Celebrate the Earth and Sky (13/20)
Thanks to Kupo for the edit! You the best.
Let your Spirit Fly II
Spock smelled it first. When he did, his primary thought was that he had been mistaken. Surely he had already deduced that. But no, there was no mistaking that scent. When he strained his ears just so, he could hear it too-that slow, whining music.
He changed direction, took five quick steps, and vanished around the corner.
He stopped. Yes, there she was.
She stood at the back entrance to a club, leaning casually against the side. She had a short white stick in-between her lips and when she removed it, a trail of smoke blew from her mouth. A cigarette, Spock remembered Jim calling it. She must have been perspiring heavily from dancing, for her pheromones to make their way over the wind to him. Or perhaps she was wearing a perfume that mimicked the scent. Regardless, he stood stock still, mind whirring.
An Orion woman.
He could not think of a single, acceptable explanation for the presence of an Orion woman on a pre-warp planet. A multitude of seemingly unconnected oddities began to clamor in his memory: the casual chaos, the stagnation of technological and social progress, the endless war-for profit? Or for something else? He did not know. Orions could be subtle, insidious, clever.
According to his mother, humans were notorious for their dislike of the Other. To conquer Earth in any sense of the word, without raising an intergalactic fuss, therefore required certain finesse. It required humans to be unaware of their conquerors. It required for them to fight each other, rather than focusing on a common enemy. His jaw worked.
But why were they here? What had brought them to his mother’s vibrant birth world?
There was only one way to find out.
Spock stepped out of the shadow of the building, waiting for the woman to notice him. He did not have to wait long. At the noise of his boots scraping across the sidewalk, her eyes flickered up to him, tensing. She relaxed when she saw that he was alone and, apparently unarmed. She said something to him in the regional dialect. Spock shook his head, and moved closer.
“A foreigner, huh?” she said, this time speaking English. “What do you want? I’m off for the night.” She snuffed out the cigarette against a brick wall. “The rest of the show’s inside.” She jerked her head to indicate the front entrance of the building.
“I am not interested in the show,” Spock said, very quietly.
Her eyes narrowed. “If you think you’re getting any, you’re sadly mistaken. Now, fuck off.”
In response, Spock pulled off his hat and swept back his hair to reveal his features. “I am not interested in the show,” he repeated, voice harder.
There was a very long silence in which her gaze traveled over the clearly pointed tips of his ears, and up towards his eyebrows.
“A Vulcan,” she said, as if she could not quite believe what she was seeing.
“Obviously,” returned Spock. If possible, his back became even straighter. He looked down his nose at her. “The Vulcan High Command would very much like to know what an Orion woman is doing on a pre-warp planet within the Vulcan sphere of influence.”
“The Vulcan High Command might very much like to know,” she mocked, “But they’re very much not going to find out if they’re stupid enough to only send one little soldier.”
Spock did not move, although he did replace his hat. “I have unfinished business on this planet,” he said. “I trust your associates will recall that any action against me will be construed as an act of war.”
She rolled her eyes. “The whole of the Orion System knows how touchy Vulcans are.” She smirked at him.
“I do not trust you,” said Spock bluntly.
She placed her hands on her hips. “You’d be an idiot if you did. I’m pretty sure that’s illegal on Vulcan.” She bared her teeth in a laugh. “Along with anything else fun.”
“I have sent a signal to my ship,” Spock said. “If I go missing, they will know.”
She moved in closer to him, until they stood nearly chest-to-chest. She jabbed a finger at his face. “Are you threatening me?”
“I am stating a fact,” Spock said. “Nothing more.” He shifted his weight slightly, quite cognizant of the fact that it was his back to the street, and not hers, and that she likely had allies lurking nearby.
She spat on the ground. “You won’t get anything from me. I’m not stupid.”
“Why are you here?”
She indicated the club behind her with her elbow. “I work here.”
Spock narrowed his eyes. “The Command will hear of this.”
“Oh no,” she said, deadpan. “The Vulcan High Command. We'll all just pack up and leave then.”
“Yes,” said Spock. “You should.”
She reached up and patted his shoulder. Spock went rigid. “Well, when the Vulcan High Command shows up with an eviction notice, we’ll be sure to clear out right away.”
“The High Command would never deliver such a high-handed edict.” He waited a beat. “Our ally, the Romulan Empire, of course has no such qualms.” Looking at her very calmly he said, “I understand that the last time Romulus and Orion were involved in an engagement, Orion came out the worse for it. It would be a shame for history to repeat itself in such a way.”
She glared at him. “Good luck trying to contact your precious Councilors,” she said, voice sharp, “Or your ship. No sub-space transmission leaves this planet without our permission.” She lifted her chin. “Not that there’s anyone waiting around to receive it.”
Spock’s blood suddenly felt like ice in his veins. “What do you mean?”
She shrugged. “Since you can’t talk to them and I’m not talking, it’s just going to have to remain a mystery, isn’t it?” She reached out her hand and rested it on the handle of the door. “Aren’t you Vulcans all about mysteries?”
Spock placed his own palm on the door, effectively preventing her from opening it. “What have you done to the VSS Nirak?”
“Back off, Vulcan,” she snapped. “I’m not the one you should be asking about your precious ship.”
“Tell me,” Spock demanded.
She grinned. “You want to know? You’ll have to make a deal with them that are in the know.” She nodded toward the club. “But I guarantee you that without us, you’re never getting off this planet.” She pulled ineffectually at the door, then glowered at Spock. “Let me pass, Vulcan.”
Spock released his hold, and she opened the door quickly, slipping inside.
She stopped. “We’ll be waiting for you,” she said over her shoulder before disappearing into the heaviness of the music and the gloom. “Try not to live up to the expectations of your race and be a disappointment, hmm?”
After she had gone, Spock stood very still, his breathing harsh in the cooling night air. He clenched and unclenched his fists, his face still miraculously expressionless.
In the corner on the other side of the building, where he had been unashamedly eavesdropping on the entire conversation, the lines on Jim’s forehead creased.
What the hell had all that been about? Were there more aliens on Earth? The woman had looked pretty human to him, except for being green. Which, honestly? Not exactly the weirdest thing that could be spotted on the streets of Tokyo. And why had Spock been trying to contact his ship anyway? He’d never said anything about a ship before.
Lit partially by the streetlight outside, Spock exhaled, then turned on his heel, preparing to head back in the direction he had arrived. After a moment or two of waiting for him to get a head start, Jim began to slip out of his hiding place, careful not to knock into the garbage can next to him.
He froze at the sudden, vice-like grip at the back of his neck.
“Didn’t your mother teach you that it’s rude to listen to other people’s conversations?” came a hiss and then there was a sharp jab at his collar, into the muscle right above the bone. He tried to struggle, to call out to Spock, but he found that his legs didn’t seem to work. His vocal chords were likewise useless.
“Humans,” the voice said, sounding both close and very far away. “You never cease to amuse.”
Jim slumped to the ground.
_______________________________________________________
As Spock reached the entrance to the hotel, he slowed. What, if anything, should he tell the others? He did not know anything definitive, with the exception that there was some Orion presence on Earth. As to why, and how much of one, he had merely conjecture. Would the Resistance even understand the significance of such a presence? They had no experience with interplanetary politics, or other species. They might be dismissive, or they might act rashly, prematurely, before the facts were properly accounted for.
