New Minglewood Blues
(sequel to Deep Elem Blues)
TOS A/U, K/S, h/c
PG-13 for Violence and Other Unpleasantness

PART 2

-----///-----

It was early on in Dirhja's day cycle. Spock sat alone in the tiny galley, a cup of tea growing cold in front of him, untasted. Over and over the same question ran through his mind: how were they going to get Sek'hel home safely? Dirhja had no Federation ID or registry. As soon as they uncloaked insystem, Vulcan Planetary Defense would have them surrounded. And then would come the questions -- awkward ones, for which they could have no good answer, except to reveal what neither of them wished to reveal.

The blind human telepath, Miranda Jones, had said it once, shortly before her successful bonding with the Medusan ambassador, Kallos. "Pity, gentlemen. Pity is the worst of all." No. Far better to remain just another anonymous Free Trader, lost among the hordes of similar ships.

Of the thirty they had rescued, Sek'hel and the three who called themselves "the brothers-in-fur" were now the only ones left -- and they were dropping the three furries off later today. The Rom Garou had left yesterday, taking the still unconscious Andorian with them. Yojo had told Jim that where they were going there was a doctor who might be able to help him. Then they had boarded a ship of their kin that had come to meet them. They'd told Jim as they did so that he and Spock had kin-right among them, if ever there was need. It was a good thing to know, but it was of no use to them at the moment -- the Rom could no more go to Vulcan than Dirhja could.

Spock had run through phrases of a dozen languages, all he could remember, before finding out that the furries spoke the Rigellian tongue. A universal translator was just one of the things they hadn't been able to buy yet. After that, with a little help from Dirhja's computer, Jim had been able to communicate with them and had found where they wanted to go, a small barren planet named Jackson's Hole, in a non-aligned system. It was a place where many met to do business away from prying Federation eyes and ears. They were due to make planetfall in about three hours, when they would see the furries safely on their way.

That left only the boy, which was the problem. There was no way they could just put him on a transport for home, not out here in the Fringes. And any Federation world where it might be safe to leave him posed the same problems for them as Vulcan.

Quiet footsteps brought him out of his reverie. Spock turned to see Sek'hel was standing at the galley's entrance.

"Selek?" he said, eyes properly downcast. "May I enter?"

Spock nodded and gestured toward the replicator. "Come... help yourself." The boy spoke Vulcan, and Spock answered as best he could. It felt odd; he had not had cause to use that tongue for many years. He was not entirely sure he remembered it correctly.

It was strange, having this one around. To look at him was like looking at himself, back through all the years to a time before he had ever left home, before he had even applied to StarFleet Academy. It was disturbing -- and he dared not let any of that show. This boy was as quick and bright as he himself had been at that age, and it would not be fair to burden him with knowledge of who they really were, then ask that he keep it secret.

Sek'hel busied himself with the replicator for a time, then turned, holding a cup of tea and a plate of dry biscuits, a kind Spock remembered well from his own childhood.

This smaller replicator had been one of the fruits of their previous smuggling run; the raw materials to keep it stocked were expensive. Likewise the datafiles for the foods they wished to eat -- but it was well worth while. Spock had been surprised by how much he enjoyed eating once-familiar foods. In the small hours of the night, when sleep deserted him yet again, he often sat here with just such a cup and plate, thinking, letting the tension slowly drain away.

He looked up again, noticed the boy was just standing there, and gestured to the empty chair across from him. "Sit... Be ...welcome." It was always difficult for him to find words, to get them out in recognizable form. He hadn't fully realized before this quite how much he depended on the mindtouch to communicate. As the boy settled himself and began to break his fast, Spock sat back and considered the irony of it all. Despite the clarity and precision of his native tongue, only with Jim, who was human, could he communicate freely -- he, who had once used words as easily as a bird used the air.

There was silence for a time, as both of them ate and drank. As Vulcans, they didn't feel the need to be always talking, unlike most humans. They were comfortable simply being, without the running commentary. Jim was one of very few humans Spock had ever met who shared that quality. His mother, the Lady Amanda, was another, though whether she and his father yet lived, he did not know. Out here, away from the Federation comm-net, there was no discreet way for him to find out.

In any case, he did not want them to see him as he was now. Years ago they must have grieved, when he and Jim were first reported dead. Better to leave it so.

Lost in his thoughts, he had no idea of the grief that showed on his face. He did not see the boy's eyes widen, nor did he notice as Sek'hel carefully made his face once more Vulcan-smooth, Vulcan-blank. Eventually, the boy politely cleared his throat.

Spock blinked and focused his eyes once more on the youth who sat across from him. "Your... pardon." he murmured.

"It is nothing," came the reply in that light clear voice, so like his own at that age. "Only it is that I am grateful for your efforts on my behalf, as my family will likewise be grateful. I came to ask, do you know when I will be going home?"

Spock spread his fingers in the Vulcan shrug. "Not... certain, yet. Soon... as ...possible." The boy nodded graciously at that, then returned his attention to his biscuits and tea. Spock returned to his musings. He had, as yet, no idea what they should do.

-----///-----

The human leaned back in his chair and stretched. "Dammit, Spock -- it will work! We can do this -- and we have to do something." He was using all his powers of persuasion; he liked this plan.

