Shouting into the Darkness 1/3
He struggled up into consciousness, to see two skinny blue torsos leaning over him.
He smiled dopily. “Oh good,” he said and let himself fall back into oblivion.
As the darkness gathered at the edges of his mind, he heard an exasperated voice. “Why the hell can’t he say, ‘Where am I?’ like everyone else?”
.
...................................................................................................................
“Because I already knew!”
“I beg your pardon?”
He prised his eyelids open and this time stared into the startled gaze of Nurse Chapel, who for some bizarre reason, blushed and ran away, calling, “I’ll fetch Doctor McCoy,” over her shoulder as she left the room. He blinked and tried to look around him, but his head swam and he was having difficulty focussing his eyes. He reached down to check on Little Jim, and realised to his horror he’d been catheterised - again. How the hell long had he been lying here?
Luckily, at that moment McCoy arrived and in between the scans and the say ahhs and the blessed arrival of some water, even if it came with the narrowest bore straw in existence, he managed to get some answers. In order these were: three days; olanoxin poisoning, a fractured pelvis but I’ve fixed that; and I’ll get Spock and he can explain.
The last was particularly welcome. The last thing he remembered was lying on an extremely cold stone floor, waiting for his friends to come and rescue him, knowing all the time that the place he was held was impervious to transporters and booby-trapped to take him out along with all his rescuers. Securely bound, and gagged with what tasted suspiciously like his own socks, he’d been forced to lie there and wait to be the cause of his friends’ deaths: reduced to ‘yelling’ in his mind, “Stay away, it’s a trap,” over and over again. He’d lost consciousness when, after what felt like several days, he’d heard noises outside his cell. He’d been fighting to stay awake but, for some reason, the last ‘yell’ of “Spock, it’s a trap!” had finished him off and he’d finally succumbed.
He yelped as the catheter was removed - damn, he hated those things - and was relieved that the nasty business was over by the time Spock arrived. None of his fantasies about Spock had been quite that medical, or that undignified. Luckily, he was propped up and trying to drag more water up the straw when the Vulcan strode into sickbay.
“I am gratified to see you looking so well, Captain,” he said.
“Not half as gratified as I am, I thought I was going to wake up dead. How did you find me? I assume the Separatists left some kind of message.”
“The sub-space message was both clumsy and not nearly as well-camouflaged as they had hoped. Lieutenant Uhura and I traced its source within 17 hours. Their leadership was found within a further 8 hours and 43 minutes and captured within 7 hours 23. It was from them that we learned where you were being held.”
“And they told you about the trap? How did you get them to talk?”
He watched as McCoy and Spock exchanged uneasy glances. “No, Captain, the leadership knew only where, not how you were being held and, I regret to inform you, that after a cursory scan of the room where you were being held, no one thought to check further for a trap.”
“Then....”
“We learned the nature of the trap from you. In effect, you broadcast the nature of your predicament.”
Kirk leaned back against the pillows and smiled affectionately at his friend. “I hoped you’d hear, Spock. I know Vulcans are touch telepaths but the only thing I could think to do was ‘yell’ mentally and hope you would hear. You really are a wonder, my friend.”
Again the exchange of uneasy glances. “I don’t think you quite understand, Captain. I was not the only person who received your message.”
“What?”
“In addition to myself, and I would normally require touch to receive anything, you were also perceived by every registered telepath on the planet, 423 people not hitherto registered, 40% of the staff of the Deltan embassy and the entire crew of a Fortrivi freighter on planetary approach.”
He looked between his friends, waiting for one of them to crack a smile, and then realised that Spock wouldn’t and McCoy wasn’t. “This is screwy,” he said eventually. “Bones, you’ve seen my Psi-rating. I tested out so low I didn’t even register. How the fuck can I suddenly be telepathic?”
Spock assumed his lecturing pose, head erect, hands clasped behind his back. “There have been cases,” he said, “Where telepathic infants, born into non-telepathic cultures have been forced to construct mental shields against the ungoverned, psychic ‘noise’ produced by those about them.” Kirk could almost hear the inverted commas as Spock tried to express concepts for which Standard had as yet had no need. “Without either shields or training, I understand that the mental pressure can be intolerable. Hence the infant constructs a barrier between its own mind and those around it. Moreover, since this barrier is constructed reflexively, before even language forms, the infant is not him or herself aware of it.”
“But...” Kirk wasn’t going to give in without a fight. None of this fit with what he knew about himself.
“Captain. “ Spock was relentless. “The evidence is unmistakeable; it appears that you are a transieving telepath of potentially enormous power.”