If Jim were here, would he tell him? He had already broken Jim’s trust once, by not informing him of his Vulcan nature. Would failing to speak to him regarding the Orion woman likewise be seen as a betrayal?
He did not know. The social code between humans was confusing, and rife with exceptions and conflicts. He had no wish to betray Jim, yet he did not know if he should approach him in this.
Inside the hotel lobby, Spock caught the eye of the receptionist, who quickly looked down at her desk. He tugged at his hat, making sure it was secure, before heading to the elevator and back to his room. Once there, he sat on the bed, the lights still off, thinking.
He would wait, he decided. He would wait for Jim and, if he explained his concerns to Jim, then together they would inform the rest of the Resistance. He began to remove his boots, massaging his feet. This new human footwear pinched at his toes; he suspected that the bone structure of his feet was just slightly out of alignment with the human norm. Not enough to be noticeable by any means of course, just enough to irritate. When he returned to Vulcan-
The corners of his mouth pinched. Had the Orion woman been speaking the truth? If something had happened to the Nirak, then he was effectively stranded here. Given time and equipment, he might be able to build some sort of subspace radio, but reaching the Vulcan High Command, if the signal was indeed being blocked, would be well nigh impossible. Attempting to build his own warp-capable ship was also probably not an option. For one, while he understood the workings of a warp core on a theoretical basis, he was not an engineer in the true sense. For another, dilithium crystals were probably very difficult to come by on Earth.
Spock moved his boots to the floor by the side of the bed, and leaned back, flicking the bedside lamp on as he did so. With the VSS Nirak potentially compromised, and communications with anyone but the Orions down, he seemed to have two main options. The first was to make a deal with the Orions. The second was to wait for rescue. He grimaced in distaste. Neither prospect was particularly appealing.
Displeased, Spock fished his data pad out of his bag and turned it on. He had already arrived at a decision regarding his Orion encounter. All he could do now was wait to speak to Jim. As he did not yet know Jim’s location, or when he would arrive, in the meantime he figured he might as well take a look at what Mr. Scott had sent him. Although he was loath to admit it, he was rather curious.
Spock spent a large portion of the night with the data. Mr. Scott had already run the raw results through a series of programs designed to compare the X-Ray diffraction patterns of the gold dirt to other, known mineral and chemical structures. As far as he could tell, the drug was a fairly basic one. The most interesting and, Spock suspected, the crucial component of the brownish yellow crystals, came from the bonding of a purified alkaloid with an organic acid. Mr. Scott had also noted that when the crystals were exposed to water, they began to break down, the water and the constituents of the crystals forming an unusually flammable and viscous substance. When the crystals were kept dry and powdered however, they could be smoked, which was how the drug was typically utilized.
He frowned a bit at the screen, tapping his fingers together. But what had the gold dirt been purified from in the first place? The chemical structure did not seem quite- he winced a little even as the word formed in his mind - organized enough to have been synthesized in a lab. Logically therefore, it could have been derived from a naturally occurring source, like a plant or an animal. Possibly even a mineral, although that seemed rather dubious.
Nonetheless, intriguing.
The small clock on his bedside table blinked at him, the red numbers shifting to read 3:00 AM. He put aside his data pad. The day had been trying. He needed to sleep.
When he awoke, Jim was apparently still gone. Spock wandered down to the dining hall offset from the lobby, entertaining himself while attempting to parse which foods he could eat, and which he could not. He settled on a white grain and some sort of soup and watched as, with varying degrees of wakefulness, the rest of his human companions gradually arrived.
McCoy, he noticed, steered very clear of the white grains and soup, and came to his table with eggs, toast, and black coffee.
“Morning,” he said, voice gruff.
“Good morning,” Spock replied, sipping at his tea.
“Missed a good time last night,” said McCoy. He stabbed at his eggs with a great deal of enthusiasm, then brought the fork to his mouth. “Mmm,” he said, swallowing. “This place is nice. We should make deals with gangsters more often.”
Spock did not even want to begin to enter that conversation.
McCoy pointed at Spock’s breakfast. “Aren’t you going to eat any of that?”
Spock looked down. He had somehow missed seeing the implements he was familiar with, and so had been attempting to watch other diners out of the corner of his eye as they navigated their food with two long sticks.
“I did not get a fork or spoon,” he said. He half stood to do just that, when McCoy waved him back down again.
“Like this,” he said, grabbing Spock’s chopsticks. He placed one between two fingers and thumb, and the other on top of it, opening and closing in a pinching motion. “See?”
He returned them to Spock, who attempted with only marginally more success.
“Okay, never mind. Put the damn things away and you can have my spoon,” McCoy said after another minute of watching Spock attempt to eat his rice with the grace of a two year old. He slid the spoon across the table, and Spock picked it up.
“Thank you, doctor,” he said, beginning to spoon his cooled soup.
“What do Vu-” he caught himself, looking around at the other hotel patrons. “What do you guys eat with, usually?”
Spock took another sip of his soup. “We utilize an implement similar to the spoon, as well as a knife for cutting. For foods that must be picked up, we use . . .” his mouth wrinkled in thought. “Tongs? Yes, something similar to what you call tongs.”
“No fork?” asked McCoy.
“No,” said Spock. “It is considered barbaric to stab one’s food.” He watched McCoy pick up a slice of toast, and then added; “It is also considered uncouth to eat with one’s hands.”
“Sounds complicated,” said McCoy, chewing loudly.
“It is not,” said Spock. “We do not have larger and smaller spoons for each dish, and multiple sets of tongs. There is only one of each.”
McCoy actually laughed out loud at that, drawing a few looks of censure from the others breaking their fast. “Point taken,” he said. “You ever seen the setup for a formal dining hall? It’s a nightmare.”
“Yes,” said Spock. “Here. Yesterday evening.”
McCoy shook his head and ate the last few bites of buttery toast, licking his fingers. “You didn’t even come eat with us. Were you waiting for Jim or something?”
Spock’s knuckles tightened as he gripped his spoon. “I was not,” he said. Voice very neutral he continued, “When is Jim expected to arrive?”
McCoy gave him a look from beneath his bushy eyebrows. “Supposed to come in sometime last night, from what Pike told me. You didn’t see him?”
Spock felt suddenly distant from the entire scene. Jim had arrived last night? And he had not even wished to speak to Spock- no, had not wished to even inform Spock of his presence? “No,” he answered vaguely, “I did not.” If Jim did not desire to see him - and Spock admitted that they had not parted on the best of terms - then how was Spock to tell him about the Orion? Who could he trust, if not Jim?
McCoy nodded his thanks as a waiter came over and refilled his coffee.
“Weird,” he said, taking a swallow and then spitting it back out again. He fanned at his mouth, tongue sticking out of it.
Spock raised an eyebrow.
“Hoth,” said McCoy. “Burned mah thung.”
“How unfortunate,” observed Spock, taking a drink of his perfectly warmed tea.
McCoy sent him a warning glare, and muttered something. Spock considered calling him on it, but decided that it was not worth the effort. Instead he stood, pushing his chair back.
“I believe I am finished, Doctor,” he said, about to reach for his tray. McCoy waved him off, seeming to have more or less recovered, judging by the way he was now gulping at his coffee.
“The bussers’ll take it,” he told Spock, indicating several uniformed humans around the dining room.
“Very well,” said Spock. He inclined his head to McCoy, who gave him another wave of acknowledgement. “If there is any need of me, I will be in my assigned hotel room.”