Spock looked thoughtful. He was not convinced. "It... may work. But... is it ...wise, Jim? What ...if..." and he ran out of words again. Jim reached for his control, and the Vulcan continued in the mindspeech. <<I fear this, t'hy'la. To do the same thing... twice, it is dangerous.>> It seemed to him that the human was sorely underestimating the danger involved.

Jim just looked more stubborn. "It's risky, I'll grant you that. But we don't have any choice. We're low on consumables and damn near out of raw material for the replicators. We need at least one dilithium crystal to replace the one that's cracking, or the others will start to fail as well. We have to do this."

Spock frowned. He had mined dilithium as a slave, digging it out of the rock with nothing but his hands and a badly worn rock hammer. It was not something one could find just anywhere, and they did need it. But even so, this idea filled him with unease. Unease and frustration at his own limited ability to communicate. He had not been able to convince Jim. He could see the danger; he simply could not put it clearly into thought or word.

It had taken them almost two weeks to get everyone on their way. Only Sek'hel remained now. In all that time, surely !M'zh!w*hee had been busy too. He thought it very likely that by this time she would have heard of what they'd done. He could not predict her reaction, but it was certain to be unpleasant. And now Jim was proposing that they do it again.

And yet, they did need all of those things, and they did have a great shortage of funds. Taking their passengers where they needed to go had exhausted most of their small store of currency. It was very tempting to use her account to resupply themselves. There was a non-aligned base nearby in the Delta Orionis system, where the masters often traded.

And it might work. They were going to have to do something like this, or else turn pirate for real. As matters stood, they had not sufficient funds to buy a cargo, much less smuggle it where it would bring the best price. But he did not like this. Finally he sighed. <<Very well. But... we must be very careful, Jim.>> And with that, he bent over his keyboards again, adapting the animation they would use when they made their approach from the one he had scripted before.

It didn't take him long, but by the time he was done, Jim had already flown them halfway there. The human let the autopilot handle most of their approach; Dirhja knew this system. !M'zh!w*hee had taken her here before, after all. Spock was still uneasy about it, but in the end he stayed silent and hoped for the best.

When the portmaster's office hailed them, it was !M'zh!w*hee who seemed to answer. Very quickly the portmaster itself came on screen, a grizzled Ythulian whose large, shaggy fringe of auxiliary limbs spoke of great age. Seeing her image, it bowed and keyed its voder to respond in her tongue.

"Greeting, Lady. How may it help you this day?"

Spock got busy again. Onscreen, she sat a little more upright. Her face was set in that haughty coldness he had seen in Jim's mind. "I have need of supplies, Master Ythlss'k. The usuals, and a dilithium crystal as well, if you have any that will do." She looked bored, as if she really didn't care either way.

The Ythulian bobbed up and down, its equivalent of a bow. "And it please you, Lady -- so happen, it does. It has a fine new shipment of them; would the Lady like to inspect?" The voder's output was flat and emotionless, but something in the being's stance spoke of eager alertness just the same.

Her image thought about it, shrugged. She waved a languid hand toward the screen. "That will not be necessary. Have you aught else of interest?" Spock had drawn from Jim's memories to find the patterns of her speech. The shivery sensation the human was feeling told him that he had it right.

The Ythulian bobbed some more. "In truth it does, Lady. It has that consignment of slaves the Lady has ordered some time ago. Very fine, they are, Lady -- all are young and untrained, as she asked it to find. When will the Lady wish to take delivery?" It turned its head in a fashion impossible to any vertebrate and waited for her to reply. All about its head, the auxiliary limbs threshed and churned, denoting strong emotion of some kind. Spock would have given much to know just what, but there was no way to tell from here. From Jim he could feel surprise, eagerness -- the human was very tempted. They had rescued one shipment of slaves already; to do so for another was an unexpected bonus.

The situation was rapidly getting complicated. Once more Spock wished that he had talked Jim out of this, but it was too late for that now. For her image to stay in character, she would have to accept. Then he bent to his keys again. Onscreen, she turned to look at Jim, an expression of possessive fondness on her face. It never reached her eyes. Then she turned back to face the screen and a small and haughty smile curled about her lips. "Now will be as good a time as any, Master Ythlss'k. A moment, while I lower my screens..."

A sudden tingling numbness was the only warning they got. Then nothing.

-----///-----

He thought it was a dream, at first, waking up sick and dizzy in an unfamiliar place. He opened his eyes and couldn't focus on anything. He had to close them again until the dizziness passed. Even then the nausea remained.

It was the nightmare, it must be, the one that came back over and over again. He would open his eyes now, and he would see Dirhja's cabin, and he would know he had been dreaming... He really thought that was the truth -- but when he did open his eyes, he saw nothing that he could recognize. When he moved his head and realized there was a collar about his neck again, he was somehow not surprised. As he lay there, he listened -- no hiss of air in the vents, none of the tiny creaks and groans that even the newest ship can't help making in flight. He was dirtside, not aboard any ship.

