Spock's
Journal SD 3233.5
By ship's reckoning, I have been gone only two days,
four hours and twenty
seven point two minutes. But medscans confirm that I
have aged 8.25 years
since the events which sent me elsewhere. Without those
scans, even with the
evidence of the slave tattoos I bore, which Dr. McCoy
has kindly erased from
my body, and the collar he removed from my neck, as
well as the slave tunic
I wore, I do believe that he -and possibly Captain
Kirk, would have thought I had
hallucinated.
But my experiences have been all too real.
I have been put on medical leave for the next two weeks. McCoy has stated
that he wishes to make certain I undergo no lasting effects of my
experience. I have told him that I am well, but he has sent for a Vulcan
healer to confirm this. He's done so discreetly, and he has assured me that
no hint of this will go to the family on Vulcan. I believe him.
But I must set down my own words, to reassure myself that I am home at
last.
I have an eidetic memory-and so in order to remember, I must relive.
I see it all clearly, again, as if I am there. Enterprise is monitoring a
neutron star, with anomalous readings-there are waves of spatial and what
seem to be temporal ripples in the very fabric of space. The star itself
looks unspectacular, and we must maintain a safe distance, yet the data we
glean may affect how scientists all over the Federation view what has
hitherto been known as "dead stars". A dead star which pulses---even though
the pulses are not observable by standard light scans-is not as dead as it
appears.
But I have recalibrated my instruments, and the readings they pick up are
fascinating. I will be years learning to understand this data, and if they
have practical applications. Even in the twenty third century, Starfleet
funding is often dependent upon practical application. But it is too soon
for that.
This is fascinating. I am holding onto my scanner when a ripple hits the
ship, and it lurches and bucks, gravity plates momentarily losing their
ability to maintain that force. I hear Captain Kirk behind me.
"Maintain, Mr. Sulu." He turns toward me. "Are we at a safe distance, Mr.
Spock?"
"Unknown, Captain," I reply. I believe that he alone, of the bridge crew,
can see my enjoyment of the uniqueness of this phenomenon. This is for
what my training has suited me . "We are dealing with effects that have not been
seen or measured before. It is as though space and time itself are weak at
this place."
"I see. Well, how long before you've gathered enough data, Mr. Spock?"
I lift my eyebrow."Enough data, Captain? On a unique phenomenon? I would
estimate another two point six hours before we are simply reviewing old
data, though of course there will be variations."
"Which you could study at a greater distance with the recalibrations. Am I
correct, Spock?"
"In essence." The bridge lurches again. I put out a hand to the console, and
I see a ripple pass through the bridge, and all suddenly, all is chaos. The
bridge is abruptly filled with an assortment of human and non-human
lifeforms, and they all appear to be fighting. Captain Kirk is nowhere to be
seen, and the uniforms on the humans are altered from Starfleet design,
subtly. The nonhumans seem clad strangely as well-I dodge a startled but
evidently homicidal Orion trying to swing some sort of heavy object, but I
hear the whine of phaser fire coming from behind me just before it hits me.
And that is all I know.
I awaken slowly, dizzy and nauseated from the phaser blast. And cold. I am
naked, and lying on the floor of what appears to be the brig. The built in
bunk seems to be missing, and the cell is devoid of furnishings save for a
commode fastened to the back wall. I sit up, cautiously, and touch my hand
to the back of my neck, where I feel a sudden sharp pain. My fingers come
away sticky, but the bleeding seems to have stopped. Likely a scalp wound,
and possibly minor concussion. Now is not the time nor the place to go into
even a light healing trance, however, so I wipe my drying blood on the
bulkhead beside me, leaving a faint green smear, and still my shivers with
the most minor of the Mind Rules. In a few minutes I am able to explore the
cell I am in. I see some kind of camera in the corner of the cell, and it is
otherwise unremarkable, save for a small vent near the ceiling, too high for
me to reach, and too small for me to fit through. Not useful.
There is nothing wrong with my hearing, and the whine in the doorway which
faces the corridor outside and the vibration tells me that there is a strong
forcefield before me. At this strength, attempting to breach it could prove
fatal. I approach as close to it as is safe, and note a similar cell across
the corridor. It is filled with several prisoners, all nonhumans, all with
some sort of neckband, and wearing plain greyish tunics or jumpsuits. They
are speaking amongst themselves, and some are pointing at me. The whine from
the combined forcefields makes it impossible for even my hearing to
understand what they are saying. An Andorian approaches the forcefield,
gesturing to me, and his hand brushes it. I do hear his scream as he lurches
back, held by his fellow prisoners.
