Pike’s facial muscles twitch of their own volition. The maddening silence of the room becomes too much, and he has to break it. “Mr. Spock, failure to cooperate will result in severe repercussions.”

The manager sits straight-backed but unruffled, observing Pike with cool detachment. They might be meeting for coffee rather than squaring off in an interrogation. Chris has to admit the man has the best poker-face he has ever encountered.

“I am well-aware of my rights,” Chris is informed after some seconds by an equally unaffected voice, “—particularly when they are in violation. If you continue to berate me thus, now would be one of those times, Detective Pike.”

Oh, no. Chris isn’t about to lose control of this interview—not when they’re only a few minutes in and nothing has been said other than terse introductions. He smirks and sits on the edge of the desk. “So you’re smarter than the average criminal. Congratulations.”

Spock asks bluntly, not batting an eye, “Do you know who I am?”

“A guy with a pay-grade far below mine.” Those hawk-like eyes darken to a near-black. Chris awards himself a point for striking a nerve. “The answer is no, and I don’t care.”

“I see. Perhaps that is for the best.”

Pike is too smart to take the bait. “Mr. Spock,” he asks, allowing for a momentary pause, “how do you know my son?”

“We were introduced twenty-one days ago through a mutual acquaintance.”

Twenty-one days as opposed to three weeks? Interesting. This man either thinks highly of his intelligence, or he is just plain weird. “Tell me the story,” Chris says. It isn’t a request.

Spock relays in stark detail how, one day, Jim Kirk wandered onto the premises of Santa’s Village upon the heels of Montgomery Scott, the Village’s only mechanic on staff, and Spock had to inform Jim he was not allowed in the Employees Only area. Jim, according to the manager, began to show up in unexpected places since.

“I do not appreciate unscheduled and unnecessary visits to my office. Mr. Kirk seems inordinately fond of intruding upon my work hours.”

Which may very well be Jim’s misguided attempt to woo another friend, though obviously Spock does not see it that way.

As Spock talks, Chris’s eyes are drawn upwards to his pointed plastic ears. The man is in full costume as a Head Elf, or whatever it is his position allots him; on the breast of his green jacket is his Manager name tag. It is pinned perfectly straight two inches below the jacket lapel. The elf cap is, incongruously, missing.

After a second or two, Pike becomes aware that silence has descended again in the room. He clears his throat. “So you do not consider yourself to be a friend of Jim Kirk’s.”

“I stated previously that we are acquaintances.”

“What do you think of him?”

Spock moves, then, tilting his head forward slightly in concentration. He might have been trying to read Pike’s mind, if such a thing were possible. “Your question is not relevant, Detective.”

Pike arches one of his eyebrows. “I am the one conducting the investigation, Mr. Spock. I deem it relevant. Answer the question.”

“I have no motive to frame Mr. Kirk. Nor do I have—or have had—any inclination to aid him in a committing a crime.”

“Everybody’s innocent until proven guilty,” Pike says, showing a hint of teeth. “I’ll be the judge of your motives. Now answer my question.”

“Very well.”

Chris has the impression Spock would steeple his fingers if one of his hands was not handcuffed to the table.

“Your son,” Spock states, “is reminiscent of the common house fly—persistent, pervasive, and extremely annoying without provocation.”

“And what’s your remedy for an annoying fly, Mr. Spock?” Chris asks coldly. “Killing him?”

“I do not condone violence. Also, I believe you asked for my opinion.”

Why would Jim ever want to be friends with this guy? Chris sighs. Knowing his son, it would seem like a challenge and that is often motivation enough in Kirk’s world to want impossible things.

“Thank you for that information,” he replies formally, ready to let the subject of Jim drop. “What hours did you work today?”

Spock gives him the times, and they are specific down to the minute rather than guesswork. Chris would be impressed if he isn’t feeling so irritated by the man’s blasé attitude concerning Jim. Comparing the response with what is written in his notes, he makes a thoughtful noise. “It matches. At least you haven’t committed the age-old folly of changing your statement.”

Spock’s eyebrow rises. “Why would I, Detective? The statement I gave is the truth.”

“So you say.”

Both Spock’s eyebrows lower. “What is the point of this conversation, Mr. Pike?”