He was lying in a bunk amid a row of tiered bunks along one wall of a vast and mostly empty room. Without moving anything but his eyes, he could see at least a half-dozen other sleepers, including Jim and the Vulcan boy, Sek'hel. The human's eyes were closed, but Spock could feel his dreaming mind. His shields, since he'd been injured, were not what they had been when he'd served aboard the Enterprise. There was no help for it; he had found no-one out here on the Fringes with whom he might study to try and regain what he had lost.

Jim, too, wore a plain iron collar, as did everyone else he could see. He had been dressed, as all of them were, in some nondescript overall of drab grey brown; the clothes he had worn for the ruse were nowhere to be seen. A few others were awake, staring fearfully about the room, but there was no sign of their captors, whoever they might be. Spock frowned and rubbed his temples. His head ached, a sullen, fitful pain at the base of his skull and behind his eyes. There was an unpleasant metallic taste in his mouth and his throat was painfully dry; he had obviously been drugged, somehow, before being brought here.

What was the last thing he remembered? It was difficult to think, through the muzziness left by the drugs...

They'd been trying to resupply. They had come to a base that she was wont to use, to see if they could restock at her expense. What had happened then? He could not remember; the effort to do so made his head spin, and it was of no use. His memory went straight from Dirhja's bridge to here.

Moving slowly and carefully, he sat up on the edge of the bunk. One sharp pulse of pain in his head, a couple of dull throbs -- finally his body reluctantly accepted that he didn't intend to lie down again. He sat quietly for a time. Then, realizing he wasn't going to feel any better than this, he got up and made his way to where Jim lay sleeping.

It was not logical that he should be glad of the human's presence -- but then, his life had stopped being logical many years ago, on the day that the longrange shuttle Tycho Brahe, carrying the two of them, had been ambushed by Orion raiders. So rather than berate himself, he simply sat on the floor beside Jim's bunk, waiting.

The human's face was pale and sweaty; his dreaming mind was lost in nightmares of the past. Spock reached to touch his hand and with that simple contact, the link between them opened wide...

...The dream was of waking up in a place of chrome and gleaming whiteness, in a cage, surrounded by the leering faces of !M'zh!w*hee's Orion guardsmen. He'd moved to stand and his body would not obey his commands, would not move at all. Then a hand, just out of reach, had opened to reveal a small black device. A finger moved across its surface, touched it once, twice -- and the life had flowed back into his limbs, just like that. An involuntary gasp had escaped him. One of the Orions had given a harsh croak of laughter and reached for him...

So it was that the human had begun his lessons in what it truly meant to be a slave. Now, as he slept, Jim frowned, his head rolling from side to side, as if seeking to escape. His hands were clenched into fists, hard enough to make his knuckles turn white.

Enough. Spock reached for his thoughts. <<T'hy'la... wake up. It is only... a dream.>>

Bloodshot hazel eyes flickered open and sought his own. He could feel the effort it took for the human to focus -- Jim, too, felt dizzy and sick. Whatever drug they had been given was ill-suited to both of their metabolisms.

Jim frowned and rubbed at his eyes. He made as if to sit up, winced, and lay back down again, covering his eyes with his hand. "Spock? What... Where are we?"

"I am... not... sure." The Vulcan shook his head, impatient with his slow and uncertain speech, and shifted back to the mindtouch, instead. <<We are... not on any ship, for what... that may be worth. Escape may be a little easier. How do... you feel?>>

Jim scowled. "Like something crawled inside my head and died. Ugh..." He reached into his pocket -- and a cold, sharp spike of pure panic flashed through his mind. He looked up again, his eyes gone wide now, scared. "Spock -- my control -- it's gone!"

The fear spiraled up, threatened to engulf him. Spock gripped his hand, trying to lend such calmness as was his to give. <<T'hy'la, wait. Check... your other pockets.>> Jim did so, but it was nowhere to be found.

Only then did he notice the collars they both were wearing. "No..." His voice was a whisper, scarcely audible even to Vulcan ears. "Not again..." Spock looked down. There was desperation and despair in the human's eyes, and in Jim's mind a memory of something !M'zh!w*hee had done to him once on a whim. A day when she had powered off the wire, taken the control, and left him caged. At first, he had thought that he would die as his outraged nervous system ran wild in protest; by nightfall, he'd realized that he wasn't going to be that lucky. Three days, she'd left him there like that, and it might as well have been three thousand years in Hell. And now... This was his recurring nightmare made real.

Spock took his hand again and held it between his own, trying to warm the chill from it. It was cool in here, and even for a human, Jim's skin was icy. He was shivering.

<<Jim -- t'hy'la, think! When she... caged you, the wire was turned off. So you said. But... is it, now? Or is it set for default?>> He kept himself open, unshielded, willing the human to draw on him, to take what strength he needed, if he could. It was a struggle for him to focus himself well enough to communicate; he was still dizzy and nauseated.

Jim closed his eyes, the better to listen to himself. Some moments passed in silence before he opened them again. When he spoke, his voice was still just barely audible -- but it was stronger than it had been. "It's set for default. Whoever took the control might not even know what it is." He looked up and met the Vulcan's eyes. The look on his face was one of astonishment. "How did you know?"