There is nothing else useful I can learn, and no escape yet. I sit down,
cross-legged, and fold my hands, and though I do not meditate, I file what I
am seeing away for future analysis, and try to control my shivering.
I have waited in this position for only eighteen minutes, when I see humans
approaching. They are clad in some sort of body armor, almost reminiscent of
Romulan armor but with subtle differences I cannot discern. They point
phasers at me, and gesture for me to stand. I do so, and somehow avoid
swaying, though another wave of dizziness assails me. They turn off the
forcefield, and not speaking, gesture for me to precede them, pointing the
way with the phasers, which I note are set to kill. No, now is not the time
to attempt an escape.
I know this area of the ship, though there are differences. The guards call
a halt in front of what I know as Conference Room Number One on my
Enterprise. There is no doubt in my mind now what has happened. This is not
the Mirror Universe encountered by the Enterprise previously, in the
Halkan's system, but it is certainly another universe entirely. Without more
data, I should not be sure, but when I face the man standing before me,
there is no doubt.
For it is James Kirk. But not my Captain. No, assuredly not. I do not
understand the raw emotions I face from my human companions time and again,
but I do know I have never seen that look on my Captain's face. He stands,
hands on hips, and confronts me. I note that on the table beside him is a
neatly folded pile that is my uniform, my boots, my datachip. He regards me
for some moments, and I stand and clasp my hands behind my back, looking
back into those hazel eyes that are so much colder than the ones I have
known. He picks up my datachip, looks at me again, and inserts it into the
console next to where he stands. The computer's voice is masculine, another
confirmation that I am not on the ship I have known as home for over a
decade, and he listens as it speaks. " Spock.Serial number S179-276SP.Rank,
Commander. Current assignment,First Officer, Science Officer
U.S.S.Enterprise.."
"Stop", he interrupts the machine, and the voice falls silent. He swings
around in a gesture almost familiar if it were not for the easy arrogance of
this man, and the total absence of the mind link we had both forged, the
light link born simply of the few melds we had shared for ship's business. I
am noticing the absence of another link, as well. But there is no time to
think about that. Kirk jabs me once in my chest. "Explain."
"I am at loss to do so, sir." I sense that I must not appear antagonistic,
and I keep my voice carefully neutral, though respectful. "I believe I am
from another universe entirely, though I cannot be certain. I..."
One of the guards with me strikes me on my face, and I reel and almost fall.
Kirk holds up his hand to him and says, "Let the slave speak." Slave? I am
stunned. This would explain much, but the awareness of the barbarity of this
place has just rendered escape even more unlikely.
Kirk turns back to me. "Sit." He gestures to the witness chair. That
technology is no stranger to me, and I sit, carefully, and place my hand
over the glowing disk that will monitor my brain waves and determine my
truthfulness. Kirk leans over me as I sit, his gaze fixed on my own. If he
waits a reaction, he will not get one. "Lie to me, boy, and you will die. I
will know if you attempt a lie. Do you understand?"
"I do."
Kirk prods my thigh and my arm. "Where is your collar, and where are your
ownership tats?"
"Sir, where I am from, there is no slavery."
He looks as if he would strike me. Instead he says, "Computer."
The voice of the machine drones, "Working. Subject speaks the truth."
I am interrogated for two hours while he demands my name and where I am
from, and indeed most of my life history. After each answer the computer
confirms my veracity. Kirk stares at me and I cannot know the thoughts in
his mind, for even if he touched me, my shields are fully in place. It would
take an effort of will to breach them. And I would not want to manufacture
even a tenuous link with this mockery of my friend. "Well." he says. It's
clear you weren't part of that rebellion." He comes to a decision and leans
his face close to mine again. "Since you claim to be a wild Vulcan, and
since the computer believes you, I will give you a choice. You will die
now, a wild Vulcan and free, or you will submit yourself as all animals
should. Choose carefully, wild Vulcan. Once done, it cannot be undone."
I close my eyes briefly against the dizziness that again assails me, as I
think, rapidly. It is clear I am not to be given any time. "I choose," I
tell him, opening my eyes and taking a breath. Alive, there is a chance that
the data I gleaned from the neutron star and the strange ripples could help
me get home. Dead, there is no hope. "I shall submit."
