Doctor McCoy had, as usual, exaggerated. The woman did not glow.
That this, of all irrelevancies, should be his first reaction upon finding himself face to face with several types of energy surges as well as one humanoid female wrapped in scant yardage of well-placed green gauzy fabric was not logical. Neither, of course, was it logical to expect the doctor's account to be completely accurate. The captain's party had been trapped, confused, and frightened, with little more than a glimpse of the woman before they found themselves waking in a different location with injuries and memory loss. They had since that time suffered days of sustained mental trauma. To note in only seconds, and under such circumstances, that the azure glow emanated from the surge rather than the woman herself was more than he could reasonably expect from McCoy.
Spock was, nevertheless, surprised. Even in the most trying circumstances, the doctor was ordinarily a highly detail-oriented individual.
Perhaps, therefore, his logic was faulty yet again. This may be an entirely different woman. He had no reason to suspect that he and Lieutenant Uhura would be faced with the same visitor the captain's party had met, and no data with which to prove that the humanoids upon this planet could not glow. Indeed, until he had spoken to McCoy they had no reason to suspect a humanoid presence yet existed upon Dorcanis V at all. Given the lack of visual or other concrete data discovered by the archaeologists regarding the native population, they also had no reason to suppose that population was not extremely powerful.
Indeed, why had the Enterprise even chosen to remain in orbit after that first mishap? They would have been far wiser to take their leave. They should have realized something more was amiss—that they were faced not with inanimate energy readings but with beings far more advanced than themselves who had, for reasons of extreme benevolence, allowed the interlopers the opportunity to depart rather than taking more drastic action to ensure—
"Mr. Spock!"
Uhura's voice was hazy, indistinct, as though heard through water or layers of—
A sharp sting across his cheek. "Mr. Spock, can you hear me?"
He seized upon the brief pain, surfacing rapidly to a nearly unbearable pressure and a dull, throbbing ache. As he returned to himself—an illogical phrase unfortunately taken up from his human colleagues—Spock noted that he was bent nearly double, clutching at his head and with his tricorder fallen to the ground. He took a long breath, tasting the heat and dry dusty breeze, drawing upon the physical sensations of his surroundings to bolster his thought processes and shielding against the clamor within his head. Slowly he straightened, snatching the tricorder from the gritty orange surface, sparing a moment to hope that the fall and dust had not damaged it. Uhura hovered between him and their visitor, on her guard—though she yet held her datapad rather than her phaser. He nodded approvingly. The last thing they needed at this moment was an escalation.
Eyes dark with concern and pain met his own. "Are you alright, sir?"
"I am functional, Lieutenant. Yourself?"
"My head is killing me, but nothing like yours." She gripped her datapad in trembling fingers, stepping closer. "I don't understand."
He was Vulcan—pain was irrelevant. Exhaustion was irrelevant. Spock forcibly siphoned away both, until they were little but a simmering annoyance which lingered upon the edge of his perception. "I suspect our hosts recognize that the shields are mine, regardless of whom they protect. If they are to break those shields they must focus their efforts on me." He turned a raised eyebrow toward the woman, who had not moved from her position beneath the rock overhang since their first sight of her. "Is it not so?"
Their visitor looked away. Spock stepped toward her, and a spike within his skull drove him to his knees. Uhura bit back a cry—of discomfort or surprise or fear, he could not determine—then quick footsteps settled between him and the woman.
"Commander?" A dizzying tingle swept over him, imprinting upon him a strong sense of … defensive impatience. "Please stop! We mean you no harm!" It lingered, the sensation of a thousand pinpricks probing against his shields. "I am Nyota Uhura. This is Spock. We only wish to speak with you. We have missing … friends." She stumbled, searching for an explanation that would not violate a Prime Directive situation, if they had found themselves in such—though indeed, they may have already passed the allowable bounds of the Directive by simply initiating contact. It could not, he had determined while still aboard the Enterprise, be helped. "They came to this place several days ago and we believe they met someone here, but they have no other memories of that time. They returned to us injured, and now they are missing. We hoped—"
Another voice suddenly joined Uhura's—or perhaps the tremendous force upon his shields was affecting Spock's hearing as well as his mind, for it seemed to him that the new voice was merely an echo of Lieutenant Uhura's words. The lieutenant's voice faltered, however, and then abruptly the pain in Spock's head diminished. He remained crouched for a long moment, one hand placed solidly against the ground, fighting the lightheaded breathlessness left in the surge's wake. Awaiting its possible return. Instead, the woman spoke, her tone accented and flat as the universal translators strained to do their work.
"Neither do we intend harm. We will communicate."
"Mr. Spock!"
Uhura's gasp held not fear but wonder. Spock tore his eyes from the ground, squinting against a moment of residual blurring, and followed her gaze.
The rock overhang, raw and untouched upon their first glimpse of the woman, was even now covering itself in the strange written language of Dorcanis V, the spidery script curving and expanding and flowing to fill the empty spaces. Fascinating. He noted that most of the active script seemed to be pictorial, wondered yet again what might be the significance of the pictorial versus the textual markings of this unknown language, then sternly reminded himself that they had not approached this place upon a scientific expedition. Rising cautiously, Spock returned his attention to the humanoid woman.