<<It seemed... likely. I would not think the masters would ...want that technology... too widely known. Also, I can ...feel it in you. I always could, but I did not... know, at first, what it was, until... you told me.>> He looked away for a moment, gathering his thoughts. <<I could feel it... driving you. No mind I had ever touched had felt ...like that.>>

Jim sat up again; this time he was able to stay up, though he winced and put a hand to his forehead for a moment. Spock could feel the tension in him, the need to get up and pace, as he always did under stress. But he stayed seated, not wishing to attract undue attention. He leaned closer and dropped his voice again to the barest of whispers, knowing that the Vulcan would hear him. Unshielded as he was, Spock could feel the sharp-edged mixture of emotions with which Jim regarded the wire. He depended on it and enjoyed the advantages it gave him -- but at the same time he hated it, for it marked him as slave more deeply than any collar. Collars, after all, can be removed. "Spock -- I'm sorry. I should have listened to you. I could feel that you didn't want to come here..."

The Vulcan shook his head. <<It does... not matter, t'hy'la. We yet live. That is what... is important.>> He could feel the human's guilt and remorse, but neither of those would help them escape. Best simply to move on. <<We may yet... prevail.>>

Jim frowned, but let that pass. "Did you see Sek'hel anywhere in here?"

<<He is in the bunk... above yours. He is still asleep.>>

"Good. I was worried about him."

<<Why... him, in particular?>>

"He's -- let's just say, there are those who would find him... interesting. He's very young, for one thing." And although he did not say it, Spock saw in his thoughts how it might be -- Sek'hel was as good looking as most of his people, and at the age of fifteen, he was slender and fine-boned, quite incapable of fighting off a full-grown Orion. The Vulcan looked away, revolted. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Sek'hel's eyes flicker open, saw the boy wince, much as they had, and put a hand to his head.

He looked back at Jim. <<I had not... considered that.>>

"No, you wouldn't. It doesn't matter. Listen, we have to get out of here. I'm not going to go through that again; I can't. Nor should you. And Sek'hel..."

"Is awake, sir," came an equally soft whisper from beside them. "Your pardon; I did not mean to overhear your conversation."

"Don't worry about it," Jim said. "How do you feel?"

"I am well enough, though I would not like to try standing up just yet." He sounded thoughtful but not overly alarmed. "We have been captured again, I see."

Jim nodded. "Yes. But we're alive and unhurt; that's a start. Listen, I don't know how, yet, but we're going to get out of here, by whatever means are necessary. And when we do, we'll take you with us."

"I understand, Jim. I am grateful." And although his manner was as serious as theirs, the boy sat up straight on the edge of his bunk, his face clear and unafraid. Jim found himself desperately hoping that they could get him out of here before that changed.

-----///-----

One by one, each of them was taken to another room, there to be poked and prodded, examined by those whose job it was to set the price and find the right buyers. They came for Spock early in the morning of the second day. Even he, life-long early riser that he was, had only been awake for a short while. It had taken him a long time to get to sleep the previous night -- he was troubled by the weight of the collar, haunted by old memories, scenes from his years of captivity that he hadn't even known he remembered. Jim was still asleep when the guards came, though he woke up, muzzy and confused, just as they led the Vulcan away. Hazel eyes locked on to black ones and one thought filled two minds...

<<I will be well. Look after yourself, t'hy'la.>> Then Jim was gone, left behind.

Other than the fact that the restraint they put on him held his hands too tightly behind his back, it was no more unpleasant than any of the rest of it had been. He stood silently while they pinched his flesh and looked at his teeth, bent his knee and noted the stiffness and the pain that he could not entirely conceal from them. They had three large guards in there with him, holding phaser rifles; Spock stood still and gave them no cause for alarm. This was not the right time.

They laughed when they saw the old scars about his neck, and one of them made some comment that at least he should be easy to train. He did not permit himself to react in any way that they could see, though it cost him dearly to do so. He stood stock still, looking past them at the long green and brown stain that discoloured the wall beneath the air vent. Of a sudden he found himself glad that they weren't spaceborne, for any orbiting station as poorly maintained as this place would be a disaster waiting to happen. That was about the end of it, really. None of them seemed particularly interested in him, and soon enough he was brought back to the bunk room and unshackled. He sat down and began to rub the feeling back into his hands, as they wakened some other unfortunate and left with him.

At least now he knew one thing he hadn't before -- they were somewhere in the complex of warehouses adjoining the spaceport. From the room where they had examined him, he had heard faint but quite distinct sounds of street traffic in the background. He doubted anyone but another Vulcan would have noticed; even after all that he had been through, his hearing was far sharper than any human's. When he had a chance to do so discreetly, he leaned over and told Jim. Perhaps it would prove useful.

Sek'hel was taken around mid-day, tight-lipped and silent. He offered no resistance, following Spock's lead, as he was cuffed and led away. It was perhaps an hour later that they brought him back, looking shaken and rather pale. He went silently to his bunk and sat down with his hands clasped between his knees. His eyes were very bright and he could not quite keep his hands from trembling, but he said nothing and his face was impassive, carved from stone.

After a time Jim brought him a cup of water and held it for him to drink. "Are you all right?" he asked. "Did they injure you?" The boy blinked and shook his head; for a moment he looked very young indeed.

