Slave World
ENTERPRISE
The silence in the briefing room was almost tangible.
The landing party stood in shock, trying to come to terms with the events that had occurred on the planet below. All awaited the arrival of the first officer with trepidation and shame. They had abandoned their captain to slavery, perhaps death, and the knowledge that he had ordered them to beam aboard did not assuage their guilt.
The doors hissed open, startling them. Mr. Spock strode in, his demeanour cold and military; a Vulcan officer with no concessions to humanity.
Mr. Scott, Lt. Commander Chambers, Lt. Sulu, Yeoman Tamura and the security men, Galloway and Josephs stood to attention in front of their superior officer. Scott fixed his gaze upon the blue-clad shoulder, unable to look the Vulcan in the eye. He attempted to control his trembling but it was impossible. He was human not Vulcan.
"Sir, Captain Kirk has been captured." The voice that emerged from his parched throat sounded as if it belonged to a stranger.
"You have already informed me of that, Mr. Scott," Spock said icily. "Explain the circumstances of his capture."
The engineer wiped his sweat-covered forehead. "Sir, Yeoman Tamura recorded it all; perhaps... "
"Very well. Be seated," Spock snapped.
Tamura was openly shaking as she placed the tape in the computer. "Ready, sir," she said.
Their gentle, courteous first officer had never looked so alien. As he ordered Tamura to proceed, all the humans noted that his tone was harsher than they had ever heard it before. Bitter shame and regret welled up within them. They had failed to protect their captain and now faced the unrelenting condemnation of his closest friend. They exchanged unhappy glances before the screen came to life, then watched the unfolding events with horrified fascination.
Kathal V teemed with life. It was a lush, beautiful place, thick with tropical vegetation, populated by exotic animals, birds and brightly coloured insects. The landing party knew there was intelligent life there, but the Prime Directive was in full force and they had been ordered only to observe and catalogue. One day perhaps, the people would be contacted with a view to joining the Federation. Lt. Commander Chamber's job, as the Enterprise's Senior Xeno-sociologist, was to determine the civilisation rating of planetary cultures and report his findings. Only then could the Diplomatic Service decide on the eligibility of this world for membership.
They stood breathing in the scent of the plants and the clear, unpolluted air. Spock noted how much his captain was enjoying the touch of the slight breeze which ruffled his hair, the fresh smell of the living, growing plants around him. Although Kirk loved shipboard life, he had once confided how much he missed the open spaces of his boyhood home in Iowa. It was this need which drove him to go on as many landing parties as possible. Spock understood. He too occasionally wished to experience the pure air and arid beauty of his desert world.
Sulu - ever the keen botanist - was in his element as he found one new species after another, taking samples and beaming them aboard. The security men stood watch but seemed lulled by the tranquillity of their surroundings; something Spock noted with disapproval.
The sound of a piercing scream brought everyone out of their relaxed observations and Kirk ordered Tamura, Chambers and Josephs to accompany him to its source. They stopped short and concealed themselves behind dense foliage as Tamura's tricorder indicated that the being who had uttered that chilling shriek was directly ahead.
The sight that met their eyes was horrifying. Spock controlled his reaction as he watched the recording but almost groaned aloud in shock at the sight of a large vulcanoid male viciously hitting a young, female humanoid with unchecked cruelty and force. Other vulcanoids looked on with laughter and derision. They were wearing colourful, silken tunics, and jewellery adorned their bodies; they brandished whips and chains, whilst at their feet were downtrodden and terrified humanoid beings whose eyes were firmly focussed on the ground, hands and feet securely shackled. Slaves.