“What happened to Detective?”

“Your current behavior and your title do not correlate. Therefore, I will cease to address you with that formality until you act in a manner which befits your profession.”

Chris slides off the desk, stunned by Spock’s audacity—and feeling his anger grow. Only the muted sound of rapping from the other side of the mirror stalls Chris’s sharp-tongued reply. He walks to the door of the room and opens it to find Archer leaning out of the doorway of the adjacent room.

“Wow, this guy’s more of a jackass than I am. Want me to beat him up?”

Pike would love to agree. Really he would. “Sorry, not this time.”

“Not even a little?”

“He’d probably break your arm, Archer.”

“Are you kidding? The guy’s scrawny!”

“He’s taller than you are and younger by three decades.”

“I also wear a black belt in several martial arts,” a voice floats through the open door behind Pike.

And the bastard has super-hearing. Pike grimaces at Archer, silently indicating that the sheriff should resume his task of surveillance, and returns to Mr. Spock.

“Is it common for the police to threaten bodily harm to their prisoners?” The manager sounds more curious than angry.

I’m beginning to understand why it might happen more than it should. “Depends on the officer,” he replies. “No one is going to harm you to get an answer, Mr. Spock.”

Spock is silent for a short moment. “Does your statement remain true if I plead the fifth?”

Chris is certain his teeth are going to shatter. “I would have to respect your rights.”

“Fascinating.”

“There is nothing fascinating about why you are here!” Pike snaps, losing his patience. “Do you realize that the employees under your supervision are in jail?”

“I cannot help but be aware of that fact, Mr. Pike,” Spock responds with a hint of a dry tone. “I myself am ‘in jail’, as you so aptly put it.”

“And that’s fascinating to you?” Pike comes abreast of the table and stops there, staring at the manager. “You’re not upset—about the accusations against you or the others, the threat to your future, or the likelihood that, at best, you will lose your job?”

Once again Spock’s silence is maddening. Pike paces the floor, hands behind his back. How can he reach this man? How can he make him understand the risks of this entire, insane debacle? Chris comes to a sudden halt, thinking he has missed an obvious explanation, and turns on Spock.

“Who are you protecting?”

“Sir, your rationale is illogical,” Spock responds stiffly, and Pike nearly smiles.

“Who? The girl?”

Spock’s poker face is now an icy mask.

Pike circles the table like a vulture. “Or is it Sulu—the employee you can rely on to return every season? Maybe it’s both of them or… You know, Mr. Spock, it’s been said loyalty is a trait that distinguishes a warrior from a bandit. So I have to wonder: what you are fighting for here?”

“I am not fighting.”

“Not physically. But with words? Oh, yes. It doesn’t matter that you know something, only to whom that knowledge pertains. Let us review the facts. You indicated that to perform your managerial duties to your satisfaction your normal work hours run until late into the evening—about 10 or 11 pm. Tonight, however, you closed the office at precisely 7:04 pm to prepare for a small Christmas Eve party approved by the owner. The purpose of the party was a reward for your employees’ hard work this season.”

“Yes, tonight is the only exception.”

“Because of the party.”

“That is correct.”

“Tell me again who was there.”

“Mr. Chekov, Ms. Uhura, Mr. Scott, Mr. McCoy, and myself were present at the event for a majority of the time. Briefly, Mr. Sulu and Mr. Kirk also attended.”

“Did it not bother you that Mr. McCoy and Mr. Kirk, who are not employed by the Village, were there?”

“I believe they were guests of Mr. Scott. Mr. Scott is considered to be a ‘diamond in the rough’, to quote the owner. His choice of companions is not questioned.”

Pike smirks. “Because he stays on call 24/7 and works for a minimal fee.”

“I did not set the terms of his employment.”

“You didn’t fight on his behalf either, I assume.” Pike studies Spock. “Does that bother you?” Spock refuses to answer. Chris lets the question go. “Did Mr. Kirk and Mr. Sulu leave the party together?”

“Within ten minutes of one another.”

“Did that not strike you as odd? Is Kirk also a friend of Sulu’s?”

“Not to my knowledge.”

“I see.” Chris crosses his arms and plants his feet in a wide stance. “Where you do keep the key to your office, Mr. Spock?”