Then he straightened his shoulders, threw off whatever was bothering him, and said, "No. They did not harm me. They are crude and uncivilised people, but they did not harm me." Jim frowned; he could just imagine the sort of thoughts that a touch-telepath might have seen in the minds of the guards, especially with Sek'hel being as comely as he was. Wondering whether they had done anything else, he flicked an eyebrow at Spock and received an infinitesimal headshake in return. As far as the Vulcan could tell with his own erratic awareness, they had leered at the boy and frightened him, but nothing more.

All that afternoon and on into the evening the slavers came and went, taking first this person and then that one to be examined and catalogued. Most came back unharmed, though one young human returned with his eye blackened and his face swollen on one side. He lay on his bunk afterwards and turned his face to the wall and would speak to no-one. Later that evening one woman became hysterical and had to be sedated, but in general, for most of them it was as it had been for Spock -- uncomfortable, but not unbearable.

Finally, when most of them had already settled down for sleep, they came for Jim.

It had been a difficult day for the human. Without his control, he couldn't adjust himself as he was used to doing. Although the wire was not powered down, the default setting was the one he used on Dirhja -- it was hardly adequate for a situation like this. His nervous system no longer remembered how to adjust itself; it had been too many years since there'd been any need. It was possible that he had simply lost that ability. By the end of the day there were dark, bruised shadows under his eyes, and the look on his face was haunted. But for all of that, as he walked out between the guards, hands fastened behind his back, his stride was that of a captain on his bridge, rather than a prisoner going to an unknown fate. In his eyes and in his thoughts, the Vulcan saw a steely determination. It wasn't pride, exactly, for both of them had learned, over the years, how hollow and empty that was. It was just a knowledge of who he was and a setting of his will to fight whatever it was that his captors would do.

Unaware that he was doing it, Spock sat rigid on the edge of his bunk, his hands pressed flat upon his knees. He willed his strength into the bond between them for the human to draw on if he needed it, if he could.

In the time since they had escaped the masters, that bond had grown both stronger and deeper. Even so, without his control to boost himself, mindspeech at a distance was not possible for Jim. They could feel one another's presence but not communicate directly. It took the push that the wire could give to allow for that. But Spock could easily feel the discomfort of the restraint about Jim's wrists, the fear that he kept hidden deep inside, his revulsion whenever one of the guards touched him to steer him through this doorway or that.

He realized, to his surprise, that it was far harder for him to sit here and wait than it had been to walk between those guards himself. There was no logic in that, but nonetheless it was true.

Across the aisle, Sek'hel sat on Jim's bunk and watched silently. His face was alert but guarded -- he was not sure what was going to happen. There was something between his two benefactors, something like the Bond his parents shared. He had almost touched it one night as his thoughts wandered in his sleep. But he had awakened with a jolt and had quietly put up his shields so as not to disturb them. Jim and Selek had slept on, exhausted, Jim in his quarters and Selek at the copilot's station as was his habit, surrounded by the alarms he kept rigged to rouse him should anything go wrong.

The fact that they were bonded showed in many little ways, of which they might well be unaware. When Selek had been the one taken, Jim had sat tensely, just as Selek did now. When they spoke together, each seemed to know, before the words even came, what the other would say. Often, they simply used the mindspeech. And once, when Selek's bad leg had twisted under him and made him fall, it had been Jim who had winced and gone suddenly pale.

They were t'hy'la'ein. It was not, in itself, so strange a thing; there were some who were not mated who shared such a bond. T'ling'Shahr, where he was born, was remarkably open-minded about such things; it was a city of musicians, artists, and crafters. There were probably more outworlders there than anywhere but the Vulcan Science Academy, but Sek'hel had not known, until now, that even a t'hy'la bond could be sustained by a human. It was most interesting, giving him a means to divert his thoughts from their current situation, for Sek'hel was young. His Mastery of the Unavoidable, that discipline whereby the Vulcan may remain impassive when confronted with something disturbing, was not yet complete.

Spock sat motionless, unaware that he was the subject of such fascinated scrutiny. He had closed his eyes, the better to concentrate and to Listen. It was difficult, for he was tired, and his thoughts this night were, for him, scattered and disorganized. It took some moments before he had the link with Jim firmly in his grasp again. There wasn't much he could do with it unaided, but at least this way the human might feel his presence, might not feel so alone.

It had taken some time this morning for the guards to bring Spock from the bunk room to the assessor's quarters. There had to be a way out of here; there was a way out of any trap -- but he was still feeling dizzy and nauseated from whatever drug he had been given two days ago. He had not been able to keep any food down since waking up here, and the slavers had not given any of the captives enough water. He was worried about Jim, and he was desperately tired, and try as he might, he could not puzzle it out.

He had been feeling for a while now the slow burn of anger building in Jim's mind. It was a quiet sensation, but as inexorable as the downhill creep of a glacier. He could feel it as clearly as if it were his own -- just this morning, it had been. He had managed to keep his feelings from showing on his face as he stood, silent, under their scrutiny, but they had been real. It was of no use to pretend otherwise -- he had lost the mind rules many years ago, when the Orions had fractured his skull and beaten him nearly to death. He had been a captive for more than ten years, and yet what little he remembered clearly would not suffice to fill a month. Perhaps that was just as well. And now it was the human's turn to stand, while those fingers poked and pinched, to be judged as if one were nothing but a cut of meat, hanging in a stall in the market.