“See you,” said McCoy.
Spock headed back upstairs. Perhaps the Orion woman had not been telling the truth. He would attempt to once more contact the VSS Nirak.
_______________________________________________________
Jim came to in darkness and slime. He could hear the cool drip, drop, drip of water nearby. He wiped what felt like filthy hands on his jeans, and made a face. “Ugh,” he said.
“Awake, human?” came a voice somewhere above him. Along with it, a blazing white light shone onto his face. Jim screwed his eyes shut and threw up his arm in front of his face to prevent being blinded.
“What the hell!” he shouted, his mouth feeling as though it was stuffed full of lidocaine-infused cotton balls.
“Spunky,” commented the voice.
“Who are you?” demanded Jim. He got to shaky feet, leaning against what felt like a concrete wall. “Why am I here? What the fuck is going on?”
“Careful, Captain Kirk. If you move any more to the left, you will encounter something most unpleasant. You don’t want to know the last thing we kept in here.”
Jim stilled. “How do you know my name?”
Laughter. “How do we know your name? What a ridiculous thing to ask! Of course we know your name. We know everything about you, James Tiberius Kirk. We know where you were born, and when. We know what happened to your father. We know what happened to your mother.” A beat. “We know what happened to you.”
“You’re lying,” Jim said, although he wasn’t sure what the point of arguing with a disembodied voice was. “You don’t know me. You don’t know anything.”
More laughter. Was he being toyed with? Jim gripped the side of his jeans hard, his eyes still shut against the light. “Humans are so precious!” it practically cooed. “Should we prove it? I mean, we don’t really have to-you’re not in a position to argue either way-but let’s, just for fun. Just because.”
Jim swallowed.
“Tarsus IV,” came the voice. This time quieter, this time more sinister.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jim gritted out. “Tell me why I’m here.”
“Tarsus IV,” the voice repeated, this time much more insistently.
“Stop,” said Jim. “That’s bullshit. You’re just making shit up.”
“We know you were there. We sent you there. We watched you there. James Tiberius Kirk.”
“Tarsus IV,” whispered Jim. Without meaning to, he began to slip back down to the floor. His mind felt numb. He hated those words. He hated what they did to him, the thoughts and feelings that their very utterance brought to surface. Tarsus IV.
“Do you remember, Jim? Your mother gave you up to the Bureau. Traitor’s son. She sent you to die.”
“Don’t call me that,” Jim said.
“She sent you to work and starve and die a traitor’s death.”
“She didn’t!” Jim shouted, voice hoarse. “Fuck you, you’re twisting it! You don’t know anything! Tell me what you want, damn you! Tell me!”
“She sent you to die-” And here the voice paused, and seemed to smile- “just like the Vulcan did.”
Jim’s breath caught in his throat. He scrabbled backwards, reaching for something to help him stand. “What do you mean?”
“The Vulcan, you stupid human.” And here the voice took on an impatient edge. “What, you think we just grab random humans off the street? You have any idea how much work that would be?”
Jim’s mouth felt dry. “What do you want?”
“The Bureau’s looking for you,” the voice said idly. “Of course, we’ll give you to them when we’re done. Probably. Or we’ll have someone else do it. Could be more interesting that way. Regardless.” The tone sharpened. “Unless. Unless.”
“Get to the point,” Jim ground out.
The voice let out a huff. “So rude!” it exclaimed. “Humans are so rude! Did you learn about inquisition during your military training? We’ll have to do something about that.”
Something finally clicked in Jim’s brain. “You’re not human,” he stated, not even bothering to make it a question.
There was a bit of a pause.
“On the other hand, maybe not,” the voice said, amused. “Apparently not the brightest bulb in the galaxy.”
“I don’t believe you,” said Jim, aware of how ridiculous the words were even as they left his mouth. “You’re fucking with me.”
“Believe me, human,” said the voice, sounding much more menacing than before. “If we were fucking with you, as your colloquialism so charmingly puts it, you’d know.”
The light flicked off. Jim blinked in the sudden darkness and the silence.
“Hello?” he called out, voice cracking a little. “He- hello?”
There was no answer.
Jim did not know how many hours he sat in the cold damp. Around him he could hear what sounded like the screeching of rats, although thankfully none of them came too close to him. That, and the dripping water, convinced him that he was likely somewhere underground. It was cold. He shivered.
After a while, he attempted to walk the perimeter of his prison, feeling his way as he went. Mindful of anything unpleasant he might step on or put his hand in, he walked in what felt like a ginger circle for ages and ages.
There was no way out.
He eased himself back down onto the floor. The sound of the dripping water was starting to grate on his last nerve. What had they been talking about, Spock giving him up? That was absurd. Spock would never do something like that. They were friends. Spock had promised him. Spock had looked at him with those liquid eyes and promised.
Hadn’t he?
But what, exactly, had he promised? Jim realized. He stood again to pace. Spock had said that Jim’s life was his responsibility. That was a promise, right? A promise of comrades? A promise of brothers? Right?
There had been promises made at Tarsus IV, Jim remembered. They had not lasted.
The light blasted on again. Jim averted his face, eyes streaming from the unexpected brightness.
“And now you have had time to ruminate,” came the same voice.
“Fuck off,” said Jim, although he didn’t feel very brave even as he said it.
Predictably, this was met with more laughter.
“Tell me about the Vulcan, little human,” it ordered lazily.
Jim set his shoulders. “No,” he said, mouth in a thin line. “I won’t.”
“Tsk, tsk. Are you protecting him? Whatever for? He’s the one who betrayed you first.” There was the sound of spitting. “Vulcans. Logic is more precious to them than anything, even a brother.”
“I don’t believe you,” Jim insisted. “He wouldn’t do that to me.”
“Not even to get back to his home planet? You think he’d be stupid enough to give up his only chance at going home? For you? How illogical.”
Jim was silent at this.
“You want to know? You’ll have to make a deal with them that are in the know. But I guarantee you that without us, you’re never getting off this planet.”
“He made a deal, Jim Kirk. Don’t you want the chance to make one too?”
There was a very thick silence. Jim could hear every breath he took. He could hear the rush of blood through his body in the darkness. He could hear his heart, beating slowly, steadily. He closed his eyes. In his mind’s eye swam the vision of Spock before him.
“By saving your life once, I have assumed responsibility for it. I cannot leave you here.”
“Tell us about the Vulcan, James Kirk. Tell us, and we will release you. We will send you back to the North American Collective. Everything will be as it was.”
Jim breathed in, out. He felt a tingle down his spine, the sense memory of a mind locked with his. A blank mask. The barest upward quirk of the lips. The grasp of a long-fingered hand around his wrist.
“What do you want to know?”
________________________________________
Spock’s afternoon meditation was interrupted by an insistent rapping on his door.
“Enter,” he called, after opening one eye and deeming that the person on the other side of the door would not go away.
“You have to unlock it,” came Uhura’s muffled voice.
Grumbling about stone-age technology and doors without voice-recognized authentication pass codes (didn’t humans have that technology? Why wasn’t it applied here? Illogical), he stood, stretching out his legs, and ambled over to the door.
Uhura was inside before Spock even had time to open his mouth and invite her.
“Kirk’s not here,” she said without preamble.
“No,” said Spock. “Please, come in,” he added belatedly.
She ignored that, fixing him with an intent look. “Have you seen him?”
