New Minglewood Blues part 3 - part 2 of the Songs of the Dirhja Series

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

PART 3

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

He was rudely jolted awake by the cold muzzle of a phaser rifle pressing against his neck. Very careful not to make any provocative moves, he opened his eyes to see a full squad of guards standing between his bunk and Jim's. The human was already strapped into an antigrav stretcher, still fast asleep, and beside it stood Sek'hel, his eyes hooded and impassive. The boy's hands were fastened behind his back and one of the guards was holding the end of a chain that had been attached to his collar. At a gesture from the one holding the rifle, Spock rolled out of bed and stood quietly. He did not fight them as they restrained his hands and attached a chain to him; it would have been pointless. Instead he looked around the bunk room one last time. No-one would meet his eyes. He glanced down to be sure that Jim was all right -- and an icy ripple of shock ran down his spine. There, on the human's neck, between his collar and his shirt, was an oddly delicate pattern of bruises and bite marks. Bite marks from a rather narrow and elongated jaw. He hadn't noticed them the night before. He'd been so tired he could hardly focus his eyes. But there was no mistaking them now.

Once before, Spock had seen marks like that, also around Jim's throat, on the night when he broke both of them out of captivity.

His owner, !M'zh!w*hee, had put them there.

The rifle poked him in the ribs, and he realized that the guards were moving out. He hastened to follow before they got angry and yanked on the chain. If he fell with his hands restrained, he might not be able to get up again unassisted, and in that case, they would simply drag him. He had seen them do it to others.

All too quickly they left the bunkroom and entered a hallway -- and the odd tingling numbness of the transporter effect took the world away. When it cleared and he saw where they were, despair threatened to overwhelm him. They were standing on Dirhja's bridge, and lounging casually in the captain's chair was the very woman whose image he had used to rescue Sek'hel and his fellow captives -- !M'zh!w*hee. She on whose orders, years past, Jim had been handed over to the surgeons and fitted with the wire. She whose guards it was that had beaten Spock nearly to death -- had, in fact, left him for dead.

She pointed to the floor, and without even thinking about it Spock knelt, eyes downcast. Long years of slavery made obedience automatic, that and the cold, harsh knowledge of what they would do to him if he refused. Beside him he heard a slight rustle as Sek'hel, at the guard's command, did likewise. The floor felt icy beneath his knees -- obviously she had already reset Dirhja's life support back to her own preferences. His bad knee gave a sharp twinge of pain as he put his weight on it, but he did not move. He did not dare.

Louder rustles, then, and footsteps -- and a long, velvet-furred finger lifted his chin until he could not but look up, though he tried to keep his eyes turned aside. At the mining colony where he had been a slave for so long, to meet a master's eyes without permission would have been grounds for a memorable beating. He'd thought he had forgotten that...

"Look at me, slave." Her voice was cold, disinterested. At the sound of it, he shivered, remembering... It was right at the upper edge of the range of his hearing. Without an earpiece, a human would not have heard a sound. And like all the masters, she did not deign to speak another tongue. It was for slaves to learn her tongue, or for machines to translate. He hastened to obey the command, lifting his eyes until he was looking up at her face. That face was narrower than a human's; the jaw protruded further than a human or Vulcan jaw. The black velvet of her skin and the cold silver of her eyes and hair were the stuff of his nightmares made flesh. She was tall, even for a master; she stood more than a foot taller than he would have, were he not kneeling. And above all else, he knew he must not anger this one, for she might kill him without a moment's thought, and then what would become of Jim and Sek'hel?

"So. You are the one he stole when he left my service -- a mere mine slave?" Her fingers were cold upon his skin as she turned his head this way and that. Her thoughts, as she touched him, were even colder. Had she known he could see them she would doubtless have cut his throat. She opened his shirt and looked at the number tattooed on his shoulder blade. It was old, done when he was first sent to the mines years ago. It seemed to meet with her approval. She reached out, then, and clipped something to his collar. Opening her other hand she showed him what he first thought was Jim's control, but there were not enough control surfaces. This was something else. She brushed it with one fingertip -- and pain sleeted through his brain, washing his bones in fire and acid, bringing back memories of the questioners at the camp. He hissed through his teeth, fighting the need to cry out. Then she touched the device again and the pain stopped, leaving him trembling, covered in a cold sweat.

He almost collapsed. More than anything, he wanted to just curl up into a ball and withdraw. He was so tired, and he could not see any way out of this. But if he did that, she would probably just kill him. He could feel in her thoughts that she was sorely tempted to do so. So he stayed kneeling, motionless but for the shivers that he was helpless to prevent.

