. It doesn't need to be cut, but if it is, the cultural implications of the cut should align with the intended qualities. And it needs to have a cultural history of attributed meaning that supports the characteristics I want it to take on. For example, human culture attributed Sapphire to represent fidelity; opal can represent love and hope, Lapis Lazuli represents wisdom and protects against psychic and mental attacks.
"Are you aware of how the composition of molecular structure or elemental makeup impacts the gemstone's qualities?"
"Um, not really. Not many magic users enchant gemstones, and the ones that do aren't typically well-versed in the scientific aspects of geology. Everything I know is basically what I've found out through trial and error."
Honestly, most Wizards don't bother with using stones in their constructs, even though they improve the potency and longevity of the enchantment, the strength of the magical output, and overall effectiveness. They're tricky to use, expensive to obtain, and most Wizards can get by perfectly well without them. So while I'm good at using them, it's considered a useless talent to other Wizards. Like being able to lick your elbow.
"It seems then, that we must begin our search for a stone with one that has a suitable cultural history of attributed meaning," Spock prompted.
"Yeah, I – you're being unusually cool about this whole Magic thing. What gives?" I ask. I know he's not really showing emotions, but I'm not even getting the patronizing tone of someone who is just here to humor me. Believe me – it's happened plenty of times.
"You expected me to doubt your explanations?" he clarified.
"Well yeah. You're a science officer. Every scientist I've ever met has a bit of a meltdown when I start talking about magic and give themselves whiplash with how fast they are to tell me that magic doesn't exist and how wrong I am," I say, honestly.
"Don't get me wrong. I'm really excited to talk about all of this with you. You're the first person outside my family that's been interested in hearing me talk about how I make these little constructs, but it's just… not a reaction I'm used to getting."
Spock tilted his head thoughtfully and met my eyes again. It didn't trigger a soul gaze, but it seemed like maybe he might have been waiting for one.
Thank you. I thought to him, while I could. His eyes seemed to crinkle in a smile that wasn't there.
"Vulcans subscribe to a philosophy called Kol-Ut-Shan, or Infinite Diversity in Infinite Combinations. The universe contains many unknown phenomena that have yet to be explored and quantified. Just because I cannot explain something, does not mean it is not real," he said.
"Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic," I replied.
"Quite a precinct observation of Arthur C. Clarke," Spock replied.
"You know about Clarke's laws?" I asked, surprised. It seems almost random to have survived 237 years.
"I have worked and studied among humans for fifteen years. Additionally, my mother was human. I have endeavored to study human culture in an effort to better understand my colleagues and what is, logically, also my culture," he said, a somber tone overtaking his voice.
"Well. The second law states that the only way of discovering the limits of the possible is to venture a little way past them into the impossible," I said, genty steering the conversation away from what seemed like a heavy topic. "What I need to make has never been done before."
"Then we must first discover the limits of what is possible," he said, nodding once. "What will the stone be used for?"
"Well, essentially, I need to make a vessel that will pull in the magic I naturally generate and contain it. If I can contain it and store it, then I can prevent it from interacting with your technology, and even draw on it when my own store runs low," I explained.
"So the ideal stone would be one that has traditionally been used to store energy of some type. Dilithium is a possibility. It is used to moderate the matter-to-antimatter reaction that powers the ship, and as such serves as a conduit for the flow of energy." Spock said.
"Ok, did you bring some?" I asked, willing to give it a shot.
"Even small pieces are strictly controlled by Starfleet, but –" he cut himself off and picked up the stone the creature tried to give to me.
"Oh, that's… Not from you guys," I tried to explain, poorly.
"Indeed, as I would have recognized it from the ship's inventory. How did you obtain this?" He asked, neutrally, but pointedly.
"Oh, a creature I've never seen before appeared in here a couple hours ago, attacked me, insulted me, and tried to do me a favor by giving it to me," I said, as if it was no big deal.
"One of the Security crew?" Spock asked, quickly, with rising intensity.
"I'm pretty sure not. It wasn't wearing a uniform, and the door never opened," I answered.
Spock considered me for a moment, then asked somewhat hesitantly, "Would you permit me to view the memory?"