Spock forced himself to listen to the language being spoken. To his deep distress he found it understandable - a variant of Vulcan standard speech - but some of the words were archaic from the pre-reform era and unused in modern times. The only logical conclusion he could reach was that these barbaric people were descendants of those dissidents who had left Vulcan, thousands of years ago. The main fleet had subsequently formed the Romulan Empire, however some ships could have strayed into this uncharted region, perhaps crash-landing on Kathal. The survivors would have been forced to make their home on the planet, yet how could they have degenerated into a savagery which included slavery and oppression? Such behaviour was unheard of even in the most distant memories of Vulcan's emotional and turbulent history. Unknown even amongst the warrior Romulan Empire which had retained the philosophy of individual dignity so important to its parental culture.
His face remained impassive as he viewed the vicious treatment meted out to the young slave, although he was keenly aware that none of those who had been on the landing party could bear to watch it again. He called on Vulcan training but it was almost impossible to remain emotionally detached from the girl's horrific cries.
Kirk's whispered swearing was clear to Vulcan hearing. Spock well knew of his captain's hatred of oppression. Kirk had always championed the underdog. He detested injustice and always tried to mediate on a victim's behalf but now, restrained by the Prime Directive and possibly the number of vulcanoid slavers, he could only fume quietly, helpless to intervene.
One of the male slaves crawled over to the attacker. Spock had now determined that this 'master' was the leader, a local chieftain whom the others addressed in a title equivalent to the Terran 'lord'. The slave, who was bedraggled, scarred and bruised, bowed his head to the ground, pleading for the girl's life. His voice shook with fear but the lord only laughed, kicked the kneeling man in the face and returned his attentions to the girl. The slave cried out and rolled away to sob quietly upon the lush grass.
Kirk ordered the other two men to remain while he and Tamura moved forward to gain a clearer view for her recording. Caught up with the terrible events before them none were aware, until too late, of the group sneaking up on the captain and yeoman. Spock saw Kirk come to the realisation that his small party was outnumbered and unable to match vulcanoid strength. With the impulsive bravery so typical of him he deliberately pushed the young woman towards her shipmates, threw himself forward to block the aliens' progress and yelled at his people to get out of sight and beam aboard the ship. Tamura protested but Kirk, desperately fighting now with all of his considerable skills, repeated his order, adding that they must get the recording to Spock and to Starfleet.
Chambers, Tamura and Josephs retreated whilst Kirk was still able to hold off the attackers. On reaching the others, they reported to Scott who reluctantly ordered the landing party transported aboard the Enterprise minus their captain.
There was a long moment of silence as Spock stared at the empty screen. How was he to find his captain on this heavily populated world? The ship's sensors would never be able to distinguish Kirk's readings from the mass of other humanoids, and it would be impossible to track him by communicator for Spock's sharp eyes had noticed it falling from the captain's belt during the initial struggle.
Spock faced the others. "Have you anything further to report?"
Scott forced himself to meet the first officer's stare. "I wanted to order Security to use their phasers. I wanted to go back for the captain but he wouldna break the Prime Directive, not even to save himself." He sniffed and stared down at the table, trying to control his anxiety. "He was more concerned about us. He gave us the chance to escape."
"Do not question the captain's actions, Mr. Scott," Spock reprimanded, in a toneless voice. "He is a unique being who does what he perceives as his duty."
"Who are these people?" Sulu asked. "They're so vicious, they look Vulcan but... " he trailed off, flinching under Spock's piercing gaze. There was only one being in the galaxy who could withstand the power of those eyes; the man now stranded on the planet below.
"They are of Vulcan ancestry. I understand their language. Obviously they have not evolved in the manner of my people but have descended into barbarism. If they possess Vulcan strength - and that appears likely - then they have the power to oppress those who are weaker. I will beam down to the planet. Perhaps I will be able to rescue Captain Kirk."
Scott's voice reflected his horror at the idea. "Ye canna go down there, Mr. Spock. It's too dangerous!"
"You forget I am a Vulcan," Spock replied, coolly. He clasped his hands together upon the table, only the tautness of the skin over his knuckles betraying his apprehension. "It will be possible to masquerade as one of them. You will have noted that the slaver leader bears some resemblance to me. The ship's fabricators will supply me with clothing based on the style he wore. If I require anything else, you will transport it or I shall purchase it."