"Tell me, slave -- do you wish to die?" Very carefully, he signed that he did not.

She smiled, then, and a colder and more hateful smile he had never seen. "Very well. If you wish to live, cause me no trouble. You have already earned death for the use you made of my likeness. I certainly do not need another mine slave. I will keep my pet, and perhaps this boy -- but you, I do not need." She fingered the small remote. "This is ever with me; do not forget, and perhaps I shall find a use for you." He bowed his head again and signed to her that he understood.

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

She was sleeping for the first time since bringing the three of them aboard. She had kept no guards with her when they left orbit at Jackson's Hole; in her arrogance, and the facts of her power, she knew that none were needed. Having finished with him for the time being, she had left Jim kneeling beside her bed, immobilized but for the ability to blink and to breathe. Spock could just see him, if he leaned forward to the end of his chain and looked around the edge of the door. The human was clad once more as he had been for the ruse against the Orion slaver, save that this time the flat chain collar was real, fastened by molecular welder. It had no catch for him to undo, for he would never have a need to remove it where she was taking them.

Sek'hel and Spock were chained on opposite sides of the main cabin, each with about three feet of chain from their collars to ringbolts in the floor. Otherwise they were unrestrained and unharmed, though stiff and sore from inactivity. Each had been given food and water in bowls on the floor, such as animals were fed from, and a bucket for the necessities. She had even given them each blankets, for without such they might not have survived the cold. That cold was relentless; it never eased, never varied. Bit by bit it was eating away at their strength, for although Vulcan nights are chill enough, no Vulcan can long withstand unceasing cold. All of this was unpleasantly familiar to Spock, a grim reminder of experiences he would rather have forgotten. Sek'hel had never experienced anything like this, but the boy had a strong will. He had followed Spock's lead and made no protest nor outcry at anything that had happened.

Having thus arranged them to her satisfaction, she had left them alone. They had even managed to get a little sleep a couple of times. Only once, on the second day out, she had come to stand next to Sek'hel, gazing down at him with hunger in her eyes. After that she had sent a long encrypted message over the comm and paced restlessly until she got an answer. Upon recieving that answer, she had looked over at the boy and smiled in a way that had made Spock's blood run cold. She had said nothing, but he thought he knew what the message had been. Sek'hel himself had remained silent, kneeling, eyes averted. Neither of them spoke of it after that.

Then, playing Jim's control with the delicate precision of a neurosurgeon, she had followed him into her cabin, shut the door, and stayed in there for the rest of that day.

Now, though, she slept, sprawled loosely across her bed, snoring in her peculiar high-pitched way. The door to her cabin stood open. And Jim -- Jim's face was puffy, one of his eyes a little bruised, half-shut. He had bitten his lip at some point. But he was awake, and alert, and looking right at the Vulcan, as if, perhaps, he wanted to talk...

Sudden understanding came to Spock. He closed his eyes for a moment and Listened, really Listened...

...and heard Jim's thoughts, tasting of anxiety and relief. <<T'hy'la -- can you hear me?>>

<<Yes!>> A flood of questions bloomed then in the Vulcan's mind, but he asked none of them, only, <<Are you well?>>

Jim's eyes crinkled in what would have been a smile if he'd been able to move that far. <<I'm well enough, for now. A bit sore -- but I'll live.>> And Spock saw then, in Jim's thoughts, how it was. !M'zh!w*hee had deliberately left his nervous system tuned up high, even though he couldn't move. She'd thought only to torment him. She knew that the Vulcan was important to him and had vaguely mentioned plans of eventually amusing herself with that. But she had no idea of the bond he shared with Spock, no conception that the setting she had laid on him was also useful for the mind speech. The masters didn't know that Vulcans were telepaths. They knew only the Rihannsu who were their neighbours, and most Rihannsu were as mindblind as the masters themselves.

Human eyes met Vulcan, then, and for a time, nothing was said, though much was shared. It was the first time they'd been able to communicate since the human had been taken from the bunk room on Jackson's Hole several days ago.