He smiled dopily. “Oh good,” he said and let himself fall back into oblivion.
As the darkness gathered at the edges of his mind, he heard an exasperated voice. “Why the hell can’t he say, ‘Where am I?’ like everyone else?”
.
...................................................................................................................
“Because I already knew!”
“I beg your pardon?”
He prised his eyelids open and this time stared into the startled gaze of Nurse Chapel, who for some bizarre reason, blushed and ran away, calling, “I’ll fetch Doctor McCoy,” over her shoulder as she left the room. He blinked and tried to look around him, but his head swam and he was having difficulty focussing his eyes. He reached down to check on Little Jim, and realised to his horror he’d been catheterised - again. How the hell long had he been lying here?
Luckily, at that moment McCoy arrived and in between the scans and the say ahhs and the blessed arrival of some water, even if it came with the narrowest bore straw in existence, he managed to get some answers. In order these were: three days; olanoxin poisoning, a fractured pelvis but I’ve fixed that; and I’ll get Spock and he can explain.
The last was particularly welcome. The last thing he remembered was lying on an extremely cold stone floor, waiting for his friends to come and rescue him, knowing all the time that the place he was held was impervious to transporters and booby-trapped to take him out along with all his rescuers. Securely bound, and gagged with what tasted suspiciously like his own socks, he’d been forced to lie there and wait to be the cause of his friends’ deaths: reduced to ‘yelling’ in his mind, “Stay away, it’s a trap,” over and over again. He’d lost consciousness when, after what felt like several days, he’d heard noises outside his cell. He’d been fighting to stay awake but, for some reason, the last ‘yell’ of “Spock, it’s a trap!” had finished him off and he’d finally succumbed.
He yelped as the catheter was removed - damn, he hated those things - and was relieved that the nasty business was over by the time Spock arrived. None of his fantasies about Spock had been quite that medical, or that undignified. Luckily, he was propped up and trying to drag more water up the straw when the Vulcan strode into sickbay.
“I am gratified to see you looking so well, Captain,” he said.
“Not half as gratified as I am, I thought I was going to wake up dead. How did you find me? I assume the Separatists left some kind of message.”
“The sub-space message was both clumsy and not nearly as well-camouflaged as they had hoped. Lieutenant Uhura and I traced its source within 17 hours. Their leadership was found within a further 8 hours and 43 minutes and captured within 7 hours 23. It was from them that we learned where you were being held.”
“And they told you about the trap? How did you get them to talk?”
He watched as McCoy and Spock exchanged uneasy glances. “No, Captain, the leadership knew only where, not how you were being held and, I regret to inform you, that after a cursory scan of the room where you were being held, no one thought to check further for a trap.”
“Then....”
“We learned the nature of the trap from you. In effect, you broadcast the nature of your predicament.”
Kirk leaned back against the pillows and smiled affectionately at his friend. “I hoped you’d hear, Spock. I know Vulcans are touch telepaths but the only thing I could think to do was ‘yell’ mentally and hope you would hear. You really are a wonder, my friend.”
Again the exchange of uneasy glances. “I don’t think you quite understand, Captain. I was not the only person who received your message.”
“What?”
“In addition to myself, and I would normally require touch to receive anything, you were also perceived by every registered telepath on the planet, 423 people not hitherto registered, 40% of the staff of the Deltan embassy and the entire crew of a Fortrivi freighter on planetary approach.”
He looked between his friends, waiting for one of them to crack a smile, and then realised that Spock wouldn’t and McCoy wasn’t. “This is screwy,” he said eventually. “Bones, you’ve seen my Psi-rating. I tested out so low I didn’t even register. How the fuck can I suddenly be telepathic?”
Spock assumed his lecturing pose, head erect, hands clasped behind his back. “There have been cases,” he said, “Where telepathic infants, born into non-telepathic cultures have been forced to construct mental shields against the ungoverned, psychic ‘noise’ produced by those about them.” Kirk could almost hear the inverted commas as Spock tried to express concepts for which Standard had as yet had no need. “Without either shields or training, I understand that the mental pressure can be intolerable. Hence the infant constructs a barrier between its own mind and those around it. Moreover, since this barrier is constructed reflexively, before even language forms, the infant is not him or herself aware of it.”
“But...” Kirk wasn’t going to give in without a fight. None of this fit with what he knew about himself.
“Captain. “ Spock was relentless. “The evidence is unmistakeable; it appears that you are a transieving telepath of potentially enormous power.”