Chapter Text
From a young age, Jim Kirk knew how to use people towards his own ends. He saw the actions of his stepfather or younger brother laid out like the panels in a comic strip, waiting for him to cut and paste. Once he started school, the feeling got worse. He gathered peers like a compulsion and lulled his teachers into compliance.
It terrified him. He carried the knowledge of his own wickedness pressed deep into the most secret part of his heart. He laboured to see them as people rather than puppets, but Starfleet gave him an out: He could replace his own goals with those of the Federation and reveal in his ability without guilt as he moved pieces about on increasingly large-scale board. Their aims were his aims, and in that way he became noble.
The hurdles came when orders fell into ambiguity, and he was expected to follow his own sense of morality. Take Gwydion-F: A planet with significant accurentum who was advanced enough to disregard the Prime Directive and answer their plea for extraterrestrial contact. Establish diplomatic relations; exchange technology for an accurentum supply easily accessible for Starbase-10’s industry.
But slavery? Or apartheid? Whatever it was the caste system was not compatible with the Federation’s codes. Jim rubbed the bridge of his nose. If he sent back the girl, trade could be established. One life for the millions that could be saved by Starbase-10’s research. Maybe over time, the Federation could exert their influence and end Gwydion-F’s abominable system, and the Enterprise would have a gold star on their first diplomatic mission. He knew that if he ordered it, the specifics could be erased from the reports. All history would see was a stowaway being sent back to where she belonged. Bones would fight him, and Scotty would gently seethe, but he loved the Enterprise too much to really fight back. He could even survive the disdain of Spock’s cooly raised eyebrow.
Was that what Starfleet wanted?
“What did you learn then, Bones?” He asked, eyes still closed against a building headache.
“More than I’d like, to be perfectly honest.” Bones grimaced. His baseline psychological interview with Kanna had taken it out of him. “She was born and raised by the state. Seems the young ‘uns are used in creches to help caretakers better care for the young ‘people’ – if you’ll forgive the phrase: who’s hungry, diaper changes, things like that. By the time she was an adolescent she was bought by a linguist for their household and research. Then a physicist and finally and mechanical engineering department at a university.
“But after a series of incidents, her breeding was deemed a failure. Her parents were chosen for their skills but turns out that led to a girl who liked a bit too much of malicious compliance, if you get my meaning. If there’s a loophole, she’ll make mischief.”
The captain blinked his eyes open. His senior crew sat around the conference table littered with coffee mugs and half-eaten dinners. Uhura looked pained, and Chekov’s eyebrows had practically merged with his hairline.
“Is she dangerous?”
Bones shook his head. “The only person she’s ever hurt is herself, as far as I can tell. Can’t test her linguistic intelligence as she only speaks Standard when using our language centres, but mathematical, kinaesthetic, and spatial was very much on the high side of what we check for – even on the engineering scale. Logic was give and take depending on how concrete the question was, and emotional was lower than you’d like. She’s already taught herself what our facial expressions mean and can read micro-tones well, but struggles with deception and nuance.”
“Do you think she’s lying or putting something on?”
“I’m not sure she knows what a lie is.”
"It makes sense,” Spock cuts in. “If their society is built around sharing thoughts, falsehood would be nearly impossible or maybe even taboo.”
“What if she’s not ‘connected’ to you?” Kirk asked. “Does she maintain anything she’s known before?”
“I asked myself the same thing. Without us, she maintains a handful of Standard words and her grasp over base-10. She explained it like being a messenger: You won’t remember every message you someone’s asked you to send unless you really work at it.”
Uhura cut in, unable to hold back the linguist in her any longer. “I don’t suppose you kept track of what words?”
Bones grinned. “It’s in your inbox. Basic pronouns and a handful of technical terms she used with Scott and Spock: magnet, spanner, that kind of thing. And the occupations of us she’s met.”
Uhura started to respond, but Kirk cut her off. “Options.”
“Take her onboard and rely on the UN’s asylum protocols. Set her up with ID, occupational therapy to make sure she can hold her own in a human conversation, and make her the next Starbase’s problem,” Bones offered.
“As she came onboard illegally, we have no responsibility to her.”
The doctor spluttered. “Even a Vulcan can’t possibly believe that!”
