Instead of the customary morning announcement, they only had a silent captor to greet them, and as well as soldiers who suddenly entered their quarters. Spock immediately straightened in his bed, taking note of the new attire. Some sort of uniform, clearly, though not affiliated with any sort of organization Spock was familiar with. Very little was left over from their previous clothing, save for the smiling face on the armband. It was a peculiar choice for a symbol, one that Spock would not have been opposed to learning more about, but at that moment he had more immediate concerns.
"Get up," the soldier ordered, thrusting a black beret into his chest. "We're going to the cafeteria."
While his demeanor was a sharp contrast to the nurse who'd escorted him through his daily activities before, that was hardly surprising. Spock promptly placed the beret onto his head and stood up, naturally straightening his back and shoulders as he did so. He was aware of a set of metal tags hanging around his neck, but decided not to investigate them until he could do so without being reprimanded. Once the soldier exited the room, he followed after.
The first thing Spock noticed were other soldiers walking patients to their meal shift. They were clearly outmatched, which meant physical resistance was even more futile than it had been before. As they passed through the sun room, Spock glanced at the bulletin board. He needed to leave a message for their crew. The soldier, however, spoke up as though sensing his intentions.
"No bulletin board privileges until after first shift," he curtly informed him.
Spock turned his gaze ahead and didn't argue. When all was said and done, the soldier made an excellent point. So long as they were captives, luxuries such as communicating with colleagues and allies were simply that -- luxuries.
As was eating, apparently, according to the woman who lectured the patients once everyone was assembled. Instead of receiving food, they were to be given an array of cleaning tools to wash the kitchen. His soldier directed him to a bucket of warm, soapy water and a scrub brush. Spock realized that being ordered to get down onto his knees and scrub the floor was intended to humiliate him into submission. Such methods were generally ineffective with Vulcans; furthermore, they were unnecessary. He had no intention of defying their captors so long as there was nothing to be gained from it. And if there was indeed something to be gained, as well as a decent chance of succeeding, cleaning floors would not be enough to deter him from making an attempt.
Of course, he also realized that the soldiers were capable of carrying out harsher punishments if they saw a need for it. The next couple of days would likely be a period of observing their new captors and trying to understand their limits. In the meantime, there was little to do except take his wet scrub brush and roughly rub it over the floor's smooth surface.
no subject
"Get up," the soldier ordered, thrusting a black beret into his chest. "We're going to the cafeteria."
While his demeanor was a sharp contrast to the nurse who'd escorted him through his daily activities before, that was hardly surprising. Spock promptly placed the beret onto his head and stood up, naturally straightening his back and shoulders as he did so. He was aware of a set of metal tags hanging around his neck, but decided not to investigate them until he could do so without being reprimanded. Once the soldier exited the room, he followed after.
The first thing Spock noticed were other soldiers walking patients to their meal shift. They were clearly outmatched, which meant physical resistance was even more futile than it had been before. As they passed through the sun room, Spock glanced at the bulletin board. He needed to leave a message for their crew. The soldier, however, spoke up as though sensing his intentions.
"No bulletin board privileges until after first shift," he curtly informed him.
Spock turned his gaze ahead and didn't argue. When all was said and done, the soldier made an excellent point. So long as they were captives, luxuries such as communicating with colleagues and allies were simply that -- luxuries.
As was eating, apparently, according to the woman who lectured the patients once everyone was assembled. Instead of receiving food, they were to be given an array of cleaning tools to wash the kitchen. His soldier directed him to a bucket of warm, soapy water and a scrub brush. Spock realized that being ordered to get down onto his knees and scrub the floor was intended to humiliate him into submission. Such methods were generally ineffective with Vulcans; furthermore, they were unnecessary. He had no intention of defying their captors so long as there was nothing to be gained from it. And if there was indeed something to be gained, as well as a decent chance of succeeding, cleaning floors would not be enough to deter him from making an attempt.
Of course, he also realized that the soldiers were capable of carrying out harsher punishments if they saw a need for it. The next couple of days would likely be a period of observing their new captors and trying to understand their limits. In the meantime, there was little to do except take his wet scrub brush and roughly rub it over the floor's smooth surface.
[For Kirk.]