McCoy, who had entered the room as the tape was being viewed, spoke now for the first time. "Are you crazy? What if you can't get away with it? What if they discover you're not one of them? Hell, Spock, you're not exactly the greatest actor in the galaxy!"
Spock looked over at him. "I will take the risk. No human can go. I am the only Vulcan on the Enterprise and therefore the logical choice."
Lt. Commander Chambers spoke for the first time. "I agree with Mr. Spock. If these people are of Vulcan ancestry, then only he has a chance of successfully fitting in to their society. Any human going would be immediately enslaved and useless to the captain."
"But where will he find him?" McCoy argued. "They could take him anywhere, they could have killed him." His bright, blue eyes were shining.
Spock became very still. He reached into himself, trying to find reassurance of his friend's existence, and breathed a sharp sigh of relief as he caught a faint tendril of Jim's familiar essence. He fought to restrain his emotion.
"He is alive. I would know if he were dead. I would feel it," he said calmly.
McCoy was silent. He had watched Spock withdraw, becoming as remote and alien as he had ever seen him. He tried to digest the Vulcan's words. Although always aware of the closeness of the relationship between Jim and Spock, he had not realised the true depth of the link which had formed. Its telepathic dimensions had truly made it more than human friendship. It was a bond far beyond his capability to understand, despite his own friendship with both men, and something in which he could never be included.
Spock's features softened a little. "I shall find him. I will not leave that world until I do."
It was a solemn vow and all present knew Spock would never rest until he had fulfilled the commitment to his captain and friend.
"If anyone can find him, you can, Mr. Spock," Scott said. "But there's so much we don't know about the society down there. What'll ye use for currency?"
"Mr. Scott, our sensors indicate that the planet is poor in mineral resources. You will have noted that the slaver leader displayed more jewellery on his person than the others did. On such a world, it is logical to assume that precious stones and metal symbolise wealth and status. We can manufacture any amount of diamonds, rubies, gold or silver. Please arrange it immediately."
Scott nodded. "Aye, sir."
The first officer stood. "Very well. Mr. Chambers, you will compile a full report on Kathal V. Mr. Sulu, continue sensor scans on the area where the captain was left. Keep track of those life-forms in the immediate vicinity. Yeoman Tamura, you will arrange my clothing at once. Dr. McCoy, I will require a medi-kit. I will now prepare myself. Please report to my quarters when you have all my requirements. I need not remind you that time is of the essence."
***
McCoy entered the Vulcan's cabin. The sight that met his eyes caused him to start with surprise, then stare with admiration and a certain slight amusement. Spock wore a mid-thigh length, sleeveless tunic made of a silky, blue material that shimmered as it caught the light. His upper arms were circled by gold bands; rings glinted on his fingers; jewelled chains hung around his neck and gold-coloured sandals, with leg straps to beneath the knee, clad his bare feet and legs. A dagger - its hilt encrusted with gems - sat in a richly embroidered scabbard on his belt.
McCoy wondered if the young Tamura had known precisely what she had been doing when programming the fabricators for this outfit. He suspected that she had. Spock looked exotically male, perhaps the fantasy figure of many female dreams.
The Vulcan seemed oblivious to the impression he made. "Have you brought the medi-kit, Doctor?" he asked as he placed a mini-tricorder into a black, simu-leather carry-bag.
"Oh, um, yes," McCoy mumbled, holding it out.
Spock accepted the kit, fitted it alongside the tiny tricorder then hoisted the carry-all over his shoulder. He placed a phaser and communicator in concealed pockets on the inside of his tunic and straightened. His face was grim, his very body language showing an inflexible determination which would not be swayed.
"Spock, you look like some Vulcan warrior-prince!" McCoy finally said.