“No,” Spock said. “I have not.”
“Damn,” she said quietly, folding her arms.
Spock began to feel a strange sensation, as if a vice were squeezing at his insides. “Is something wrong?”
She shook her head, swiping hair out of her eyes. “No, no,” she said, tapping her foot. “I don’t know. The hotel records say he checked in last night, but no one’s seen him and he hasn’t been answering the phone we gave him.”
Spock’s unease grew stronger, although he tried to block it out. “Have you looked at the security cameras?”
Uhura gave him a measured look. “How could we possibly get access to security cameras in a place like this?”
“I understand that your Mr. Chekov has some expertise in that regard,” said Spock, face completely expressionless.
She smiled up at him. “So I have heard.”
“And?”
She dropped the smile and shook her head. “Nothing useful. He left-” she took a deep breath, then looked Spock straight in the eyes. “He left a few minutes after you did. Out the front. But he never came back. You don’t- you didn’t see him?”
Spock suddenly recalled the sensation he’d had of being watched. Had that been Jim? If so, had Jim seen his encounter with the Orion woman? It was impossible to know. He cleared his throat.
“I left on an errand for Mr. Pike,” he said. “But I did not encounter Jim. I . . .” he hesitated. “It is possible however, that he followed me. But if he did, I cannot explain why he did not return when I did.”
She bit her lip. “Where did you go?”
“To an electronics store,” Spock said quietly. His shoulders tensed. “Mr. Pike made a request of me that I could not ignore.” He looked away. “Although so far I have been less than successful.”
“What store?”
Spock lifted his gaze. If Jim had followed him, he might have seen the Orion woman. He might have been affected by her. He did not know the danger.
“I will take you there.”
Their impromptu search party gathered three more members before they reached the area in which Spock had spent the last evening. Clearly foreign and, just as clearly drawing attention, they split up into groups. Spock found himself paired with a woman named Christine Chapel. Unfortunately for any attempt at a subtle manhunt, Chapel’s bright red, spiked hair and her multitude of tattoos, combined with Spock’s complete ineptitude at the local dialect, did not make them any less conspicuous.
At least Chapel’s command of the language was somewhat better than his.
“No one’s seen anything,” she reported to Spock, after a lengthy conversation with a baker in which not only information, but also small buns exchanged hands. “And a guy like Kirk would be pretty noticeable around here. This isn’t exactly International District, Tokyo.” She offered him a bun.
Spock took it, and bit into it. The filling in the middle was somewhat sweet, and slightly grainy. He turned to Chapel, eyebrow raised.
“Adzuki bean,” she said, answering the unasked question. “It’s my favorite.”
Spock took another bite as they wandered up the street, still keeping an eye out for anything unusual. Although, Spock wondered what exactly that might constitute, and doubted that he’d recognize it if he saw it. As it was, the street already looked pretty unusual from his Vulcan point of view. There were signs in languages he could not read; strange scents wafted from stores and restaurants; a toothless old woman looked him up and down and grinned.
Chapel tugged him along past the old woman. “We should get back to the hotel,” she said as they passed a small park. “It’s going to get dark soon. I don’t want to be out here after dark.”
“Have you lived here many years?”
She shrugged her shoulders up and down. “About five,” she said. “There’s a lot of call for nurses in a place like this.” She grinned, suddenly. “Loosened me up a bit, I’ll tell you. I used to be so straight laced, I almost joined up with the Navy.”
“I was given to understand that all citizens were required to serve,” Spock said.
“Well, yeah,” Chapel said. “But there are other ways to do it if you’ve got some skill or another. I was lucky enough to just get posted to a military hospital for a few years. Didn’t even have to go through any training- except for the nursing stuff of course. Which I had already done.”
“I see,” said Spock politely.
Her expression turned wry. “Wouldn’t do to have all your best doctors and engineers blown up in combat, would it? That’s what foot soldiers are for, right?”
Spock ate the rest of the bun, covering up the metallic feeling of distaste in his mouth.
When they reconvened with the others back at the hotel, it became very clear that Jim was nowhere to be found. Dinner was a quiet affair. Uhura had a distant look about her, discussing something with Pike in a grave undertone, her food mostly untouched. McCoy chewed his lip, clearly worried. Chekov was quiet. Sulu, sullen. Spock had to admit that he did not know the remainder of the Resistance members present - twelve strange men and women who had shown up along with Pike - well enough to judge their moods, but there was little conversation at the table. What words were spoken were hushed and curt. The atmosphere felt thick with tension and worry.
With each passing moment, Spock wondered more and more if he ought to have told Uhura or McCoy about the Orion woman. What if she had been involved in Jim’s disappearance? A thought struck him then. And what if she hadn’t? What if Jim had been taken by one of the myriad of petty gangs littering the city? They wouldn’t even know where to begin looking.
What if Jim had simply . . . left?
Spock shoved that thought out of his mind, and attempted to focus on the present. The evening meal was nearly done. Jim was still gone.
Orions were known for taking people. Their slave trade was infamous throughout the galaxy.
He wiped his mouth with a napkin, and pushed away from the table. McCoy looked up at him with raised eyebrows as he stood and gave an awkward little half-bow. “I must take my leave,” he said, voice curt.
Pike blinked at him, fork halfway to his mouth. “Uh, don’t let us keep you,” he said, nonplussed.
Spock nodded, and stalked out of the dining room. Behind him, he could hear McCoy murmur something about “Meditating. He is always, goddamn meditating.” Spock allowed the words to pass over him. Let McCoy think what he wished, his misconceptions had no impact on Spock.
Spock slept little that night. He tried several more times to contact the VSS Nirak. Each attempt was met with static. He went over the data Mr. Scott had sent him, researching the historical significance of gold dirt and the drug trade. He noted with a vague interest that drug money was responsible for at least three current, major wars, and probably for a fourth, but his heart wasn’t into the research. He could not focus. At last he took to staring blankly at the wall, waiting for the sun to rise.
Perhaps Jim would have arrived by that time? His presence would definitely make certain decisions of Spock’s considerably less guilt inducing than they were now. Probably. Although at this point, the Resistance would really start to wonder why Spock had taken so long to inform them about his meeting the Orion woman anyway. Waiting for Jim was almost moot.
Spock slipped into a light doze an hour or so before dawn. When he cracked his eyes open two point three hours later, it was to the early morning lights streaming through his undrawn curtains. He rolled off the bed with stiff movements, heading towards the window.
As he drew the curtains, Spock allowed his gaze to travel through the remainder of the hotel room. He frowned in consternation at the mess he had made of his clothes, some on the ground, and some half-hanging out of his bag. He moved over to the chair and bent down to pick up the offending items, when something next to the door caught his eye.
Something white had been clearly slipped under his door. Spock took a few steps forward and reached for it.
It was a note.
The paper crinkled in his hand as he smoothed it out. As he read, his lips thinned and his eyes narrowed. Finished, he very calmly folded the note into eight pieces, and tucked it into the pocket of his pants. He moved away from the door and around the bed to the worktable in short, jerky motions. Fingers gripping his useless radio with more strength than strictly necessary, he dismantled it bit by bit, then took what he had destroyed and began to wire it into something new.
A half an hour later, Spock tucked his creation into his bag, slung the bag over his shoulder, and left the room. The hotel lobby was nearly deserted and Spock paid the receptionist no mind as he strode out the door, and into the early morning light.