Suddenly Jim's anger spiked, hard, then turned to cold fear. Then there was nothing for some moments -- Spock couldn't feel the other's mind at all. He shivered, feeling suddenly chilled. Though he did not know it, his face had gone very pale. He was not even aware that he had closed his eyes. All of his thought was focused, Listening for that trace that was Jim's mind...

It came back all at once. For a second the fear was intense, then it abruptly faded out. Jim was still awake, but feeling almost nothing. And yet, somewhere under that vast artificial calm, he did know what was happening to him. He did care. He just wasn't being permitted to react.

Someone had recognized the control for what it was and was now giving someone else a demonstration. It had to be that; the sensation was unmistakable.

"Thy'la -- no..."

He didn't know he had spoken it aloud. It had been the faintest of whispers, but Sek'hel could not avoid hearing it. The boy averted his eyes and tried to engage his Mastery of the Unavoidable. He found it unexpectedly difficult.

Through the bond, Spock felt Jim's emotions flicker from afraid to eager to an unfamiliar heavy warmth in the pit of his belly, then back again to anger and frustration. Unaware that he was frowning, the Vulcan concentrated, trying to decipher the rapidly changing sensations -- then Jim's mind simply vanished again. The last thing he felt was the human's fear.

"No!" Only gradually did he come back to himself, to find that he was standing on the balls of his feet, with his hands curled into white-knuckled fists. Sek'hel was watching him intently, plainly torn between concerned curiousity and the natural Vulcan wish to avoid invading another's privacy. Vulcan custom was to ignore such outbursts, to pretend one had not seen, but he could not quite manage to do that.

"Selek?" His voice was very quiet, for surely Selek's ears were as sharp as his own. "What is it? May I be of help?"

Spock frowned and rubbed his eyes, trying unsuccessfully to clear his vision. It took him several moments to realize that the boy had spoken and that it was he who should reply.

"Your pardon. I... did not... intend ...to disturb you." The words were a little slurred; he was trying to do too many things at once.

"You did not disturb me. I only wondered if I might be of help in some way."

"I do... not ...know." And that was perhaps the worst of it -- he did not know what to do, did not know whether anything he could do would make any difference. In the back of his head he could feel Jim's mind once more; the fear was buried deeply now, in layers of machine-perfect calmness. But it was still there... And there was something else, too. A dull and hopeless sense of familiarity. This was something the human had been through before.

Very abruptly, Jim shut him out. Spock hadn't realized that he'd learned enough to do that. He had to force himself to let go -- he managed, but it was harder to do than he had expected.

His eyes flickered closed and he swayed, catching himself at the last moment.

Sek'hel looked worried before he got his face calm again. "Selek? Are you well?"

"I..." And that was all he could say. The words were just gone. He stood silently for a moment, fighting to find any words at all, but none came. Only random visual flashes and sparkles, and the little muscle spasms and twitches that were his nervous system's way of warning him that he was nearing his redline. If he pushed himself into having a seizure, he'd be out for hours, and no-one would be here to defend Sek'hel. There was really no choice in what he must do now. In the end, he let a shrug say what he could not and lay back down on his bunk. He permitted it when the boy pulled another blanket over him, for as tired as he was, he felt cold in this place. At least this way, if something were to happen, he could be roused to deal with it. Afterwards, Sek'hel spoke again, very softly.

"I will keep watch, Selek. You must rest, I think." Unable to disagree, Spock nodded. In the back of his head, even now, the bond reassured him that Jim was alive. That would have to do. Without some sleep he would not be able to communicate at all without touching the boy's mind -- and that, he must not do.

Overhead, the lights dimmed to their night-time level, and the noises in the bunk room died away, except for muted rustlings as people slowly went to sleep. There were a few muffled sobs and whispered conversations, but soon enough even those fell silent. Carefully, Spock reached into the bond one last time, but the wall was still up between his mind and Jim's. He could probably have reached through it easily enough, but that last bit of privacy was all that Jim had left. He would not disturb it. Instead, he pulled the blankets up around his head and got himself as comfortable as he could.

What he really needed was access to Dirhja's medkit. He could feel that he was in trouble. Even in the dim light, there were odd blurred rainbow edges to everything, and the air was thick with a sour burned smell that he knew, from past experience, was only in his head. He needed one of the shots that Jim usually gave him, at times like this -- but he wasn't going to get one here. Failing that, sleep would have to do.

-----///-----

He awoke to the feel of Sek'hel's fingers at his temples, and the fading taste of the boy's thoughts in his mind. Still he could not speak. For some moments, he could not remember where he was, or why it should be this one who came to his aid and not Jim. He felt bruised and sore all over. Then he realized -- it had happened again. And Sek'hel...

He opened his eyes, to see the boy standing nearby, anxiously watching him. One small childish hand lingered atop his, for just a moment, before he stepped away. He could feel Sek'hel's concern, mixed with regret at having invaded his privacy.