Spock raised an eyebrow. "Exactly, Doctor. I intend to play the part of a foreign lord on a visit to their country, perhaps to buy slaves." He lifted a small pouch from the desk. "In here is a fortune in precious stones. If necessary I will buy Jim but he shall be returned safely to his ship."
"But you can't be vicious like those people, Spock. It's not in your nature," McCoy protested. "How will you manage to convince them that you're one of them?"
Spock sighed. "It will be most difficult."
"Take me with you, Spock. If Jim is injured, he'll need my skills."
"No. It is too dangerous for you - a human."
"I could pose as your slave," McCoy argued, not exactly liking the idea but willing to do it for his friends.
"I will go alone," Spock insisted. "I will not expose you to such danger." McCoy's eyes lit up with a touch of happiness and the Vulcan quickly added, "You will slow me down. My responsibility is to my captain. I must find him and bring him home as quickly as possible."
McCoy sighed with defeat and a certain peevishness but he dismissed it knowing that Spock, although under severe pressure, was only trying to spare him humiliation and pain, even if it did mean antagonising him. Being honest with himself, the doctor knew that his presence would only be a liability for the Vulcan. In this case Spock was correct. Only a Vulcan would be relatively safe on the planet below.
He followed Spock to the transporter room. The eyes of the crew, as they saw their first officer, were full of amazement, and in many cases were alert with an almost overwhelming physical attraction. Christine Chapel grasped the wall for support as Spock passed her. McCoy knew she had carried a torch for the Vulcan for years but seeing him dressed in a barbaric and colourful manner, that highlighted his alien masculinity in the manner the regulation uniform could not, had overpowered her. A deep flush stained her skin and if the circumstances had not been so serious, McCoy would have teased the nurse. Unfortunately there was no time for Christine's fantasies whilst Kirk was in danger, but maybe later they would look back on this with amusement. McCoy fervently hoped that would be the case.
Scott was waiting in the transporter room, and his eyes widened as he saw the first officer. "Ye make a fine sight, Mr. Spock. Very impressive."
Spock did not respond to the compliment. "We cannot take the risk of our communications being discovered. Do not attempt to contact me. I will maintain hourly check-ins with you if possible, Mr. Scott. I remind you of the Prime Directive. If you do not hear from me for a period of two solar days, you will report to Starfleet Command requesting that a Vulcan team be assigned to search for us. You will not mount a rescue mission. No human will beam down to this planet. Condition Green, Mr. Scott."
"But Spock, we can't just leave you," McCoy protested.
The Vulcan faced him and there was an almost pleading expression in the dark eyes. "We do not know the situation on Kathal V. I may be exposed as an impostor. There are many unknowns. Logic dictates that these precautions be taken."
McCoy studied the too-expressionless Vulcan countenance. "You're sure Jim is still alive?"
There was no hesitation in Spock's reply. "He is alive."
"Then there's hope," Scotty said, with renewed optimism.
"Hope? Perhaps," the first officer replied. His eyes stared into the distance. "He is a proud man, free, independent, and confident - a starship commander. How could he endure slavery? He will be beaten, perhaps killed for his defiance."
McCoy knew the truth of that analysis. Jim Kirk would be no-one's slave. He would die first rather than take the humiliation of being forcibly subjugated. These slave-owning vulcanoids would kill him if he resisted them.
The first officer stepped onto the dais. "Scan the area for life-readings."
Scott bit at his lower lip, nervous now that they had arrived at this moment. He did not know how to tell his commanding officer about the problems they had been experiencing. He braced himself. "Sir, we've been monitoring the planet but we're having a wee bit of trouble with the sensors."
"Explain," Spock demanded, his unnerving gaze intent on the engineer.
"I'm not exactly sure, Mr. Spock, but the sensor readings are inconclusive. There is a lot of solar activity and ye know how that can sometimes play havoc with our instrumentation." He coughed nervously. "We canna tell if anyone is down there now or not."