Finally Jim blinked a couple of times. <<Spock -- we need to talk. She's taking us back to the place where I found you. She's arranged for the doctors...>> and here the very thought wavered with the depth of his hatred, <<...the doctors who did the work on me to meet her there.>> Somehow he managed to scowl, though most of his face didn't move. <<Spock -- she wants Sek'hel. She wants them to wire him up, like they did to me...>>

Spock nodded, his face and thoughts gone grim. He had suspected as much, but forbore to speak of it. In the weeks since his uncle's death at the hands of Orion slavers, Sek'hel had seen and experienced such things as no child should ever have to see. And he had borne it all with a stoic steadfastness that might be the envy of one of thrice his years. Yet why burden him with this, if he had not already thought of it? He was sleeping at the moment; all that was visible of him was a tousle of straight black hair, sticking out of the blanket in which he'd wrapped himself.

Spock looked up again and met Jim's gaze, saw the worry in his t'hy'la's eyes. <<Jim, I cannot... I will not bow my head and return... to what I was before. I do not think... I could bear it ...again. And Sek'hel...>>

Jim's thoughts were a tangle of mixed emotions. <> His glance flicked toward the sleeping form of !M'zh!w*hee. <<Every time she touches me, I feel like I'm going to be sick. And I don't dare...>> For a moment his mind faltered, remembering. It had not always been unpleasant, with her. <<It was -- different, before. Sometimes when I thought that I was alone... It was just... different.>> Through the bond the Vulcan could feel his shame, for what he thought he was, for the uses she made of him. For the times when he'd enjoyed some of it... Frustration, at the limits imposed by the wire. Fear, not so much for himself, but for the boy, and for Spock, whom he had only just found again after all the empty years between. And a deep, cold hatred for the masters and all of their works.

Spock knew that feeling only too well. Vulcan he might be, but he was still a man, not a machine. He had suffered much at the masters' hands over the years, and although there was much he could not remember clearly, he had retained enough to see the pattern of the rest. Illogical or not, shameful or not -- he, too, hated. He saw no point in pretending otherwise.

He had to shift position, work out a cramp in his bad leg. <<T'hy'la -- be careful.>> The human's face had a white, strained look to it that he did not care for.

Jim scowled again. <<Yeah, right...>> He dropped his eyes for a moment, then looked up again. <<I'll do my best, Spock. But we have to get out of this, and we don't have a hell of a lot of time left.>> He was shaking, though he was doing his best to ignore it. Looking at him, how pale he was, Spock wondered when the last time was that she had let him sleep.

The Vulcan inclined his head. <<Agreed. We must... watch closely, both her and... each other. We do not know when ...a chance will occur.>> Although, the ghost of an idea was coming to him...

Jim nodded, an infinitesimal movement that was all the wire's current setting would allow. <<One thing in our favour -- she's been as cocky as ever, maybe even a little more so. She won't let me have my control, but otherwise she's been pretty casual.>>

Spock raised an eyebrow at him. <> He was deeply skeptical where !M'zh!w*hee was concerned.

The human looked suddenly thoughtful. <<That's a good point, Spock. I missed all of that, didn't I? I guess it won't hurt to watch a little more...>> Though he had agreed readily enough, there was an undercurrent to Jim's thoughts that suggested he was not entirely convinced. Spock did not know what else to say, how he might best persuade the human not to act rashly. In the end, he said nothing more, fearing to provoke the very actions he sought to avoid.

There wasn't really anything more to be said at that point. It was enough that both of them were alive and comparatively uninjured. For now, until a chance for action presented itself, that would have to do.

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

The next day passed quietly, without incident. !M'zh!w*hee noticed that their bowls were empty and made Jim come out to fill them and do what else was neccessary. They had no chance to speak together, but before he went back to her, Jim put one hand on Spock's shoulder, for just a moment. <>

<>

There was relief, then, on the human's face. <<Good.>> With that he broke the contact and moved off, for she was watching them, her normally cold face alight with interest. Spock was not sure what place Jim had with her, but his own, he knew well, was as hostage for the human's good behaviour. Sooner or later, she would become bored, and what would happen then was for anyone to guess. He knew that he could not wait that long.

That was all he saw of Jim. Most of the time her cabin door was closed, and he and Sek'hel were left to their own devices. When they spoke together, they used Vulcan, since there was a chance that she did not understand it, and Spock knew that Dirhja's computer did not. Even so, they were very careful of what they said.

They tried playing 3D chess, but Spock found that he could no longer do as he had once been able to, hold the image of the game in his head without needing a chess set. It would begin to form, but as he added details the image fell apart. It was just one more of many things that he had lost at the hands of the masters, but for some reason it bothered him more than most.

Instead, at his request, Sek'hel spoke to him of his studies, both in music and in the healer's art. Somewhere in the course of the discussion, that previous fragment of idea returned to him. He looked at it briefly, determined that it was good, and put it aside until the boy should chance to sleep again. Eventually, of course, he did.