“I’m merely pointing out the obvious. Captain, if we accept her request for asylum, it will confirm that the situation on Gwydion-F is incompatible with Federation trade.”
“Are you suggesting it’s not?” Kirk asked.
Spock shrugged. “We don’t have sufficient data.”
Scott bit his tongue. His temper leaped to react like Bones and accuse the first officer of being unfeeling, but he knew he was just playing devil’s advocate, looking out for the interests of the Enterprise above all.
“I think she’s an asset,” he said instead. “She hits all the Starfleet benchmarks, she has intimate, personal knowledge of a new planet. We haven’t closed the door on trade, but maybe we’ve gained an insight and a new asset.”
His chief engineer was trying far too hard to sound casual. Kirk turned on him wryly. “What’s your interest in her? Hoping to act the hero and get her gratitude?”
Scotty spluttered and flushed, turning the same shade as his uniform. “Do you take me for a cradle robber, captain! My interest is purely academic. You’re the one who told me I needed to work on my line management and mentoring!”
“Yes – of your junior officers. Not on any passing civilian who captures your imagination.”
“Do they even know she’s here?” Chekov piped in. He’d been on an alternate watch pattern and was just coming up to speed, having been pulled in by Kirk for professional development.
“This came through just a few minutes ago,” Uhura said, throwing an image up on the central screen. A picture of Kanna was overlayed with red glyphs. “Seems like they took their time to figure out a message.”
“Have you managed to translate it?” Kirk asked. The woman in the picture was a complete blank slate: she could have been a teacher or an insurgent or a chef.
A booker a baker a candlestick maker, he thought dryly.
“It says…” Uhura stuttered. “It says they don’t want her back.”
“Lieutenant.”
She sighed. “‘Inoperable. Recycle.’”
The room fell silent. Kirk rubbed at his eyes again. Chekov swirled his coffee uncomfortably. Scotty stared down at the as-built drawings he was meant to be approving.
Kirk slammed his fist on the comm, making everyone jump. “Kirk to Holguin.”
“Holguin here, captain,” the young psychologist’s voice crackled back.
"You’ve know our guest?”
There was a pause. “What guest, captain?”
“Don’t be coy – I know how gossip goes.”
“Apologies sir. I saw her earlier when I was in medbay. Dr McCoy hinted that he may need my help.”
“She is staying onboard, and you’ll be responsible for her. Liaise with legal to get some asylum paperwork going. Whatever documentation they think she’ll need. Put her in the remedial safety course and if there’s none going find someone to start them – I won’t have ignorance of protocol on my ship. Any other classes you think she’ll benefit from – ESL, history, get her some context to who we are. You’ll meet with her daily with McCoy accountable, so make sure to report any issues straight away.”
“Guest cabin, sir?”
“Crew. Tell Supply to put her with Ensign Nellor. Kirk out.” He pressed off and gave a great sigh. “When are we next scheduled at a starbase?”
“Six months, sir,” Chekov offered. “Though we could re plan.”
Kirk shook his head. “I’m not keen of the idea of tossing a chick from the nest before it knows what predators look like. Hopefully she’ll learn a bit of street smarts before we let her go.”
- Safety boots (r – y, l- y blk, 35)
- 1 pr trainers (r – y, l- y blk, 35)
- 3 tunic (f, modest, blk, s)
- 3 legging (f, blk, 6)
- 1 sweater (button, s)
- 2 workout shirt (f, blk s)
- 2 workout pant (f, blk, m)
- 2 bra (wireless, s)
- 1 bra (workout, s)
- 7 underwear (short, gusset – y, pouch – n, s)
- 3 undershirt (s)
- 1 head covering (blue)
- 1 head covering (red)
Kanna compared each item of clothing to the list, trying to memorise the new words as she unpacked the printer-warm clothes into the drawers beneath her bunk. She lay the red scarf across her knees and stroked it reverently. Colour was for elites, so that even the black that seemed to plain to the Starfleet hurt her eyes. The fabric was smooth and strong – breathable, the supply officer had called it. Black. Blue. Red. Her mind throbbed with new information. Muster point. Fire. Fire ex…exsangisher? Shuttle.