Spock was silent but his eyes grew darker as he listened to those words. "Then there is no time to waste. I will transport down to the co-ordinates of the wooded area twenty metres from the last position of the landing party. If the captain has been moved, it is logical to assume that they have taken him to the nearest town. If that is so, I will contact you, Mr. Scott, and you will beam me there. If not I will follow their trail. They cannot have travelled far. It has only been one hour, twenty nine point two minutes since his capture."
Scott prepared the transporter himself. "Aye, sir."
McCoy stared at the Vulcan so splendidly garbed in his finery. He would never again make the mistake he once had when Spock had gone into danger. "Good luck, Spock," he said softly.
Spock's calm gaze met his. "I will search for my captain and bring him home."
There was utter conviction in his tone, but for a moment a flicker of something akin to fear passed across the usually impassive features. McCoy felt a tight constriction in his throat. Once more Spock was going into the unknown for Kirk, risking his life for the man who was his captain and bond-brother.
The doctor raised his hand in an attempt at the Vulcan salute. "I know you will, Spock."
The alien eyes appeared to soften as Spock returned the gesture. McCoy smiled slightly then watched as his friend disappeared into the sparkling effect of the transporter field. He bent his head, as worry and fear for the command team overcame him.
A hand clasped his shoulder. "If anyone can find Jim, it'll be Spock," Scotty assured him. "He willna let the Captain down, Leonard. He'll do everything necessary to bring him safely aboard."
McCoy nodded. "I know, Scotty. But how will Jim survive until Spock finds him? I know he's a good actor, but can he allow himself to be treated as a slave by those... those...? " He trailed off in horror as he remembered the sight of the young girl being beaten so severely. Jim was strong for a human, but even he could not win against so much vulcanoid muscle.
"I dinna ken," Scott murmured pressing the doctor's shoulder. "Come on, Leonard, let's have a wee dram. It'll make you feel better."
McCoy sighed. "I doubt it but I'm willing to try, Scotty," he said.
Scott nodded and led the way from the Transporter Room.
KIRK
The acute pain lancing through his body was Kirk's first sensation on regaining consciousness. He was hauled to his feet, dragged along to the clearing and thrown onto the ground.
The harsh tones of the girl's tormentor assaulted his ears. Forcing his aching body to his feet, Kirk attempted to look the man in the face but wiry hands grabbed his arms, brutally thrust them behind his back and forced him down onto his knees. Gritting his teeth against the pain, he struggled with all of his strength to break free but too many vulcanoids held him down and he was helpless in their superior, alien power.
The leader grabbed Kirk's hair, yanked his head back and muttered in his own language. The being had slight similarities to Spock, notably in skin tone and the dark eyes, but there all likeness ended. The hair was long, coarse and lighter in shade; tied back with a leather thong. The build was heavier, the face bloated and full of emotion, an evil leer across the features projecting a sadism that struck a chord of fear into Kirk's heart.
He tried to concentrate on the words being spoken to him. Spock had been teaching him the Vulcan language and there were some similarities between the two. He tried to recall the correct form of greeting to a stranger, but his head still reeled from the blows he had received and the words escaped him.
He was slapped hard across the face. Vulcan strength could break his jaw and this slaver had no reason to temper its force; Kirk remembered those few times he had been the recipient of Spock's 'out of control' rage only too well. He shuddered knowing that the utmost caution was needed here, and tried to gather his muddled wits together.
The vulcanoid spoke again but it was impossible to understand any of it. He shook his head in an attempt to make the other realise that. His face was stinging from the slap he had received but it was necessary to ignore any discomfort. How was he to communicate with vulcanoid slavers who terrorised weaker beings and seemed to enjoy doing it? He stilled his trembling; Spock would be here soon. He took comfort in knowing that his friend would not fail him, but any attempt at rescue would take a little time.
