T'Kala's Personal Log: Stardate 63026.0, Earthdate December 25, 2385.
It all started as it had for the past few mornings: I awoke to find Devon and Kabrina already up. (Oversleeping had become somewhat of a recent trend for me on Qo'nos. Perhaps my Vulcan physiology was not as tolerant there?) Kabrina greeted me in her normal manner, and with a wink, made a comment about how I slept, her voice perfectly smooth and alluring. At which point, Devon used the opportunity to make a rather perverted comment. Kabrina chuckled, I tried to understand the humor, then we all sat around the terminal planning our routine for the day. Kabrina and I were to tread through the market place: her as my property, if we were confronted. Devon was to investigate a lead from a Feringi contact he had met the previous night. In essence, it would be business as usual in our quest to find Eva.
If I would have known then the outcome of the day, I would have spent a bit more time to savor our last moments together...
In retrospect, it is easy to second-guess one's actions. My Vulcan half tells me it is illogical to dwell on such things that can not be changed, and while my human side knows this is true, I can't seem to make my thoughts stray from the question, "What if?"
What if I had noticed the blue antennae making their way through the crowd behind us? Would I have been able to slink away with Kabrina, go back to the cabin and leave before he ever caught up to us? Or would the outcome have been the same?
Stealthly through the crowd he stalked, catching up to us, and in one motion, pushed Kabrina to the ground, grabbed me by the arm and immediately transported me, leaving her back in that crowded marketplace, dressed as an Orion slave-girl, without an owner. I can only image what fate befell her... Or in that moment, what fate befell me.
My capture was calculated. He already had the force-field in place before I realized my surroundings had changed. And with a quick order to the shuttle's other occupant, we were at warp. After a moment, the Andorian turned to face me. His thin upper-lip curled as he spoke the distasteful scenario, "You are Vulcan, fabricated as one of my kind, aren't you?"
Reluctance impeded my speech; neither of us said a word. It was obvious the tall, suited man had a purpose in mind, and until I received information as to my predicament, would I divulge any information of my own. After a long time of conversing with his comrade, he turned and approached my cell again. "You may refer to me as Agent Jones, Vulcan. I am with the Department of Temporal Investigations, and as of now, you work for me."
Perhaps it is not humanity's holiday-induced optimism I need; but rather, humanity's hope which I should strive to invoke.