Previous Next
Let your Spirit Fly II
Spock smelled it first. When he did, his primary thought was that he had been mistaken. Surely he had already deduced that. But no, there was no mistaking that scent. When he strained his ears just so, he could hear it too-that slow, whining music.
He changed direction, took five quick steps, and vanished around the corner.
He stopped. Yes, there she was.
She stood at the back entrance to a club, leaning casually against the side. She had a short white stick in-between her lips and when she removed it, a trail of smoke blew from her mouth. A cigarette, Spock remembered Jim calling it. She must have been perspiring heavily from dancing, for her pheromones to make their way over the wind to him. Or perhaps she was wearing a perfume that mimicked the scent. Regardless, he stood stock still, mind whirring.
An Orion woman.
He could not think of a single, acceptable explanation for the presence of an Orion woman on a pre-warp planet. A multitude of seemingly unconnected oddities began to clamor in his memory: the casual chaos, the stagnation of technological and social progress, the endless war-for profit? Or for something else? He did not know. Orions could be subtle, insidious, clever.
According to his mother, humans were notorious for their dislike of the Other. To conquer Earth in any sense of the word, without raising an intergalactic fuss, therefore required certain finesse. It required humans to be unaware of their conquerors. It required for them to fight each other, rather than focusing on a common enemy. His jaw worked.
But why were they here? What had brought them to his mother’s vibrant birth world?
There was only one way to find out.
Spock stepped out of the shadow of the building, waiting for the woman to notice him. He did not have to wait long. At the noise of his boots scraping across the sidewalk, her eyes flickered up to him, tensing. She relaxed when she saw that he was alone and, apparently unarmed. She said something to him in the regional dialect. Spock shook his head, and moved closer.
“A foreigner, huh?” she said, this time speaking English. “What do you want? I’m off for the night.” She snuffed out the cigarette against a brick wall. “The rest of the show’s inside.” She jerked her head to indicate the front entrance of the building.
“I am not interested in the show,” Spock said, very quietly.
Her eyes narrowed. “If you think you’re getting any, you’re sadly mistaken. Now, fuck off.”
In response, Spock pulled off his hat and swept back his hair to reveal his features. “I am not interested in the show,” he repeated, voice harder.
There was a very long silence in which her gaze traveled over the clearly pointed tips of his ears, and up towards his eyebrows.
“A Vulcan,” she said, as if she could not quite believe what she was seeing.
“Obviously,” returned Spock. If possible, his back became even straighter. He looked down his nose at her. “The Vulcan High Command would very much like to know what an Orion woman is doing on a pre-warp planet within the Vulcan sphere of influence.”
“The Vulcan High Command might very much like to know,” she mocked, “But they’re very much not going to find out if they’re stupid enough to only send one little soldier.”
Spock did not move, although he did replace his hat. “I have unfinished business on this planet,” he said. “I trust your associates will recall that any action against me will be construed as an act of war.”
She rolled her eyes. “The whole of the Orion System knows how touchy Vulcans are.” She smirked at him.
“I do not trust you,” said Spock bluntly.
She placed her hands on her hips. “You’d be an idiot if you did. I’m pretty sure that’s illegal on Vulcan.” She bared her teeth in a laugh. “Along with anything else fun.”
“I have sent a signal to my ship,” Spock said. “If I go missing, they will know.”
She moved in closer to him, until they stood nearly chest-to-chest. She jabbed a finger at his face. “Are you threatening me?”
“I am stating a fact,” Spock said. “Nothing more.” He shifted his weight slightly, quite cognizant of the fact that it was his back to the street, and not hers, and that she likely had allies lurking nearby.
She spat on the ground. “You won’t get anything from me. I’m not stupid.”
“Why are you here?”
She indicated the club behind her with her elbow. “I work here.”
Spock narrowed his eyes. “The Command will hear of this.”
“Oh no,” she said, deadpan. “The Vulcan High Command. We'll all just pack up and leave then.”
“Yes,” said Spock. “You should.”
She reached up and patted his shoulder. Spock went rigid. “Well, when the Vulcan High Command shows up with an eviction notice, we’ll be sure to clear out right away.”
“The High Command would never deliver such a high-handed edict.” He waited a beat. “Our ally, the Romulan Empire, of course has no such qualms.” Looking at her very calmly he said, “I understand that the last time Romulus and Orion were involved in an engagement, Orion came out the worse for it. It would be a shame for history to repeat itself in such a way.”
She glared at him. “Good luck trying to contact your precious Councilors,” she said, voice sharp, “Or your ship. No sub-space transmission leaves this planet without our permission.” She lifted her chin. “Not that there’s anyone waiting around to receive it.”
Spock’s blood suddenly felt like ice in his veins. “What do you mean?”
She shrugged. “Since you can’t talk to them and I’m not talking, it’s just going to have to remain a mystery, isn’t it?” She reached out her hand and rested it on the handle of the door. “Aren’t you Vulcans all about mysteries?”
Spock placed his own palm on the door, effectively preventing her from opening it. “What have you done to the VSS Nirak?”
“Back off, Vulcan,” she snapped. “I’m not the one you should be asking about your precious ship.”
“Tell me,” Spock demanded.
She grinned. “You want to know? You’ll have to make a deal with them that are in the know.” She nodded toward the club. “But I guarantee you that without us, you’re never getting off this planet.” She pulled ineffectually at the door, then glowered at Spock. “Let me pass, Vulcan.”
Spock released his hold, and she opened the door quickly, slipping inside.
She stopped. “We’ll be waiting for you,” she said over her shoulder before disappearing into the heaviness of the music and the gloom. “Try not to live up to the expectations of your race and be a disappointment, hmm?”
After she had gone, Spock stood very still, his breathing harsh in the cooling night air. He clenched and unclenched his fists, his face still miraculously expressionless.
In the corner on the other side of the building, where he had been unashamedly eavesdropping on the entire conversation, the lines on Jim’s forehead creased.
What the hell had all that been about? Were there more aliens on Earth? The woman had looked pretty human to him, except for being green. Which, honestly? Not exactly the weirdest thing that could be spotted on the streets of Tokyo. And why had Spock been trying to contact his ship anyway? He’d never said anything about a ship before.
Lit partially by the streetlight outside, Spock exhaled, then turned on his heel, preparing to head back in the direction he had arrived. After a moment or two of waiting for him to get a head start, Jim began to slip out of his hiding place, careful not to knock into the garbage can next to him.
He froze at the sudden, vice-like grip at the back of his neck.
“Didn’t your mother teach you that it’s rude to listen to other people’s conversations?” came a hiss and then there was a sharp jab at his collar, into the muscle right above the bone. He tried to struggle, to call out to Spock, but he found that his legs didn’t seem to work. His vocal chords were likewise useless.
“Humans,” the voice said, sounding both close and very far away. “You never cease to amuse.”
Jim slumped to the ground.
_______________________________________________________
As Spock reached the entrance to the hotel, he slowed. What, if anything, should he tell the others? He did not know anything definitive, with the exception that there was some Orion presence on Earth. As to why, and how much of one, he had merely conjecture. Would the Resistance even understand the significance of such a presence? They had no experience with interplanetary politics, or other species. They might be dismissive, or they might act rashly, prematurely, before the facts were properly accounted for.