Spock would assess the situation, come to the only logical conclusion and beam down posing as a native. He would not jeopardise the Prime Directive in force here by appearing in a Starfleet uniform, for then he too, despite his vulcanoid heritage, would be captured. It would be the height of irresponsibility and Kirk knew his first officer would never act in such a manner. Spock might have toyed with the idea of throwing the Prime Directive aside to come down with heavily armed security men and shoot his Captain out, but would have dismissed it knowing that Kirk would never sanction such a plan. No, the Vulcan would take the correct and logical action.
Kirk wondered who these people were. Recalling Vulcan history he speculated if they could possibly be descendants of those who had opposed Surak's reformation; those warrior clans who had eventually founded the Romulan Empire. It seemed entirely possible that one or more ship had landed on Kathal V, but found it difficult to believe that any Vulcan could revert to such savagery.
Relief swept through him as the correct greeting sprang into his mind. After a moment's hesitation to consider the inflection he said, "I am a stranger in your land and greet you in peace."
Gales of laughter poured from his captors. "You greet me!" the leader exclaimed.
Kirk only understood those three words amongst those that were spoken but the intent was obvious. He tried to break away from the bruising grips on his arms but his futile struggles only served to increase the pressure. He gasped with pain. Never before had he been so totally helpless and he could not see any way, at present, of releasing himself. He fought down bitter fear. He would have to wait for an opportunity - if one arose - but against these slave-traders it seemed a hopeless prospect.
He soon dismissed that negative thought. There was always hope, and he held onto the knowledge that Spock would be here soon. His friend would save him from this nightmare and somehow they would bluff their way out of this situation as they had so many others.
The leader uttered a sharp order. Before Kirk was able to attempt a defence, he was pushed onto the ground and held down by two guards whilst a third clasped shackles to his wrists and snapped a collar around his neck. As the metal tightened against his skin, Kirk's fury at such degradation erupted into action. He brought his knee up hard into the groin of the nearest guard, catching him unawares. The man yelped in pain, doubled up and rolled away.
Kirk's victory was short lived. The leader dived at him, pinioning his legs tightly, and despite his violent struggles, Kirk could not break the vulcanoid strength holding him. The momentary satisfaction at overcoming the alien was swept away, and with apprehensive resignation he waited for whatever punishment was going to be inflicted.
Sweat broke out on him as his legs were tied with a strip of leather, and he was lifted over the shoulder of a burly guard as if he weighed little more than a child. The leader pulled at his hair, forced his head back and spoke. The malicious gaze and venomous tone sent chills through him, and although Kirk had only caught the gist of the words, he had understood enough. They were going to sell him as a slave. Unbroken and spirited as he was, they would ask a very high price for him.
He closed his eyes for a moment in an attempt to hide his terror. Where was Spock? How long before his friend would arrive? Could Spock, that gentlest, most civilised of beings, with a hatred of violence and respect for all life-forms, possibly bluff his way through such a cruel, barbaric world? Kirk tried to hold onto his dignity as a Starfleet officer, as a man, as he was carried over to a wooden cart and carelessly thrown in. A few moments later the vehicle began to move, and he lay there winded and hurting as the bumps of the road jarred through his aching limbs.
A small hand touched his face. He glanced up to see a ragged little girl staring down at him. He smiled a little at her but a woman pulled the child aside, held her protectively and turned away. Kirk sighed and looked around at the others who shared the small area, noting that all were women and children. He struggled to a sitting position, leaned against the sacks which lined the primitive cart and tried to gain his bearings.
The slaves were herded along, running in fear of the whips wielded without mercy by the masters. Kirk watching in anguish as the stumbling slaves, screaming in pain and terror, were forced to increase their speed to keep pace with the trotting of the horse-like beasts of their oppressors. His eyes misted with pity for their plight. The vulcanoids appeared to take delight in tormenting the slaves, viciously using the whips even when the slaves cowered and begged for mercy.