"Then," says Kirk,"Go with these men. Do not resist, or you will die
painfully."
Nodding, I stand, and immediately lose consciousness. It seems my head wound
masked something deeper, and my knees buckle.
I awake on a biobed. The smells and sounds around me tell me it's sickbay.
When I open my eyes, there is a Bajoran bending over me, and he puts his
fingers to his lips, and thereby tells me I should not speak. He has
finished cleaning my head wound. I feel the sting of the antiseptic. I am
strapped down, and unable to move. I do not test this.
The next person I see is this place's McCoy. Almost, I want to speak to him,
but he shows no recognition of me, though his voice is kindly as he brings a
regenerator to my neck and bids me turn my head. I do so, and he pats me on
the head as if I were a child. "Good boy." He runs a scanner over my body,
and makes notes on a padd, then hands them to another human, one I do not
know. "Only half Vulcan. Weird hybrid. Unknown other species?"This is not
said to me, and I do not speak. He and the other human confer for a moment,
then he comes back. "What is your name, boy?"
"I am called Spock." He enters this onto his padd, waits a moment, then
picks up an instrument that resembles the one used to place my clan mark on
my hip after my Kahs'wan, and brings it to my thigh. "Hold still, boy. This
will hurt, but I don't need you jerking and spoiling it." I hold still and
do not make any sound when it does, indeed, cause a considerable amount of
pain, although the pain in my head has faded in return. He repeats his
actions on my right arm, turning and holding the skin. Though I am curious,
I believe it to be wise to remain silent.
He takes something from the Bajoran; it is a silvery metal band. He fits it
around my neck and runs a molecular fuser over it. Then he snaps a removable
bracelet around my right wrist and I hear it lock. He consults another padd,
takes a hypo, and I feel a hiss against my neck. "Sleep now, boy."
I have no choice.
When I wake up, I know that I have slept, most likely aided by whatever
sedative was in that hypo, for two hours and seventeen minutes precisely.
But the dizziness and headaches, if not the cold, have subsided. And my
thigh and arm no longer hurt. Seeing I am awake, the Bajoran undoes the
straps and helps me sit up, then stand. He hands me a knee-length tunic with
long sleeves, much like the ones I saw on the people in the brig, and tells
me quietly I must follow him. I do so, after a quick look around; sickbay is
deserted. Presumably McCoy and other personnel are elsewhere.
He introduces himself as Maik, and says I must be careful, and keep my head
down when there are humans about. He takes me to Deck Four, and opens a door
to a small stateroom. I am surprised. Maik tells me I am being kept apart
from the other slaves, because "Lord Kirk does not wish you contaminated by
them, nor they you" and suggests I enjoy the accommodations while I can, as
I will not be treated so well again, and that I should be ready at 0600 for
lessons. He reminds me that I will be watched at all times, and that I
should behave accordingly.
When the door hisses shut on me, I glance around the cabin. I see the camera
in the corner, near the too small vent port, and I ignore it, touching the
door and verifying quickly that it is locked. I notice the food replicator,
but check the computer console, and verify that it is locked and inert. I do
not go near it again. There is the usual dresser and wardrobe, quite empty,
not even a hanger. I look into the fresher. There is soap in the soap
dispenser, and I quickly strip off my tunic and set shower controls and
stand with the hot water on my body, warming me at last. I scrub and cleanse
myself, then set the sonics to dry my body.
I investigate the cabinet in the fresher but there is a lack of supplies-no
comb, no toothbrush, no beard repressor. Fortunately I will not need any for
some days yet. I smooth my damp hair with my fingers; it shall have to
suffice.
Then I peruse the replicator. It is limited, but adequate. I replicate a
salad and on reflection, add a cup of saltless vegetable broth. I am hungry,
so I eat, and replicate a small amount of salt and a container of hot water,
which I take back to the fresher, where I use it to rinse my teeth and gums,
scrubbing with my forefinger.
It will have to do. I try speaking to the computer, but I do not have
control over either lights or temperature. But when I lie down in order to
enter a light sleeping trance, the lights extinguish. Testing, I sit up as
if I've forgotten something, and they brighten to full again. I slip under
the cover, and after I invoke the elementary mind rules, I sleep.