If Jim were here, would he tell him? He had already broken Jim’s trust once, by not informing him of his Vulcan nature. Would failing to speak to him regarding the Orion woman likewise be seen as a betrayal?
He did not know. The social code between humans was confusing, and rife with exceptions and conflicts. He had no wish to betray Jim, yet he did not know if he should approach him in this.
Inside the hotel lobby, Spock caught the eye of the receptionist, who quickly looked down at her desk. He tugged at his hat, making sure it was secure, before heading to the elevator and back to his room. Once there, he sat on the bed, the lights still off, thinking.
He would wait, he decided. He would wait for Jim and, if he explained his concerns to Jim, then together they would inform the rest of the Resistance. He began to remove his boots, massaging his feet. This new human footwear pinched at his toes; he suspected that the bone structure of his feet was just slightly out of alignment with the human norm. Not enough to be noticeable by any means of course, just enough to irritate. When he returned to Vulcan-
The corners of his mouth pinched. Had the Orion woman been speaking the truth? If something had happened to the Nirak, then he was effectively stranded here. Given time and equipment, he might be able to build some sort of subspace radio, but reaching the Vulcan High Command, if the signal was indeed being blocked, would be well nigh impossible. Attempting to build his own warp-capable ship was also probably not an option. For one, while he understood the workings of a warp core on a theoretical basis, he was not an engineer in the true sense. For another, dilithium crystals were probably very difficult to come by on Earth.
Spock moved his boots to the floor by the side of the bed, and leaned back, flicking the bedside lamp on as he did so. With the VSS Nirak potentially compromised, and communications with anyone but the Orions down, he seemed to have two main options. The first was to make a deal with the Orions. The second was to wait for rescue. He grimaced in distaste. Neither prospect was particularly appealing.
Displeased, Spock fished his data pad out of his bag and turned it on. He had already arrived at a decision regarding his Orion encounter. All he could do now was wait to speak to Jim. As he did not yet know Jim’s location, or when he would arrive, in the meantime he figured he might as well take a look at what Mr. Scott had sent him. Although he was loath to admit it, he was rather curious.
Spock spent a large portion of the night with the data. Mr. Scott had already run the raw results through a series of programs designed to compare the X-Ray diffraction patterns of the gold dirt to other, known mineral and chemical structures. As far as he could tell, the drug was a fairly basic one. The most interesting and, Spock suspected, the crucial component of the brownish yellow crystals, came from the bonding of a purified alkaloid with an organic acid. Mr. Scott had also noted that when the crystals were exposed to water, they began to break down, the water and the constituents of the crystals forming an unusually flammable and viscous substance. When the crystals were kept dry and powdered however, they could be smoked, which was how the drug was typically utilized.
He frowned a bit at the screen, tapping his fingers together. But what had the gold dirt been purified from in the first place? The chemical structure did not seem quite- he winced a little even as the word formed in his mind - organized enough to have been synthesized in a lab. Logically therefore, it could have been derived from a naturally occurring source, like a plant or an animal. Possibly even a mineral, although that seemed rather dubious.
Nonetheless, intriguing.
The small clock on his bedside table blinked at him, the red numbers shifting to read 3:00 AM. He put aside his data pad. The day had been trying. He needed to sleep.
When he awoke, Jim was apparently still gone. Spock wandered down to the dining hall offset from the lobby, entertaining himself while attempting to parse which foods he could eat, and which he could not. He settled on a white grain and some sort of soup and watched as, with varying degrees of wakefulness, the rest of his human companions gradually arrived.
McCoy, he noticed, steered very clear of the white grains and soup, and came to his table with eggs, toast, and black coffee.
“Morning,” he said, voice gruff.
“Good morning,” Spock replied, sipping at his tea.
“Missed a good time last night,” said McCoy. He stabbed at his eggs with a great deal of enthusiasm, then brought the fork to his mouth. “Mmm,” he said, swallowing. “This place is nice. We should make deals with gangsters more often.”
Spock did not even want to begin to enter that conversation.
McCoy pointed at Spock’s breakfast. “Aren’t you going to eat any of that?”
Spock looked down. He had somehow missed seeing the implements he was familiar with, and so had been attempting to watch other diners out of the corner of his eye as they navigated their food with two long sticks.
“I did not get a fork or spoon,” he said. He half stood to do just that, when McCoy waved him back down again.
“Like this,” he said, grabbing Spock’s chopsticks. He placed one between two fingers and thumb, and the other on top of it, opening and closing in a pinching motion. “See?”
He returned them to Spock, who attempted with only marginally more success.
“Okay, never mind. Put the damn things away and you can have my spoon,” McCoy said after another minute of watching Spock attempt to eat his rice with the grace of a two year old. He slid the spoon across the table, and Spock picked it up.
“Thank you, doctor,” he said, beginning to spoon his cooled soup.
“What do Vu-” he caught himself, looking around at the other hotel patrons. “What do you guys eat with, usually?”
Spock took another sip of his soup. “We utilize an implement similar to the spoon, as well as a knife for cutting. For foods that must be picked up, we use . . .” his mouth wrinkled in thought. “Tongs? Yes, something similar to what you call tongs.”
“No fork?” asked McCoy.
“No,” said Spock. “It is considered barbaric to stab one’s food.” He watched McCoy pick up a slice of toast, and then added; “It is also considered uncouth to eat with one’s hands.”
“Sounds complicated,” said McCoy, chewing loudly.
“It is not,” said Spock. “We do not have larger and smaller spoons for each dish, and multiple sets of tongs. There is only one of each.”
McCoy actually laughed out loud at that, drawing a few looks of censure from the others breaking their fast. “Point taken,” he said. “You ever seen the setup for a formal dining hall? It’s a nightmare.”
“Yes,” said Spock. “Here. Yesterday evening.”
McCoy shook his head and ate the last few bites of buttery toast, licking his fingers. “You didn’t even come eat with us. Were you waiting for Jim or something?”
Spock’s knuckles tightened as he gripped his spoon. “I was not,” he said. Voice very neutral he continued, “When is Jim expected to arrive?”
McCoy gave him a look from beneath his bushy eyebrows. “Supposed to come in sometime last night, from what Pike told me. You didn’t see him?”
Spock felt suddenly distant from the entire scene. Jim had arrived last night? And he had not even wished to speak to Spock- no, had not wished to even inform Spock of his presence? “No,” he answered vaguely, “I did not.” If Jim did not desire to see him - and Spock admitted that they had not parted on the best of terms - then how was Spock to tell him about the Orion? Who could he trust, if not Jim?
McCoy nodded his thanks as a waiter came over and refilled his coffee.
“Weird,” he said, taking a swallow and then spitting it back out again. He fanned at his mouth, tongue sticking out of it.
Spock raised an eyebrow.
“Hoth,” said McCoy. “Burned mah thung.”
“How unfortunate,” observed Spock, taking a drink of his perfectly warmed tea.
McCoy sent him a warning glare, and muttered something. Spock considered calling him on it, but decided that it was not worth the effort. Instead he stood, pushing his chair back.
“I believe I am finished, Doctor,” he said, about to reach for his tray. McCoy waved him off, seeming to have more or less recovered, judging by the way he was now gulping at his coffee.
“The bussers’ll take it,” he told Spock, indicating several uniformed humans around the dining room.
“Very well,” said Spock. He inclined his head to McCoy, who gave him another wave of acknowledgement. “If there is any need of me, I will be in my assigned hotel room.”