Spock sat up quietly in the dark, his blankets wrapped around him. He spent a few minutes getting as comfortable as he could; he wanted no distractions from what he had to do. He slowed his breathing and deepened it. Sek'hel had begun teaching him lately a little of the way of controlling the body, such as he once had known. Finally, he was ready. He leaned back against the wall, almost at the end of the chain, and closed his eyes. Silently, he ran through the Vulcan teaching chant that Sek'hel's memories had given him, the one to induce the introspective trance. As it grew, his awareness of the world outside his skull fell away.

He was looking for something; he was not entirely sure what it was. A discipline, an art -- one of the things he had glimpsed among what Sek'hel knew of the mind arts. It was something that he almost remembered from his own childhood studies, so many years ago. It was, as he recalled, one of the things their mentors taught them as students and then told them that they should never do.

In the meditative state, he was not aware of time passing, but when he finally opened his eyes, having found what he sought, the cabin lights were on full again, and !M'zh!w*hee's door was open. Listening, he could hear that she was eating, with Jim presumably serving the meal. Spock himself had never seen a master eat, for they did not eat in front of animals, and so they had long ago named him. He hadn't cared either way, not for a long time. For years he hadn't even cared if he lived or died.

It had been good, he thought now, to have the last two months of freedom. He had spoken more in that time than in all the years since he'd been captured. He'd been delighted to know that Jim was alive and just for a while, to have his neck free of a collar. He had done much in that short time; he had lived a lot. He was gratified to think that no matter what happened, Jim and Sek'hel would survive. But now it was time for him to act.

Carefully, for he had been motionless for hours, he set his blankets aside and began to stretch, to work the stiffness out of his muscles. He Listened, for a moment, for the bond with Jim, but Jim had shut him out again. That was cause for some concern, but he could think of several good reasons why the human might do such a thing, and in any case there was nothing he could do about it now. He went on with his preparations instead. He ate a little and drank his fill -- he wasn't very thirsty, but to succeed in what he intended to do, his body might need the water. Then he stretched again, pleased to find that his muscles were loosening as he'd hoped. There were none of the spasms today that had plagued him on and off over the years.

Finally, he was ready. He caught Sek'hel's eye and told him, "Be ready ...cousin. Do... not ...interfere, only... be watchful." His voice was pitched low, so that only the boy could hear.

The boy's eyes held a thousand unasked questions, but he just nodded, saying nothing. He would know what Spock was doing soon enough. If he could do it at all, it would not take long.

He knew, from what he had remembered, that success in this would almost certainly kill him. But Jim and Sek'hel would be free if he succeeded; there were far worse ways to die. And he could think of no other way to get free of her. The wire forbade Jim to attack her. What else could he do?

Silently, he wrapped a corner of the blanket around the chain, next to the ring bolt. He knelt beside it, with most of his weight on his good leg. He gripped the blanket-wrapped chain with both hands. Then he began to breathe faster, rapid and deep, flushing his system with as much oxygen as he could take in. He was almost ready now --

And there was a hot bright flare of anger and regret from Jim's mind as the bond suddenly opened wide -- then nothing. It was as if the human had turned himself off. There was a kind of wet thump, then the sound of someone falling. Some moments went by before the Vulcan realized that Jim was still alive. He could not seem to touch the human's thoughts, but he could feel him through their bond, just the same. Spock dropped the chain and leaned to the side -- to see !M'zh!w*hee standing, holding a hand to her face, shock and fury distorting that normally calm visage. She was wearing only a sleep shift, and the front of it was stained bright yellow with blood. From between her fingers came a slow yellow drip, and on the floor at her feet lay Jim, his hands at his throat, his mouth working but no sound coming out. In her hands -- his control; as she spoke she was changing the wire's settings, her fingers pouncing on the keys with quick and vicious precision.

Her voice, then, thick and slow with rage. "So, my pet has teeth, does he? A shame, pet, but you have just outlived your usefulness. I wonder how long it will take you to die without any air..." Jim's ribs were motionless now. Though he was plainly still fighting for air, he couldn't move, couldn't breathe, couldn't make a sound...

Ah, Jim, Spock thinks, as time slows down, I should have told you...

There is no more time for regrets; he must act now. He resumes the rapid breathing, though it seems oddly slow, as everything suddenly is. When his body is ready, he thinks of the triggering word that he had put in place during last night's trance, and he sets his Will...