<<Your pardon, cousin.>> The thought was very apologetic. <<You were having a mindstorm -- I did not know any other way to stop it, and you had stopped breathing.>> He used the Vulcan word for seizure, and at first Spock could not remember what it meant. Once he did, he made eye contact again and nodded, to show that he did not object. That was a mistake. He lay very still and waited for his head to stop spinning. After longer than he liked, it finally settled down. He stayed quiet for a time, for he still felt confused, uncertain of what was happening or what he should do.

Still nervous, Sek'hel forged on, verbally this time. "Are you in need of any other help, cousin?" Absent-mindedly, Spock started to sign a reply. He stopped when he saw the look of honest puzzlement on the boy's face. He had forgotten -- again -- that Sek'hel didn't know the signed speech. He tried again to speak, and there was still nothing. Finally, he very gently shook his head for no, feeling faintly surprised when he got away with it this time.

Sek'hel looked concerned. "Jim has slept since he was returned. He was asleep when they brought him back. I tried, but I could not wake him up." Spock glanced over and saw Jim sprawled upon his bunk, flat on his back, snoring. Someone must have returned the human while he himself was asleep -- and he had not even awakened when they'd done so. It was pure luck that no-one had harmed the boy, for Spock would not have known it if they had. Frustration welled up in him, but he made himself ignore it. There was nothing he could do to change what had already happened.

He lay quietly for what felt like a long time, breathing slowly, trying to relax. There was no point in struggling; that would just make his weakness and confusion last longer. He was always like this afterwards, and it always passed, sooner or later. He simply had to wait until it did. Fortunately Sek'hel stayed quiet. After a while Spock began to feel calmer, less confused. He didn't rush -- if he got up too fast and had another seizure, he might not come out of it a second time. The last time that had happened, all Jim's wire-driven strength had been needed to pull him back from the darkness within.

Why hadn't the human woken up, when there was need? He closed his eyes again and felt for the bond. It was still there, but it was oddly muffled. The overwhelming sensation was one of sleepiness, a deep, grinding sense of fatigue that seemed to reach to the core of his bones.

After a moment he realized that the wire was driving this. Someone had programmed Jim to make him sleep. It was no wonder Sek'hel had been unable to wake him.

He drew a deep breath and cautiously sat up on the edge of his bunk. There was no dizziness, no more flashes and sparkles -- hopefully his nervous system would behave itself for a while. He leaned over to look at Jim. The human slept on, his face peaceful, his secrets locked away inside him. It was probably the first real sleep he'd had since they were recaptured.

He turned again and met Sek'hel's calm, interested gaze. Perhaps he would be able to speak, now that his nervous system had settled down. He took another deep breath and tried it. "Thank... you. Possibly... saved... my life." That was a little better.

Gracefully, the boy inclined his head. "It is nothing, cousin. My brother, Sivek, is a healer; he has taught me a little. How do you feel now?"

The boy had called him "cousin"... He was, of course, but-- He concentrated, reaching to find the right words. "I am... well ...enough. What... did you... see?"

"Nothing I will speak of to anyone at home. What I saw is private. I saw your name, and I agree with your decisions, Selek." There was just the slightest emphasis on the name.

Spock nodded again, to show that he understood. "Again... thank... you."

The boy lowered his eyes a moment, still young enough to be embarrassed. Then he bowed and said, "I return this knowledge of yourself to you, cousin." It was the ritual Vulcan phrase, used when one had inadvertently touched another's mind. Spock had not heard it since he'd left Vulcan to join StarFleet all those years ago. He had not thought ever to hear it again.

As best he could from his bunk, Spock returned the gesture. "Accepted," he said. "And... cousin, I am... honoured. Too... easy to... die ...here. Must not." He didn't have enough words for the rest of it, that if he died, there would be no-one to get Jim and Sek'hel out of here. It didn't matter. The boy had said that he would respect privacy. By Vulcan law, he was old enough to understand such a claim and be bound by it. He had survived the kahs-wan, the survival trek into the deep desert that all Vulcan children undertook. He was old enough to have been Bonded six years ago. Looking at what he remembered of the boy's thoughts, Spock decided to accept his word. If, when it was over, this one wanted to know more, he would probably tell him. To be a witness in silence was also an honourable Path for a Vulcan.

For now, though, there were things that had to be done. Somehow he had to awaken Jim. If possible they had to find his control. And they had to get out of here, before the three of them were sent on their separate ways. Once that happened, the chances of them finding one another again, as Jim had once found him, were vanishingly small. And he knew, if he was honest with himself, that without Jim's help he would never have left the mining colony. He would have died there, just another nameless slave among many, not even knowing who he was himself. He must not allow that to happen again, not to any of them.

As was often the case, once the initial confusion passed, the seizure had left him weak but clear-headed. He sat quietly for a while, thinking. There was really only one thing he could do: use the bond to reach in and see whether the human's mind could influence the wire enough to change its setting. Given that the wire directly percieved and affected the electrical activity in Jim's brain, it was possible. It was the only thing he could think of. He already knew that if he failed, there would be no way he could awaken Jim against the the wire's commands.

