Chapter Text
They had left La’an alone overnight, that was their first mistake. She spent much of the night lying on the floor, face down with the stump where her right hand used to be hidden beneath her body. After M’Benga sealed up the wound, most of the pain subsided, but what bothered her more was the alarming feeling that her hand wasn’t there even though it felt like it should be. That and the anxiety, which came in waves, of knowing that she now had to find a way to escape her captors and still stop the coup. She hadn’t given up, though, she had survived more desperate situations. As long as she was breathing, she’d still be fighting.
Slowly, she eased herself up to her feet, another wave of anxious nausea hit her the moment she realized there was no right hand to prop herself up on, and yet another when she caught sight of her own severed hand was still on the desk. Once she was on her feet she took a moment to steady herself and walked slowly back to the desk. Before she sat down she angrily brushed the severed hand off of the desk and onto the floor, She couldn’t stand to look at it another moment.
La’an went to work at the computer console, awkward and uncertain with her left hand, and several times she caught herself trying to use a limb that wasn’t there. Her eyes were fixed on the screen, and her heart raced as she waited for a response. At this hour, it was unlikely that she would get a response, but if she waited she might miss her chance entirely.
She breathed a sigh of relief to see Spock appear on the screen. “Glad to see you, I was afraid I might not get any response at this hour.”
“Recently I have been on high alert.” Spock answered. “And as a Vulcan I require less sleep.”
“Spock…” La’an’s voice was soft yet stern. “Things have gone…bad. Beyond bad, terrible. T’Ralia was killed, I’m on Terra Prime, but they know I’m not the right La’an. I’m not sure what I can do to protect you, but you need to start expecting them now. I don’t know that they’re still planning to keep their original schedule.”
Spock nodded. “Your warning is greatly appreciated. I will take the appropriate security measures. However, before we continue this conversation, I have a question for you.”
“Go on.”
“It has occurred to me that I have no definitive proof as to which version of La’an you are.” His voice was as calm and even as ever. Spock wasn’t accusing her of anything, he was pursuing a logical path.
“That’s going to be a challenge, Spock,” La’an replied, still both soft and stern. “We haven’t actually spent any time together. Any memories I share with Spock…well, they aren’t your memoires.”
“”I am aware of that fact.” Spock answered. “You knew Doctor McCoy.” It was a statement, not a question.
“Yes, but not well. We briefly served together aboard the Enterprise before I was transferred, but I don’t understand what he has to do with anything.”
“I shared a mindmeld with the Doctor McCoy from your universe. I know his memories.”
La’an leaned back in her seat and looked up as she tried to recall a distinct memory. Only one came to mind. It made her feel foolish just to think about what happened, but this was not the time to hold back on account of her ego. “I sprained my wrist bowling, and for days I tried to ignore it and told myself it wasn’t that bad. It was only after Uhura saw how swollen it was and insisted it needed treatment that I even went to sickbay.” She smiled, just a bit. It had been so embarrassing when this happened that she had tried to forget it entirely, but now recalling it brought her a sense of fond nostalgia. “McCoy scolded me harshly for it and ranted about how the smartest people are sometimes also the stupidest.”
Spock nodded. “That happened. It seems impractical to me that the Enterprise from your universe had such amenities as a regulation bowling alley, yet your account is accurate to McCoy’s memory.”
“So you’re satisfied with my answer?”
“I am.”
“Then I suppose that’s everything for now.” La’an sighed. “I wish I could do more, but I’m held captive in my own home…Maybe if I had more evidence against the co-conspirators.” La’an was beginning to think out loud “Uhura has been at work making false credentials for the augments. Ortegas and Sulu were researching classified security details. I don’t know that they left any evidence, or if it’s enough to justify a full investigation.”
“Your warning was sufficient, and I will investigate this other information. If there is sufficient evidence, that may be enough to stop this coup before it begins.”
“I’ll try to keep you updated as best as I can, but I doubt if I’ll have many more opportunities.”
“Understood. End transmission.”
La’an knew she wouldn’t be able to sleep, so she stayed at the desk with her undivided focus on the computer console. Her heart raced. If Ortegas or Sulu barged in at an inopportune time and caught her she might lose her only remaining hand, but this was all she could do to save Spock and the Terran republic. She searched through the Terran La’an personal files, especially her communications. Most of them were mundane and administrative, the sort of correspondence that she was accustomed to back home, but one caught her attention: a folder with communications from Uhura and Sulu. La’an was not surprised to see that it was under tight security. Opening it would require retinal scans (which she could pass) and voice authorization (which she could only pass if she knew the correct code. La’an leaned back in her seat and stared at the ceiling. Of course it wouldn’t be that simple. She went back to work. In her days as a security expert, La’an learned her fair share about computer security and how to bypass it, but if her counterpart was nearly as thorough as she was, this would be no easy feat.