He is flooded suddenly with a wash of heat and strength as all of his body's stored energy is brought online at once. He feels immortal, invulnerable, ten feet tall. This is the gift he has had of Sek'hel, perhaps the oldest of the mind arts of war. It is a thing that he himself had studied as a boy, long lost to him. He bends, grips the chain again, and yanks at it hard -- once, twice -- and the bolt snaps off and he is free, and moving. Green marks the chain and his hands; he ignores it. In exaggerated slow motion he sees Sek'hel just beginning to react -- but the trance continues to deepen and the boy appears to freeze. Time is slowing even further as he accelerates and makes the turn into her room. He sees her press a button on something in her hand -- she must be moving fast for him to see it at all. Then she begins to step backward, out of his way. She seems to float, to hang suspended in mid-air, waiting for him.

Somewhere there is pain, but it is of no importance; he cannot spare the attention even to feel it, much less to react. It is as if someone else is hurting, over in a different room. A glimpse, then, of Jim on the floor, face going dark, hands still frozen at his throat...

Slowly, so slowly, she moves, begins to raise her hands. She drops what she holds; two small black devices seem to hang in mid-air... He strikes, hammering at her head with his joined fists, feels bone break -- his or hers, it does not matter. Yellow splashes widely. He strikes again and again, strikes for Jim, and for himself, and for all the long years of emptiness and pain. All the strength that he has goes into the blows. He keeps nothing for himself -- he won't need it again.

A piece of time goes missing, then, as blackness briefly washes him away...

It was pain that brought him back. Pain from the thing on his collar, pain in his hands and his knee... Strangely distant pain; a thick cushion of numbness was wrapped about his mind. He almost gave in to it. But there was something he had to do...

Jim! He shook himself, used the pain to lift himself away from the oncoming dark. Jim was suffocating. He dropped to his hands and knees, seeking the control. No -- not that one, the other one... Vaguely, he wondered why the floor was wet. Finally he found it. He brought it to Jim, but the human couldn't move, couldn't speak.

He touched him then, and like a shout in his mind were the words and the image: <<Touch it there, t'hy'la -- hurry!>> It was oddly difficult to do so -- his hands weren't working right -- but he managed, and was rewarded by a loud "Whoop!" as the human drew a breath. Jim's hands completed their aborted motion and he rubbed at his throat, wincing.

Spock thought that he stood up -- he couldn't understand why the floor leapt up to strike him. Everything was wet, soaked in yellow and green... He tried to push himself up, and he didn't understand why he couldn't. Something was wrong with his hands, and the world smelled strange, as if a fire were burning somewhere...

The last thing he saw was Jim's worried face, hazed over with rainbow sparkles. Then he saw nothing at all.

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

Jim drew in a breath that went on forever. It felt as if he were inhaling all the air there was. He let it out and drew another, and nothing in all his life had ever tasted so sweet. He drew another for the pure pleasure of it. Then he rolled over so he could get up, and then he saw: !M'zh!w*hee was down, on her back, her face in wet ruins. Yellow was splashed everywhere. Even that elegant silver hair was soaked with yellow. She wasn't moving, and it looked as if her neck was broken...

He saw Spock on his hands and knees in the middle of it, wavering. Saw him try to get up, and fail. Saw him sag the rest of the way, until he lay flat, his eyes already beginning to roll up. His hands -- gods, his hands were broken. There was yellow and green splattered on his hands, his face, on his clothes, on the floor around him... !M'zh!w*hee's skull looked as if she'd been beaten with an iron pipe, and Spock did that with his bare hands?

Jim blinked, trying to take it in -- then he saw the Vulcan begin to stiffen, his muscles start to lock up... He ran, first for his control, which had skittered across the room when Spock fell, and then for the medkit, praying all the while that she hadn't moved it, heedless of the watching Sek'hel. The boy's eyes widened in shock as he saw how fast the human accelerated, but he said nothing. If it was done as he thought it was, then it was most private indeed.

The medkit was still where Jim had left it. He rummaged through it hastily, looking for the shots he'd used the last time.

Sek'hel coughed to catch his attention. "Jim! It is sugar, he needs most. The -- glucose? yes, glucose -- it is all gone. Give him that, before you give anything else!"

Jim hesitated for just an instant, then grabbed the glucose too. "How do you know what he needs?" he asked, already on his way back.

The boy looked uncomfortable. There were so damn many things Vulcans hated to talk about; that was the trouble. Finally he looked up again. "It is... It is the ach'adh-tzech'besh, Jim. He burned it all up at once." Jim knelt and applied the glucose injector. He hoped the boy knew what he was talking about. His own struggle for air had left him with a fierce headache, which was making it hard to think.