Ice green eyes fixed upon a point past his left shoulder. "Why are you here?"
Lieutenant Uhura's words had obviously been understood. He saw no logic in the repeated question. No two species, however, and therefore no two First Contacts—especially unfortunate accidental First Contacts with a possible pre-industrial species—were ever the same. In such a situation it behooved them to, as the captain would say, 'play along'. "As Lieutenant Uhura indicated, we have injured and missing friends. We have been unable to ascertain their medical condition and unable to locate them using our own resources. We therefore wished to—"
"No." The sleek blonde head shook once, and the painted eyes narrowed. "Why are you here?" Delicate fingers, longer and with more joints than those of a human or Vulcan hand, gestured to the ground and the sky and the horizon, the tiny bells upon her sleeve tingling. "Why have you come to our planet?"
Ah. Apparently, then, the Prime Directive was not quite the obstacle Spock had feared—though he had no way of knowing whether this species had obtained its own knowledge of the galaxy or whether it had taken the information from the minds of the captain and his party. Spock settled gingerly, stretching the length of his aching body in what he hoped was a surreptitious manner before folding his hands loosely behind him. At this moment, consideration of the source of their hosts' knowledge was secondary. The locations of Captain Kirk and Lieutenant Jersa were his primary concern.
Spock pondered briefly the First Contact scripts available to this situation and opted for the most basic—the one that offered the new species the least initial information and himself the most conversational flexibility. If he was able to continue the communication in this vein, perhaps the matter might be settled audibly rather than with additional mental manipulation. The previous incidents had strained his already fatigued resources. He was uncertain how many more such attempts he could successfully resist.
"We are crewmen aboard the USS Enterprise, members of an organization known as the United Federation of Planets, here on an exploratory and scientific mission. We have come to study the history of your race, as well as …"
He paused, perplexed. The woman had once again turned her eyes toward the overhang and was rapidly repeating his words. Uhura, however, murmured, "Keep talking, Mr. Spock." Trusting that the lieutenant had noted something which would be made clear in time, he felt for the thread of his statement and continued.
"… as well as the unusual energy surges a previously visiting ship noted on this planet. We did not know that your people still lived, or that the surges we purposed to study were in fact a form of sentient life."
As the woman recited the last of his words, Spock looked to Lieutenant Uhura. Though he was no expert in human body language, even he could read the tightly coiled excitement in her carriage, the glow in her eyes. "Lieutenant?"
Their visitor had fallen silent, her eyes fixed upon the rock and its swirling script. Uhura lowered her voice to a whisper, yet still it was terse with an undeniable thrill. "Mr. Spock, it's not just their written language. It's their spoken language as well!" That … made little sense. The lieutenant left him no time for protest. "As she speaks, the textual script on the rock changes. When she is silent, the pictorial script changes. Look!"
He followed the direction of her nod just in time to see the pictorial lines flare to a finish. The woman's gaze turned from the overhang and fixed upon a point past them once more.
"We do not wish to be studied. You will depart."
Spock nodded slowly. "We understand, and wish to convey our apologies for this misunderstanding. Had we known sentient life existed upon this planet, we would have opened a dialogue instead of simply arriving and proceeding about our business. It is not the Federation's way to thrust itself unannounced upon unknown peoples."
This time, he watched the seething script upon the rock as their visitor's voice overlapped and repeated his words. The textual writing did indeed flow along with her voice. A rush of pictorial changes began before she had even finished her words, and the surge's response—for he was beginning to understand that they were in fact in communication with the mind or minds within the blue surge rather than the woman herself—came quickly.
"We do not wish a dialogue. You will depart."
An utterly unique species, with an utterly unique form of communication. The explorer-scientist within Spock nearly screamed in frustration and protest.
That was entirely unacceptable. He took a long, calming breath. Centering. Settling. It was illogical to expend desire upon that which one could not possess. Neither was it logical to allow himself to be distracted from the task at hand, no matter his exhaustion and current lack of mental preparedness.
He was Vulcan.
"My captain may wish an opportunity to speak with you." Once they found him, of course. Spock did not allow himself to anticipate any alternate outcome. "Perhaps in time some agreement can be reached. However, our immediate concern is for our missing crewmates. We must locate them before we are able to pursue any other endeavor."
The blue surge expanded, flickering. The pictorial script grew larger, deeper.
"We do not wish an agreement. You will take your crew members and depart."
"Very well. If your people truly desire no contact with the Federation, it will be as you wish. However, we cannot do as you request. We do not know where—"
"We will locate your people and provide you with guidance to their locations. Do not stray from our instructions or the path we set before you. We wish no more disturbance of our young."
Uhura gasped. Spock allowed one eyebrow to climb nearly to his hairline. "Our most profound apologies. We did not know. We have seen no indication of your young—had we done so, we would certainly not have—"
"Spock and Nyota Uhura of the USS Enterprise." For the first time the woman's green eyes found his own. They were suddenly warm rather than distant, and a smile flickered upon the edges of her mouth. She did not this time look at the frantically swirling pictorial text, and Spock had the distinct impression that these were the first words he had heard from her rather than the surges surrounding them. "We are their young."