Never in his long Starfleet career, had Kirk seen such a horrific sight. There were some cultures who oppressed others, but such total disregard for the rights of another; and such vicious cruelty was totally new to his experience. He forced his attention away from the nightmarish scenes and stared into the receding distance to the place where he and his landing party had hidden. He kept his gaze upon it until it disappeared from sight, a lump forming in his throat as he was taken further and further away. He twisted futilely in his bonds.
Spock, Spock, t'hy'la, he called, silently.
SERRAN
The scents of the plants and flowers were intoxicating.
As he scanned with the mini-tricorder, Spock forced himself to ignore it. He fought down bitter disappointment at the negative readings, dutifully searched for Kirk's communicator and found it hidden inside the curling leaves of a large, spreading plant. Kneeling down upon the sponge-like vegetation, he concealed the communicator in his tunic then studied the grass for signs of a struggle. He made his way to the clearing, found the evidence of many people having been there but there were no clear indications anywhere of his captain's presence
The ship's technology had failed him, the tricorder's range was limited and there was only one course of action available to him now - the Vulcan way. He closed his eyes, reaching out with telepathic senses to concentrate on Kirk's life-essence. Unprepared for the many thoughts that bombarded his receptive mind, they overcame him with the intensity of their all-consuming terror. He cried out with the agony of their collective anguish, swayed precariously and fell to the ground. Struggling to shut them out, he drew on Vulcan discipline to save himself from psionic burnout. For a brief second before oblivion claimed him, he caught a reassuring touch of Jim's familiar mind but as he sank into blackness the sense of pain and horror from his human bond-brother wrapped itself around his psyche. Jim desperately needed his help. He struggled to reach consciousness but his assaulted mind could not respond.
Darkness engulfed him.
Five hours later he awoke, sat up groggily, supported his head between shaky hands and attempted to regain his normal alertness. Life-long disciplines began to take effect then as realisation of the length of time he had been unconscious pounded at his brain. Panic swept him. He covered the short distance to the road in less than a minute and looked down its expanse for the group that had camped here. He knew it was illogical, too much time had passed, but nevertheless he employed Vulcan far-vision in the hope that he could detect something. The road was deserted. At the edge of his range he could dimly perceive the shapes of buildings. The slavers must have gone to that settlement for he could see the evidence of their passing on the road surface. He would follow them there; perhaps it was not too late to rescue his captain.
He called the ship. "Spock to Enterprise."
There was a long delay before he heard the Engineer's voice. With a sinking feeling, Spock knew from the signal that preceded Scott, he was receiving a pre-recorded message from a buoy left in orbit by the Enterprise, its frequency tied into his communicator and activated by the sound of his voice.
Scott's tone was filled with worry and agitation. "Mr. Spock, I have received a priority one distress call. An unknown force is attacking the colony at Paradion and we have to warp out immediately. I've told Starfleet about the situation here, but they say we must leave you. There is no other ship closer to the colony. Mr. Spock, I dinna want to leave you and Captain Kirk in such danger; we're worried sick about ye. Could ye not keep your hourly check-ins?"
There was a moments hesitation and when the voice continued it was calmer. "I'm sorry, sir, forgive me for being so emotional but it's the way I am. We will return as soon as possible but I reckon it'll be several weeks, perhaps a month. Paradion is a verra long way even at maximum warp. When we return we'll await your signal each hour for two days as per your order. Good luck, sir. Scott out."
Spock sighed deeply and was about to close the communicator when another voice said, "Spock, for god's sake, take care of yourself. Don't let Jim die down there; you both must survive until we get back. Damn you, Spock, you green-blooded computer. Good luck."
A slight smile played at the edges of the Vulcan's mouth. He put the communicator away, brought his errant emotions under control and calmly assessed his situation. The village was approximately two kilometres away; it would not take long to traverse that distance. He would have preferred the speed of transporter travel to the outskirts but pushed that useless wish aside. The ship was not available to assist him in any way. He was on his own.
He began to walk.