La’an worked until she began to see the first rays of morning sun peeking in through the window. She had been lucky so far, but surely one of her captors would be back again soon, so she left her seat and went to collapse on the bed.
Without so much as a courtesy chime, the door slid open. La’an couldn’t guess how long she had been lying sleepless in bed, maybe an hour or two based on the changes in the light coming in through the window.
“Wake up, sleepy head.” Ortegas called, teasing. Sulu was standing beside her. “Hope you slept well.”
“Not a wink. Losing a hand doesn’t exactly put one in a restful mood.” La’an sat up.
“Fair enough.” Ortegas shrugged. “Brush your hair and clean up the blood, we need you to arrange a meeting with Spock.”
“I’ll comply, but only if I have time to speak to Maya first…privately.”
“Why? So the two of you can scheme together and plan your escape?” Sulu asked as he stepped through the door and into the room.
“That wasn’t my intention. I need to speak to her, with a chaperone, then.”
“Fine,” Ortegas sighed with a roll of her eyes. She turned to go.
Once Ortegas was gone, Sulu walked into the room to stand beside the bed. He wore a wicked smile on his face, and dried blood still speckled his uniform. La’an rose to her feet to stand facing tim, trying to stand up straight and dignified in spite of…everything.
“I trust you’re recovering well,” he taunted.
“Better than expected. M’Benga’s skills in this universe are just as good as in my own.”
“That’s too bad,” Sulu sighed. “I had hoped you might suffer a little while longer.”
La’an narrowed her eyes at him, but in that moment she caught sight of Maya standing in the doorway and forgot all of the hurt that had been done to her.
“Maya!” She pushed past Sulu and rushed to Maya’s side. “Are you alright?” She placed her remaining hand on Maya’s shoulder. “Did they hurt you?”
“No, I…” Her eyes grew wide and fixed on the stump where La’an’s hand used to be. She shrank back and gasped as she covered her mouth with her hand. “What happened?”
“Nothing besides the obvious.” La’an dismissively waved her left hand in the air. “What matters more to me is your safety.”
“I’m fine. They locked me in the spare bedroom. I couldn’t sleep, so I spent the night at the computer console…” Maya paused and glanced to Sulu and then Ortegas. She was hiding something from them. “Reading Shakespeare. Hamlet. The verse is all the same, but I imagine the interpretation of the text differs vastly. I’d be curious to know how the Terrans interpret the ending.”
There had to be some hidden message, but La’an was not enough of a Shakespeare scholar to parse it out. “Remind me how it ends, I haven’t read it in decades.”
“The Danish royal family is so caught up with their personal problems that they ignore foreign threats. When the Norwegian prince arrives he finds that they’ve all killed each other, and he takes the Danish crown for himself.”
Now she understood. Infighting and a myopic focus on ego and personal gain, that could give them the advantage. Ortegas and Sulu were working toward a common goal but would be at each other’s throats; they couldn’t both be the new emperor. M’Benga seemed to think the idea of one of them becoming emperor was nearly laughable, and La’an was sure the augments were ripe for some violent disagreements of their own after having a revolving door of temporary leaders after Khan was killed.
“I’m sure Fortinbras must be a highly respected character, then, for being so opportunistic.” La’an answered with a knowing nod.
“We don’t have time for this!” Ortegas held her hands in front of her in frustration. She turned to Maya. “Get out of here. We have business to take care of.”
For the second time La’an sat in front of the computer console to contact Spock. Because she had spoken to him before, she was confident that he would know she was acting under duress, and so she was agreeable and compliant with the instructions that Ortegas and Sulu gave her.
“Admiral Noonien-Singh.” Spock began. It was barely perceptible, but he raised one eyebrow just a bit. “This is sooner than when I planned to speak with you.”
“Yes. We arrived back to Terra Prime ahead of schedule.” She glanced to Ortegas, who stood just out of view. It was a small signal, hopefully enough to show Spock that she was not alone and not acting on her own. “We need to schedule a meeting at once. Tomorrow evening.”
“Admiral, that is on extremely short notice.”
“I know, but this is an urgent matter.” She glanced toward Ortegas again. “When I was back on the Portland there was great upheaval, more anti-Republic actions than I had initially seen. I fear that this may extend well beyond the crew of that one ship.”
“This is cause for concern. Can this discussion not be done remotely?” As Spock spoke, La’an studied him carefully for any signs that he understood what was happening on her end, but Vulcans were notoriously hard to read.
“Due to certain sensitive information, I’m afraid this meeting needs to happen in person.”
“I understand.” Spock leaned forward and looked directly into her eyes. La’an felt as though he was trying to speak more personally. “It is regrettable that such an urgent meeting is necessary, but I understand the gravity of the situation. I will make myself available for a meeting tomorrow evening.”
“Then I’ll see you tomorrow. End transmission.”