Spock had always had a strong Gift. At one point during his adolescence he had seriously considered going to Gol, to join the ranks of the Kohlinahru. But the lure of the stars was too strong for him, pulling him ever further out, away from Vulcan and the ways of his ancestors. When he'd finally found that place where he could best be of service, it proved to be on the bridge of the USS Enterprise, beside Jim Kirk. He might be there still, but for the Orions.

"Sek'hel," he whispered. The boy turned to look at him, his expression calm but curious. "I must... wake... Jim. Keep watch?"

"I shall, cousin." Sek'hel's voice was whisper-soft, pitched carefully to be audible to Spock and no-one else. "I shall warn you if anyone comes."

"My... thanks." Spock closed his eyes and gathered such strength as remained to him. This was not likely to be easy. He drew himself up straight, his hands curled loosely on his knees, his face calm. He breathed deeply and slowly, flushing his system with oxygen, following a counted breathing pattern he'd found, and recognized, in the memories Sek'hel had left behind. It was a Vulcan child's concentration exercise that he, too, had known as a boy. He had lost the memory of it, as he had lost so many other things -- only to have it returned to him now, unlooked for.

When the breathing pattern was done, he felt calm and alert, intensely focused on the problem at hand.

He took one last deep breath. Then he crossed to Jim's bunk and knelt beside it. With one hand he lifted the human's fingers to his own temple; with the other he reached for the nerve points on Jim's face. He didn't even have to say the words before the link opened up wide, and he was there...

Sek'hel had climbed up onto his own bunk again. Now he sat watching, cross-legged, intensely curious. He was still absorbing the things he had learned when he'd touched Selek's thoughts. Spock cha' Sarek and James T. Kirk were not dead at all. They had been lost, and presumed dead, when he was still a toddler -- but they were alive, and trying to keep him alive as well. And Spock trusted him to keep their secret. Silently, the boy swore to himself that he would not betray that trust.

He had not intended to pry. He had acted only to save a life, for Selek -- Spock -- had stopped breathing and might well have died if he had not intervened. He was not entirely certain that to touch another's mind in that fashion was permitted by the Way of the Vulcan -- but it was not in him, to watch a man die without trying to help. Sek'hel already knew that his Gift was strong for one of his line. Sivek his brother had hoped that he would become a healer, but he had felt the call of the music within him too strongly for that. He had consented, though, to begin the healer's training, and now he was glad that he had done so.

He had watched silently as Spock settled himself beside the sleeping human. The thin, scarred fingers were very gentle as they'd sought for the nerve points on the other's face. Spock sat motionless for some time, eyes closed, a slight frown of concentration on his face -- then all at once he went limp, sliding bonelessly off the bunk toward the floor. Sek'hel jumped and caught him just before his skull would have hit the cement. He had not the strength to lift the other to his bunk, so he propped him sitting up between the bunk and the adjacent wall. When he let go of him Spock slumped but did not fall.

That done, he bent to make sure that Jim was still breathing -- and saw that there were bruises and a delicate tracery of bite marks all around the human's neck. The marks had been made by a longer, narrower jaw than either humans or Vulcans possessed; as he looked at them, the boy felt an atavistic shiver run down his back. Then he turned his attention back to the man on the floor. He was going to have to do something, he realized -- he didn't know exactly what it was, but he could feel that something was making the other sleep. He closed his own eyes for a moment, remembering the training that Sivek his brother had given him, when his Gift first began to awaken...

...Spock was falling, into the endless dark... He awoke with a jolt, reflexively gasping for air. There was a cold, hard surface beneath him and something a little softer at his back. For a moment he had no clear idea of where he was, until his eyes focused enough for him to recognize the face of Sek'hel, anxiously leaning over him.

He blinked and shook his head, reaching for the words, more than a little surprised to find that they were there. "What... happened?"

The boy pointed toward the still-sleeping human. "You were trying to awaken Jim, but he pulled you into his sleeping, I think." Unspoken, but present in his thoughts, were vague perceptions of the wire, curiousity as to what it was. As Sek'hel sat back and let his hands fall, Spock could see it clearly. But the boy said nothing. It was just as well, for the knowledge of the wire was not Spock's to tell. Only Jim could make that choice, and he was not awake to make it.

The Vulcan moved to stand and found he had not the strength. His hands were shaking and he was sweating, although the room was by no means warm. He looked up at Sek'hel and saw that the boy was in much the same condition.

It was the wire, of course. It had pulled him under with its command to sleep and nearly taken Sek'hel as well when the boy had come to his aid. It must have been difficult for him to free them, to leave the two of them this weak.

Spock sighed and let his head fall back against the edge of Jim's bunk. There would be no escaping tonight -- he did not have enough strength left. Instead he sat quietly until he felt strong enough to stand. Looking down, he saw that Sek'hel had already pulled blankets up around Jim. Well enough. Now he had best do the same for himself.

He swayed but did not fall and sat carefully down on his bunk. Then he looked over at Sek'hel. "Again, I... thank ...you, cousin." The boy inclined his head but said nothing. Spock continued. "We... need... sleep. Tomorrow..." And there he ran out of words again -- but it didn't matter. It wasn't as if they had any other choice.

Onto part 3