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speedygal · 7 years

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Not a logical intervention - part 17

Spock stopped counting how long he was in the Romulan warbird shortly in his imprisonment. How many days that had passed let it be hours, minutes, or weeks.

The interior of the ship was painted gold. The Romulan bird of prey was similar to the Klingons in the interiors design and exterior. It was clean as though they had automatic cleaner to operate at even hours in the day. The lights in the two cells were off including the outside. Lyionel had been taken long ago and he hadn’t returned since then. Spock had lost a great deal of his original weight. No longer a well fed, tall elderly ‘beanpole’. Most of his food had gone for Lyionel who fell ill after the first few hours. Spock’s food was not tainted. Spock opted to have Lionel’s food---and he had fallen ill.

That is when the Romulans figured out what he was doing and all together decided to stop feeding him and having Lyionel in the same room. The torture had stopped by then. Spock’s blood was boiling against his skin. He could crush a given skull, at his age, if someone had came down when he was in the least control of his body. The thought of doing this appalled the Vulcan. And disgusted him. Spock ignored the growls from his stomach. The other half of the cell was dark as his cell block. As though no one was there at all. Spock closed his eyes, painfully, restraining himself. Spock heard footsteps come to the cell. The darkness lifted around him lifted. Yet Spock's eyes saw nothing. Entirely nothing. He saw total darkness.

“Lyionel,” Spock said. “thrah nash-veh.” My friend. “Wilat nam-tor au?” Where is he?

“Haenither,” the Romulan Commander said. Away.

“Ish-veh-tor ri tor-yehat,” Spock said, glaring toward the Romulan commander. It is not possible. “au ish-veh nam-tor karik tehnat du.” he is strong against you. Lyionel was fully capable of winning against a hand to hand combat fight. Spock had seen the Romulan’s muscular arms and legs from all that work out he had done on his spare time.

“Hwiiy feanna,” The Romulan commander said. You are fool.

“Nam-tor ri nash-veh,” Spock said. I am not. “hwiiy.” You are.

“Hraen darhhan aeohh hravher iurrha,” the Romulan Commander said. Your hair prefer you weak.

"Trasha,” Spock said, giving the ta’al. Leave. “Ish-veh zhit dungi ri ma wuh daya du aitlun.” Your words will not have the effect you want. “ma rim tor nash-veh nufai na' ish-veh rufai.” I have none to offer for your benefit.

“Docgae vaehha thaessu doaege.. .” The Romnulan commander said. Know little Vulcan language. “Arhem hllue h'ta hravher rhifv tamh aevumih.” I break you previous when reach empire.

Spock tilted his head lowering his hand.

“Du ma ovsoh ni,” Spock replied. You have done so.

The Romulan Commander strolled away.

Spock knew, if he reached the empire, the living conditions likely would be better and the food that may be offered would likely be not in the best condition but ediable. He had his back to the wall with one hand on his stomach. The thought of eating made his stomach growl. Perhaps he was blind. How long he had been in the dark? It takes two weeks in the dark for permanent eye damage to be done and blindness to set in. He would make a excellent political prisoner. Spock slowly fell into a memory of the glory days for comfort. Sharp, crystal clear memory. That was all he had left.

“And he is right here,” Lyionel planted his finger on the center of the map. “Somewhere around there, anyway.”

“Tell me, Mr Lyionel,” Bole said. “How did you get off again?”

“Crashed a transport down planet side, then made my way in the direction off federation space where I crossed paths with the Mayflower,” Lyionel turned from the starchart. “Your disbelief is understandable.” he observed the senior staff staring back at him. “I am a Romulan. A defector.” his hands were clasped together behind his back. “But you cannot doubt me when it comes to a little old Vulcan.”

“He is right,” George said. “People don’t lie about elders.”

“What about Romulans?” Bole said. “The Ambassador might be a political prisoner.”

“I doubt they have him on Romulus already,” George said. “Romulans, for an empire, are slow goers.”

“It does not help that we have lots of ion storms that send us off courses,” Lyionel said. “the empire is known for it” he shook his head. “I heard there were some time traveling done to change the standing of the empire. . .”

“And?” Bole asked.