Ensign Nellor was curled like a cat on her bunk, steadfastly ignoring her unwanted companion. Junior officers and enlisted crew mixed together in rooms, with assignments determined by gender, personality and biological need. With an odd number of Vulcan women aboard, she had drawn the lucky straw. She did not appreciate having to share with another alien who needed high temperatures. When Dr Holguin had led her charge to her new home, Nellor had taken one blank look at Kanna and said that she “shouldn’t presume to mind meld with me” – a declaration which left Kanna completely unable to communicate or read once Holguin was out of range.
With a shy glance to make sure her new bunkmate was still engrossed in her book, Kanna slid off the black scarf and tied on the red, shivering as the fabric brushed the underside of her jaw. A strange woman was reflected in the mirror. The red and black emphasised her silvery skin. The new tunic fell to mid-thigh and fully covered with at least two layers top and bottom, she felt fully dressed for the first time since she beamed aboard. She looked different without her voluminous robe. She felt different. For the hundredth time, she looked down at the back of the tablet Scotty had handed her, now emblazoned with a label: Taliesin, Kanna. A new name chosen with Dr Holguin to distinguish her from any other Kanna in the galaxy.
She had slept for most of the afternoon after telling her story to Dr McCoy, jerking awake several times, terrified she was having a long, elaborate dream. Just after the shift changed a harried woman in a blue wrap dress practically fell through the curtain. She looked around Kanna’s age, with round brown eyes and a mass of black hair piled on her head. She addressed herself as Dr-Holguin-but-call-me-Macy and gave a wide, genuine smile that had Kanna practically leaning away. What followed was a blur of forms and tours and questions. Kanna had been issued an official ship record which was cross referenced to her tablet and loaned communicator. Macy had enrolled her in Basics to Self-Defence, Math for Space, something called ‘The Federation and its Context’, and English – the language that, with a few Vulcan grammatical structures, formed Standard.
“You…learn while you work?” Kanna asked suspiciously.
Macy blinked. “Well, we can’t be out here for months at a time with no access to training. It lets enlisted officers get up to speed and ready for the academy and encourages officers to cross train. We only take one or two at a time, but it’ll be good for you.”
The last few hours had been filled with so much to take in, Kanna could barely feel her mind. She knew if she lay down to sleep, overlapping voices would replay shadows of the day. Even worse, her thoughts had nowhere to go. They sat inert in her mind, discomforting her with their never-ending self. For the first time aboard, cut off from any communication or context, she felt truly alien.
With nothing else to do, she followed Macy’s instructions: unpack, then eat. In contrast to the compound, the corridors of the Enterprise were bursting with colour. Plants trailed their waxy leaves in niches, fed by the UV lights overhead. Where the walls weren’t flashing warnings and instructions, they were decorated with vistas and murals. Kanna ran her fingers over the ridge of an achingly green hill dotted with white animals. Further along she was distracted by the pollen-catching filter over a plant. The care put in to make a safety-oriented vessel feel welcoming was mindboggling. It was hard to remember that beyond the outer hull a vacuum sucked at every seam, feeling for weaknesses.
The gentle snick of the door sliding open was all the warning Kanna had before the weight of twenty pairs of eyes settled on her. Her temples heated at their unabashed interest. They didn’t stop their conversations as she edged around the room, but they were hardly subtle. She watched their physicality from the corners of the eyes: they sprawled in their odd seats and tangled their legs under the high tables. They leaned on each other, seemingly not noticing the brushing of elbows or arms slung across backs. She was relieved when the screen of the replicater demanded her interest.
The menu of options flashing across the touchscreen dazzled her. Unknown glyphs labelled the sides, and she couldn’t even decipher the picture. What was meat and what plant? She jabbed blindly, prompting an indecipherable error message. Everything Macy had shown her earlier in the day fled from her mind, but she was aware she had been standing too long.
“Kanna?”
It took her a moment to remember that odd, flat word was the way they said her name. She turned, face hot, and flinched at the man’s closeness. He said something else, and she shook her head violently as if that could stem the flow of words to her ears. They joined the stream of incomprehensible babble running around her. His dark eyes were clearly concerned, but she couldn’t handle them – the drag of them against her skin was like grit paper. A jagged breath escaped her, and she clenched the muscles around her ribs more tightly. Every mode of expression available to her was barbarian and strange.
Sulu, feeling her alienation, reached out, but by the time his hand had lifted from his side, Kanna had fled.