“See you,” said McCoy.
Spock headed back upstairs. Perhaps the Orion woman had not been telling the truth. He would attempt to once more contact the VSS Nirak.
_______________________________________________________
Jim came to in darkness and slime. He could hear the cool drip, drop, drip of water nearby. He wiped what felt like filthy hands on his jeans, and made a face. “Ugh,” he said.
“Awake, human?” came a voice somewhere above him. Along with it, a blazing white light shone onto his face. Jim screwed his eyes shut and threw up his arm in front of his face to prevent being blinded.
“What the hell!” he shouted, his mouth feeling as though it was stuffed full of lidocaine-infused cotton balls.
“Spunky,” commented the voice.
“Who are you?” demanded Jim. He got to shaky feet, leaning against what felt like a concrete wall. “Why am I here? What the fuck is going on?”
“Careful, Captain Kirk. If you move any more to the left, you will encounter something most unpleasant. You don’t want to know the last thing we kept in here.”
Jim stilled. “How do you know my name?”
Laughter. “How do we know your name? What a ridiculous thing to ask! Of course we know your name. We know everything about you, James Tiberius Kirk. We know where you were born, and when. We know what happened to your father. We know what happened to your mother.” A beat. “We know what happened to you.”
“You’re lying,” Jim said, although he wasn’t sure what the point of arguing with a disembodied voice was. “You don’t know me. You don’t know anything.”
More laughter. Was he being toyed with? Jim gripped the side of his jeans hard, his eyes still shut against the light. “Humans are so precious!” it practically cooed. “Should we prove it? I mean, we don’t really have to-you’re not in a position to argue either way-but let’s, just for fun. Just because.”
Jim swallowed.
“Tarsus IV,” came the voice. This time quieter, this time more sinister.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jim gritted out. “Tell me why I’m here.”
“Tarsus IV,” the voice repeated, this time much more insistently.
“Stop,” said Jim. “That’s bullshit. You’re just making shit up.”
“We know you were there. We sent you there. We watched you there. James Tiberius Kirk.”
“Tarsus IV,” whispered Jim. Without meaning to, he began to slip back down to the floor. His mind felt numb. He hated those words. He hated what they did to him, the thoughts and feelings that their very utterance brought to surface. Tarsus IV.
“Do you remember, Jim? Your mother gave you up to the Bureau. Traitor’s son. She sent you to die.”
“Don’t call me that,” Jim said.
“She sent you to work and starve and die a traitor’s death.”
“She didn’t!” Jim shouted, voice hoarse. “Fuck you, you’re twisting it! You don’t know anything! Tell me what you want, damn you! Tell me!”
“She sent you to die-” And here the voice paused, and seemed to smile- “just like the Vulcan did.”
Jim’s breath caught in his throat. He scrabbled backwards, reaching for something to help him stand. “What do you mean?”
“The Vulcan, you stupid human.” And here the voice took on an impatient edge. “What, you think we just grab random humans off the street? You have any idea how much work that would be?”
Jim’s mouth felt dry. “What do you want?”
“The Bureau’s looking for you,” the voice said idly. “Of course, we’ll give you to them when we’re done. Probably. Or we’ll have someone else do it. Could be more interesting that way. Regardless.” The tone sharpened. “Unless. Unless.”
“Get to the point,” Jim ground out.
The voice let out a huff. “So rude!” it exclaimed. “Humans are so rude! Did you learn about inquisition during your military training? We’ll have to do something about that.”
Something finally clicked in Jim’s brain. “You’re not human,” he stated, not even bothering to make it a question.
There was a bit of a pause.
“On the other hand, maybe not,” the voice said, amused. “Apparently not the brightest bulb in the galaxy.”
“I don’t believe you,” said Jim, aware of how ridiculous the words were even as they left his mouth. “You’re fucking with me.”
“Believe me, human,” said the voice, sounding much more menacing than before. “If we were fucking with you, as your colloquialism so charmingly puts it, you’d know.”
The light flicked off. Jim blinked in the sudden darkness and the silence.
“Hello?” he called out, voice cracking a little. “He- hello?”
There was no answer.
Jim did not know how many hours he sat in the cold damp. Around him he could hear what sounded like the screeching of rats, although thankfully none of them came too close to him. That, and the dripping water, convinced him that he was likely somewhere underground. It was cold. He shivered.
After a while, he attempted to walk the perimeter of his prison, feeling his way as he went. Mindful of anything unpleasant he might step on or put his hand in, he walked in what felt like a ginger circle for ages and ages.
There was no way out.
He eased himself back down onto the floor. The sound of the dripping water was starting to grate on his last nerve. What had they been talking about, Spock giving him up? That was absurd. Spock would never do something like that. They were friends. Spock had promised him. Spock had looked at him with those liquid eyes and promised.
Hadn’t he?
But what, exactly, had he promised? Jim realized. He stood again to pace. Spock had said that Jim’s life was his responsibility. That was a promise, right? A promise of comrades? A promise of brothers? Right?
There had been promises made at Tarsus IV, Jim remembered. They had not lasted.
The light blasted on again. Jim averted his face, eyes streaming from the unexpected brightness.
“And now you have had time to ruminate,” came the same voice.
“Fuck off,” said Jim, although he didn’t feel very brave even as he said it.
Predictably, this was met with more laughter.
“Tell me about the Vulcan, little human,” it ordered lazily.
Jim set his shoulders. “No,” he said, mouth in a thin line. “I won’t.”
“Tsk, tsk. Are you protecting him? Whatever for? He’s the one who betrayed you first.” There was the sound of spitting. “Vulcans. Logic is more precious to them than anything, even a brother.”
“I don’t believe you,” Jim insisted. “He wouldn’t do that to me.”
“Not even to get back to his home planet? You think he’d be stupid enough to give up his only chance at going home? For you? How illogical.”
Jim was silent at this.
“You want to know? You’ll have to make a deal with them that are in the know. But I guarantee you that without us, you’re never getting off this planet.”
“He made a deal, Jim Kirk. Don’t you want the chance to make one too?”
There was a very thick silence. Jim could hear every breath he took. He could hear the rush of blood through his body in the darkness. He could hear his heart, beating slowly, steadily. He closed his eyes. In his mind’s eye swam the vision of Spock before him.
“By saving your life once, I have assumed responsibility for it. I cannot leave you here.”
“Tell us about the Vulcan, James Kirk. Tell us, and we will release you. We will send you back to the North American Collective. Everything will be as it was.”
Jim breathed in, out. He felt a tingle down his spine, the sense memory of a mind locked with his. A blank mask. The barest upward quirk of the lips. The grasp of a long-fingered hand around his wrist.
“What do you want to know?”
________________________________________
Spock’s afternoon meditation was interrupted by an insistent rapping on his door.
“Enter,” he called, after opening one eye and deeming that the person on the other side of the door would not go away.
“You have to unlock it,” came Uhura’s muffled voice.
Grumbling about stone-age technology and doors without voice-recognized authentication pass codes (didn’t humans have that technology? Why wasn’t it applied here? Illogical), he stood, stretching out his legs, and ambled over to the door.
Uhura was inside before Spock even had time to open his mouth and invite her.
“Kirk’s not here,” she said without preamble.
“No,” said Spock. “Please, come in,” he added belatedly.
She ignored that, fixing him with an intent look. “Have you seen him?”