The sounds of weeping reached his sensitive ears. He quickened his pace and within a minute came across a ragged bundle lying on the road. Kneeling down he turned it over to reveal the body of a young girl, badly injured and bleeding, whimpering with pain and fear. She recoiled from his touch and bent her head down, trying to cover her face.
"Master, master, forgive me," she pleaded.
He could not mask his pity for her plight. "Child," he murmured gently. "I will not hurt you. Allow me to help you."
She stared up at him, surprise in her enormous blue eyes. Something about his appearance seemed to reassure her, despite her fear of the vulcanoid masters. An expression of wonder crossed her bruised, thin face and she permitted him to hold her in his arms. His touch began to ease some of her pain and she found herself relaxing into a soothing warmth, a peace and freedom from stress she had never experienced before. Instinctively she understood the goodness of the being whose strength surrounded her.
"Master, you are not like the others," she whispered.
Spock checked her life readings with the med.-scanner. The instrument only confirmed his own telepathic impressions; the child had very little time left. He stroked her sweated forehead, studied her closely and recognised the girl who had been so severely beaten by the one whom the others had called 'lord'. She had been left here to die, too weak now to be of any use to them. Fury at such utter callousness threatened his calm but he subdued it. Such a negative emotion would not be of any assistance to him. He exerted more pain control, allowing the girl to relax further. There was little he could do for her but at least he could give her this.
"Child, what is your name?" he asked softly.
She concentrated on his gentle tone, looked into his kindly, dark eyes and absorbed his compassion and concern for her. "Serran," she replied, with a slight smile.
Spock stroked the damp hair away from her forehead. "Serran. How very lovely. You are very brave, Serran; a true child of virtue and beauty. I must ask for your help."
"I will help you, master." She would do anything for this stranger who showed such kindness to a slave.
"My friend was captured by the slavers. He looks not unlike your people but his attire is different from any other. Perhaps you have seen him. He wore a gold shirt, black trousers and boots. His hair is... "
" Yes," Serran interrupted, eagerly. She had seen the brave man who had defied the masters. The sense of pride as he had fought the guards still remained in her exhausted mind. "They beat and bound him for he did not submit."
"Where is he now?" the stranger questioned.
"They take him to the slave market at Firanol. They expect a high price for one who is unbroken."
Spock attempted to remain calm. "Where is Firanol?"
"Master, he is your friend?" the girl whispered brokenly, her eyes filling with tears. "A slave is your friend?"
Vulcan eyes stung as the child's wonder penetrated Spock's weakened defences. "He is not a slave, Serran. In my... country there are no slaves. All are equal."
Tears streamed down the girl's bruised and bloodied face. "All are equal? None are slaves?"
"None are slaves, Serran. We abhor such practises."
A smile crept across the girl's features lighting up her face with the promise of a beauty which would never reach maturity. Spock felt her life ebbing away. He tried to comfort her, holding her tightly to him, crooning a childhood lullaby drawn from the earliest memories of his life in an attempt to ease her dying moments. She burrowed into the warmth of his chest seeking out the healing comfort of his body, useless for the depth of her injuries but sufficient to ease her final agony and suffering, enabling her to die with dignity and in the company of one who cared.
"Serran, peace to you, child," he murmured.
Slowly the girl grew still. Spock knelt for several minutes, clutching her dead body, a fury growing inside him that nothing would assuage. Finally he lifted the light frame, carried her over to the nearby woods and laid her down amongst the tall trees. He picked some brightly coloured flowers, placed them in her tiny hands then tenderly stroked the tangled hair.
"T'Serran, daughter of courage, may you rest in peace. I will take the injustice your people have suffered to the Vulcan and Federation Councils." It was fitting that he pronounced her name in the Vulcan fashion, for she truly had earned its meaning by her bravery.
He covered her small body with large fronds taken from a palm-like plant, looked at the small mound one last time, then turned back towards the roadway. He did not permit himself to think again of the lovely young girl who had been so cruelly treated, but the vow he had made to her would be kept - if he lived.
***
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