“I can only assume they failed,” Lyionel closed the extended pointer. “your friend will require lots of food.”

“Why?” Bole asked.

“He switched our trays,” Lyionel said. “I wish he didn’t.”

“How was he the last time you saw him?” George asked, leaning forward with his elbows on the table with his hands clasped together. The first officer appeared to be concerned.

Lyionel did not reply as he looked down toward the floor in shame while rubbing the side of his arm. His right ear was more rounded instead of being pointy and his eyebrows had a scar at the edges where it became slanted. Lyionel turned away looking over toward the starchart then back. The Romulan finally sighed.

“I can’t say how he is now,” Lyionel said. “You might not want to see him in the current state.”

“He is family,” George said. “I don’t know how but he is.”

The Klaxons began to wail as the ship trembled going through an anomaly. Lyionel grabbed hold onto a chair to steady himself from falling. The room gently glowed a light red. Captain Bole sped out of the conference room heading her way toward the bridge as the trembling subsided. Talron, in her medical whites, went in the other direction. George came behind the captain once coming onto the bridge.

“Captain, we are going through an anomaly,” Regina said. “A powerful one.”

“Life sign detected inside the anomaly,” came Tyhelin.

Bole came onto the captain’s chair.

“Bridge to transporter room,” Bole said. “Lock on the lifeform in the anomaly.”

“Captain,” George said. “Permission to attend the lifeform?“

“Permission granted, Number one,” Bole said.

On the transporter padd appeared the projection, the outline, of a human body with a grid like design. The individual’s shape came apparent laid on their side in what seemed to be a two piece uniform with black boots. The transporter sound faded away replaced by the transporter room’s silence except for the transporter technician reporting to the bridge that the lifeform had arrived. George entered the transporter room alongside doctor Talron. Talron came over to the man’s side with a tricorder in one hand.

“Male, early sixties,” Talron said. “Breathing is regular, patient is unconscious,” she looked over to see there was extensive burns in the man’s back with shrapnel sticking out coated in some layers of blood. “None of the shrapnel has entered the man’s spine. And readings show he is not contaminated with any kind of side effects from the anomaly.” She placed a hand on the man’s shoulder. George came to the woman’s side. “Hello sir. Welcome to the USS Shran. Don’t move.”

Kirk’s hazel eyes looked up toward them.

“USS. . . Shran?” Kirk said. “Urgh. . .” he closed his eyes. “Bones is going to kill me for scaring him like that.”

“Who is Bones?” George asked. “Is he your first officer? Captain? Second officer? Friend?” Kirk’s vision cleared and he saw a familiar face before him. A face that he would recognize anywhere with those light blue eyes.

“Dad?” Kirk asked. “Am I dead?”

“You’re not dead,” George said, as Talron stood up. “I am not your dad nor are you my son.” He had a light hearted laugh as Kirk looked at him, befuddled, at a loss.

“Of course I am your son,” Kirk said. “Jim Kirk, at your service. . “ his eyes closed as George sat there frozen staring at the man.

He noticed the man had graying, curly hair. The thinning eyebrows. He had Winona’s eyes. Features from both of their parents and the broad shoulders. He even had the Kirk wedding ring. He looked down matching their hands together. It was a heirloom in the family. The shape of the star fleet delta sticking out of the circular band. George sat there by the man’s side until the medical team came over then lifted him sideways off transporter padd onto the gurney. The man had the admiral symbol on the long strap on his shoulder.

Lyionel stepped to the side and watched the group go away.

“Elderly people popping out of no where a thing in Star Fleet?” Lyionel asked.

“I don’t know,” George said, walking off the transporter padd. “I think. . .” he paused. “I think that man is my son.”

Lyionel looked over then back.

“I am not going to be surprised anymore,” Lyionel said. “What are the chances that the old Vulcan and that old human know each other?”

“Good chance,” George said. “‘I am going to wait for my son. .”

“Be there when he wakes up, you mean,” Lyionel said.

“A father does that,” George said. Lyionel had a brief small smile on his face by the first officers command.

“That is something that is not different between humans and Romulans,” Lyionel said. “excuse me, I have a brig to report to.” and Lyionel walked away. George went in the opposite direction heading in the path to Sick Bay.

#space fic #my fic

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