"You want to do another mind-meld?" I asked, sitting straighter.
"Affirmative," He said, raising his right hand. "It would be the easiest way of identifying the intruder."
I had barely gotten out my agreement before his fingers were taking position on my face and I felt the familiar warm, floating feeling of his presence in my mind, but still feeling like he oddly snuck in through the back door. This time, it was a little thrilling–like I was sneaking a boy home after curfew.
Please recall the event to the best of your ability. I won't need to search your mind for the memory if you share it with me, Spock said.
I nodded, bringing up the shock and disgust; the terror and pain; the fight and the negotiation. I tried to focus on as many details as I could, especially the way the creature looked. When it ended, instead of breaking the meld, Spock only continued the conversation telepathically.
Are you well? Do you need medical attention? He asked urgently.
I'm fine. Just shaken up. I think the stupid thing just wanted to scare me, not really kill me, I said.
I agree. Though this species is unknown to Starfleet, its actions suggest a desire to manipulate you through intimidation. Presenting itself as more powerful and knowledgeable, it presented a false binary choice and expected you to choose the path of survival. He said, calmly.
You don't think that crystal is the only option? I asked.
Spock didn't respond right away, but I could feel him thinking over something. It felt a little like fingers running through my hair.
It would be preferable to avoid the manipulations of an unknown entity that uses such intimidation tactics. But in your memory, you also had a strong reaction to the creature's use of the word favor. What would be the natural consequence of "accepting" such a favor? He asked.
Well, eventually it, or the being it's representing, would come to collect on that favor and I'd have little choice but to pay it back. Failing to do so would result in some pretty severe consequences, I said.
So either the creature or another agent wants you to perform a task of equal measure for it — maybe obtaining an equally difficult-to-source material, or it desires to enact the consequences of you breaking an agreement, He theorized.
It could also just want to keep tabs on me, I said. After making a deal, there's an awareness of each other that helps the bargainers find one another in order to carry out and collect on the bargain, I added.
Could this creature have been responsible for your sudden appearance on the ship? Spock asked.
I couldn't say for sure, since I have no memories of that, but it definitely seems to be able to get around without tripping your intruder alarms, I said
Indeed, Spock added, and fell quiet, but the gentle rustling on my scalp let me know he was debating with himself intensely. I wanted him to be able to make the choice in his own time, but after a few minutes, the rustling took on a repetitive quality that made me think he wasn't making any progress.
Spock, do you think there's another option? I prodded gently.
There is a mineral, found only on Vulcan-that-was, that is capable of storing and preserving all the knowledge and memories of Vulcans that pass on. However, since the planet was destroyed, this mineral has become increasingly difficult to procure, he said, expectantly, and the silence after was so still it was like he was holding his telepathic breath.
Was there something there for me to figure out? Vulcan-that-was: a planet. Destroyed. Vulcans come from the planet Vulcan. Spock is a Vulcan. His planet was destroyed. Stars. A mineral that stores the knowledge and memories of dead Vulcans. Not just storing. Preserving. Memories of the dead. It's a memorial stone of some kind. Rare now because the planet was destroyed. Stars and Stones!
That sounds like an incredibly valuable mineral, I said. I can understand not wanting to use it for a less important purpose.
Illogical. Spock replied curtly. When there is a more immediate and pressing need, it is illogical to withhold a possible solution due to sentimentality. The Jasif is of no use to me until I am dead.
Logic is very important to you, I observed. Wouldn't it be logical to prioritize –
If you cause an engine malfunction, I will be dead and the Jasif will be lost regardless, He countered, a little aggressively.
Then I would owe you a great debt, I said, carefully, and stilled myself in the same way Spock did earlier. I knew he would understand.
Human society no longer uses currency as a means of exchange, he said.
The choice on how to collect is yours, I countered. As long as it's not worth more than what you gave me and doesn't cost me my life or my magic.
Instead of responding immediately, Spock gently broke the mind-meld, and I felt like I was slowly waking up from a nap with my eyes open. I blinked and Spock's warm, brown eyes blurred as mine teared up.
"I will meditate on this," Spock said. "Good Evening, Miss Carpenter." and he left.