“There are three keys in existence. The owner has a full set of keys to the property. I retain one copy of the office key with my personal set, which I left in my jacket for the duration of the evening. I believe a deputy confiscated them upon my arrest.”

“And the third set?”

Spock’s answer is slower, this time. “Mr. Scott also receives a key to any main building on the grounds. As you noted, his job requires full access at any given time.”

“Hm. Then I suppose it isn’t too much of a leap to assume Kirk could have acquired the key from Mr. Scott. There weren’t signs of forced entry to the storage room.”

Spock’s mouth thins the slightest bit. “I suppose that would be a reasonable explanation—if one did not take into account Mr. Scott’s disposition.”

“Are you saying you trust him?”

“I am the individual who suggested to the owner that Mr. Scott be allowed a third set of keys to the property, given that Mr. Scott has proven to be sufficiently trustworthy.”

Spock is excellent at giving answers that aren’t quite the answers Pike wants. “What would you suggest then? That Kirk stole the keys?”

Surprisingly, the manager does not latch onto the idea. Given Spock’s perpetual state of annoyance with Jim, Pike expects him to readily throw Kirk to the wolves; to, in fact, insist that Jim is the sole perpetrator of the crime and the rest of them shouldn’t be held on such flimsy charges.

But Spock does not, gives no hint of doing so, which makes Pike circle back around to his initial impression: there is a reason this man, no matter how arrogant he seems, is not clamoring to be removed from custody, or for the release of his companions.

Pike has a sudden suspicion that Jim and his friends want to be here. That would beg the question of why… and Chris can only make an assumption in that regard which chills him.

He tucks away the thought. Now that the manager is talking, Chris doesn’t want to lose the opportunity to learn what he can. “Mr. Spock, you are a conundrum.”

“As are you, sir.”

What kind of game is Spock playing, or thinks he is playing? “Answer one final question.”

“I will then be returned to my cell.”

It isn’t a question or a demand. More like hope? How extremely odd. “Yes.”

“Very well. I will answer to the best of my ability and knowledge. What is your question?”

Chris doesn’t ask if or why or any nuance that Spock might turn to his advantage. The man will know the answer and give it honestly (according to his decree that he has nothing to hide), or he will not know it. Either way, Spock’s answer will answer another question for Pike. And the manager will be smart enough to realize that, too.

“What did Kirk and Sulu take from your office?”

Silence ensues. Once a full minute has passed, the silence has grown heavy to the point that Christopher thinks Spock is going to plead the fifth after all. Then the man moves, placing his unfettered hand on his kneecap. He suddenly looks too grim to be an elf.

“That is a most unfortunate question, Detective Pike.”

“You promised to answer it.”

“I did, and I shall. What Jim Kirk and Hikaru Sulu took from my office was my coat.”

Pike starts toward Spock but catches himself. He puts his hands in his pants pockets. “The coat with the keys. I thought you had that at the party.”

“I said I put the keys in my coat. I did not indicate where I left the coat.”

“Yet you had both with you when you entered the station. So Jim took the jacket, used the keys, and at some point returned them to you. That… is unfortunate, indeed. For all of you.”

Chris turns to the mirror and nods. “We may talk again, Mr. Spock.”

“It is my hope that we do not.”

Chris says nothing to that. Shortly Archer and a deputy arrive. The deputy quietly escorts Mr. Spock from the room. Archer claps a hand on Pike’s shoulder. “Good work!” he tells Chris.

But Chris does not want the praise. A conspiracy however small has been confirmed, and Jim is, unsurprisingly, at the head of it all.

Archer is rubbing his hands together with delight. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“The party was a ruse for the heist.”

“Those little fools believe they’re so smart. The problem with using a get-together as a solid alibi is that someone almost always screws it up. The inconsistencies in the statements were glaring. A monkey could point them out.”

“Jon,” Chris says carefully, leaning against the table, “have you considered that the inconsistencies might be on purpose?”

Jonathan looks at him, a serious expression taking the place of his gloating. “‘Course I did, but we don’t want to go down that road unless we absolutely have to.”

Pike nods curtly. “Agreed.”

“So who’s next?”

“I think you know.”

Archer smiles.

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