“No,” Spock said. “I have not.”
“Damn,” she said quietly, folding her arms.
Spock began to feel a strange sensation, as if a vice were squeezing at his insides. “Is something wrong?”
She shook her head, swiping hair out of her eyes. “No, no,” she said, tapping her foot. “I don’t know. The hotel records say he checked in last night, but no one’s seen him and he hasn’t been answering the phone we gave him.”
Spock’s unease grew stronger, although he tried to block it out. “Have you looked at the security cameras?”
Uhura gave him a measured look. “How could we possibly get access to security cameras in a place like this?”
“I understand that your Mr. Chekov has some expertise in that regard,” said Spock, face completely expressionless.
She smiled up at him. “So I have heard.”
“And?”
She dropped the smile and shook her head. “Nothing useful. He left-” she took a deep breath, then looked Spock straight in the eyes. “He left a few minutes after you did. Out the front. But he never came back. You don’t- you didn’t see him?”
Spock suddenly recalled the sensation he’d had of being watched. Had that been Jim? If so, had Jim seen his encounter with the Orion woman? It was impossible to know. He cleared his throat.
“I left on an errand for Mr. Pike,” he said. “But I did not encounter Jim. I . . .” he hesitated. “It is possible however, that he followed me. But if he did, I cannot explain why he did not return when I did.”
She bit her lip. “Where did you go?”
“To an electronics store,” Spock said quietly. His shoulders tensed. “Mr. Pike made a request of me that I could not ignore.” He looked away. “Although so far I have been less than successful.”
“What store?”
Spock lifted his gaze. If Jim had followed him, he might have seen the Orion woman. He might have been affected by her. He did not know the danger.
“I will take you there.”
Their impromptu search party gathered three more members before they reached the area in which Spock had spent the last evening. Clearly foreign and, just as clearly drawing attention, they split up into groups. Spock found himself paired with a woman named Christine Chapel. Unfortunately for any attempt at a subtle manhunt, Chapel’s bright red, spiked hair and her multitude of tattoos, combined with Spock’s complete ineptitude at the local dialect, did not make them any less conspicuous.
At least Chapel’s command of the language was somewhat better than his.
“No one’s seen anything,” she reported to Spock, after a lengthy conversation with a baker in which not only information, but also small buns exchanged hands. “And a guy like Kirk would be pretty noticeable around here. This isn’t exactly International District, Tokyo.” She offered him a bun.
Spock took it, and bit into it. The filling in the middle was somewhat sweet, and slightly grainy. He turned to Chapel, eyebrow raised.
“Adzuki bean,” she said, answering the unasked question. “It’s my favorite.”
Spock took another bite as they wandered up the street, still keeping an eye out for anything unusual. Although, Spock wondered what exactly that might constitute, and doubted that he’d recognize it if he saw it. As it was, the street already looked pretty unusual from his Vulcan point of view. There were signs in languages he could not read; strange scents wafted from stores and restaurants; a toothless old woman looked him up and down and grinned.
Chapel tugged him along past the old woman. “We should get back to the hotel,” she said as they passed a small park. “It’s going to get dark soon. I don’t want to be out here after dark.”
“Have you lived here many years?”
She shrugged her shoulders up and down. “About five,” she said. “There’s a lot of call for nurses in a place like this.” She grinned, suddenly. “Loosened me up a bit, I’ll tell you. I used to be so straight laced, I almost joined up with the Navy.”
“I was given to understand that all citizens were required to serve,” Spock said.
“Well, yeah,” Chapel said. “But there are other ways to do it if you’ve got some skill or another. I was lucky enough to just get posted to a military hospital for a few years. Didn’t even have to go through any training- except for the nursing stuff of course. Which I had already done.”
“I see,” said Spock politely.
Her expression turned wry. “Wouldn’t do to have all your best doctors and engineers blown up in combat, would it? That’s what foot soldiers are for, right?”
Spock ate the rest of the bun, covering up the metallic feeling of distaste in his mouth.
When they reconvened with the others back at the hotel, it became very clear that Jim was nowhere to be found. Dinner was a quiet affair. Uhura had a distant look about her, discussing something with Pike in a grave undertone, her food mostly untouched. McCoy chewed his lip, clearly worried. Chekov was quiet. Sulu, sullen. Spock had to admit that he did not know the remainder of the Resistance members present - twelve strange men and women who had shown up along with Pike - well enough to judge their moods, but there was little conversation at the table. What words were spoken were hushed and curt. The atmosphere felt thick with tension and worry.
With each passing moment, Spock wondered more and more if he ought to have told Uhura or McCoy about the Orion woman. What if she had been involved in Jim’s disappearance? A thought struck him then. And what if she hadn’t? What if Jim had been taken by one of the myriad of petty gangs littering the city? They wouldn’t even know where to begin looking.
What if Jim had simply . . . left?
Spock shoved that thought out of his mind, and attempted to focus on the present. The evening meal was nearly done. Jim was still gone.
Orions were known for taking people. Their slave trade was infamous throughout the galaxy.
He wiped his mouth with a napkin, and pushed away from the table. McCoy looked up at him with raised eyebrows as he stood and gave an awkward little half-bow. “I must take my leave,” he said, voice curt.
Pike blinked at him, fork halfway to his mouth. “Uh, don’t let us keep you,” he said, nonplussed.
Spock nodded, and stalked out of the dining room. Behind him, he could hear McCoy murmur something about “Meditating. He is always, goddamn meditating.” Spock allowed the words to pass over him. Let McCoy think what he wished, his misconceptions had no impact on Spock.
Spock slept little that night. He tried several more times to contact the VSS Nirak. Each attempt was met with static. He went over the data Mr. Scott had sent him, researching the historical significance of gold dirt and the drug trade. He noted with a vague interest that drug money was responsible for at least three current, major wars, and probably for a fourth, but his heart wasn’t into the research. He could not focus. At last he took to staring blankly at the wall, waiting for the sun to rise.
Perhaps Jim would have arrived by that time? His presence would definitely make certain decisions of Spock’s considerably less guilt inducing than they were now. Probably. Although at this point, the Resistance would really start to wonder why Spock had taken so long to inform them about his meeting the Orion woman anyway. Waiting for Jim was almost moot.
Spock slipped into a light doze an hour or so before dawn. When he cracked his eyes open two point three hours later, it was to the early morning lights streaming through his undrawn curtains. He rolled off the bed with stiff movements, heading towards the window.
As he drew the curtains, Spock allowed his gaze to travel through the remainder of the hotel room. He frowned in consternation at the mess he had made of his clothes, some on the ground, and some half-hanging out of his bag. He moved over to the chair and bent down to pick up the offending items, when something next to the door caught his eye.
Something white had been clearly slipped under his door. Spock took a few steps forward and reached for it.
It was a note.
The paper crinkled in his hand as he smoothed it out. As he read, his lips thinned and his eyes narrowed. Finished, he very calmly folded the note into eight pieces, and tucked it into the pocket of his pants. He moved away from the door and around the bed to the worktable in short, jerky motions. Fingers gripping his useless radio with more strength than strictly necessary, he dismantled it bit by bit, then took what he had destroyed and began to wire it into something new.
A half an hour later, Spock tucked his creation into his bag, slung the bag over his shoulder, and left the room. The hotel lobby was nearly deserted and Spock paid the receptionist no mind as he strode out the door, and into the early morning light.
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