"What do you mean, burned it all up?" he asked, as the injector emptied itself. It didn't seem to make any immediate difference.

Sek'hel was looking uncomfortable again. "It is one of the the mind arts of war, a way to use all one's store of energy in one burst. When it is finished, the blood has almost no sugar left." The boy had moved to the very end of his chain, trying to see in. "Now give the other injection, the one you usually give. After that, if you will come and cut this chain, I believe I can be of further help." There was a look on the kid's face, intent and alive, that reminded Jim of the way Bones used to look, back in Sickbay on the Enterprise, up to his ass in alligators and loving every minute of it. It was the look of someone doing what he was born to do, the same look that he and Spock had once worn on the bridge of that same starship.

Shit, he's just a kid, thought Jim. But he did as Sek'hel had advised, for there was something in his voice that spoke of knowledge Jim himself did not possess. Damn if this kid wouldn't make a pretty fair doctor one day, if he was any judge. It just seemed -- right, on him.

The second shot did the trick: the Vulcan's eyes snapped closed and he went limp. Jim took a moment to pull him away from the worst of the mess on the floor, then went to free Sek'hel. There was a laser cutter in the cockpit tool kit; it didn't take long. He stuck it in his pocket, planning to remove his and Spock's collars later, once there was time.

The boy rubbed at his neck for a moment where the collar had made the skin green and irritated. He looked up again. "Thank you, Jim."

"You're welcome. But how do you know what to do?"

Sek'hel was rummaging through the medkit; finally he found a handscanner and turning it over, began to recalibrate it. "Sivek my brother is a healer; over the years he has taught me a little. It has always been his wish that I follow him into that art." He snapped the scanner shut and reached for the kit again. Jim picked it up and brought it along.

Sometime during the next hour, while he picked Spock up and carried him into the other room -- so easy to lift, so light, with the wire's help... While he snipped and wrapped bandages at Sek'hel's direction... The Vulcan's hands were like bundles of broken twigs, and damn -- he did that for me... Sometime while he was covering her body and cleaning up the mess, it finally began to penetrate.

!M'zh!w*hee was dead. She would never harm him or anyone else, ever again. He smiled as he re-set Dirhja's life support; very deliberately he turned it up to 40 degrees. That was a level most Terrans would find uncomfortably hot, but Spock needed the heat, to keep him out of shock. It might comfort the kid. And, truth be told, Jim thought it felt kind of nice himself. He'd lived where it was too cold for too damned long, before their first, too-brief, taste of freedom. He never wanted to feel cold again.

The last chore of all, after checking it for keys or money or anything else of use, was to put her body on the transporter pad and beam it out into space, widest possible dispersion. He could only tell it was her by the velvet-furred skin and that hair -- there wasn't much of a face left. It was very satisfying to see the last sparkle disappear, and to clear and reset the transporter. After that he turned the ship around, set her on course for the Vortex, and engaged their cloak, having first determined, as best he could, that !M'zh!w*hee had left no traps in the computer. He didn't think she would have -- she had been otherwise occupied since coming aboard, mostly at his expense. But he'd had to take a look, just the same.

Now he could check on Spock again. The air temperature was slowly coming up from where she'd kept it, but it would be a while yet before it could really be called warm. The Vulcan lay now in !M'zh!w*hee's bed, wrapped in all the blankets they had. His hands, splinted as well as Sek'hel could manage, were propped on pillows, and he was sleeping -- and Jim could feel that it was true sleep. Suddenly the strength went out of his own legs, and he sat down hard on the far edge of the bed. It was that or fall. He reached into his pocket, felt for his control, meaning to boost himself back up -- then reconsidered. "Sek'hel," he called, "you could do me one last favour..."

The boy returned from the galley. "Of course. Ask it." He had washed himself and put on a clean tunic. Even his hair was wet.

Jim smiled. Vulcans -- they were as meticulous as cats... "Would you keep watch a while? I've got to get some sleep; it's been days since she let me. We're cloaked, no-one should even know we're here, much less bother us. Autopilot's flying for now. I'll wake up in a couple of hours -- is that all right?"

Sek'hel inclined his head in much the same way that Spock sometimes did. "Of course, Jim. I shall monitor Selek's condition, but I think that he is past the worst of it now. If you are there he will sleep quietly, and it is best that he sleep; he will be very sore when he awakes."

Jim paused in the act of stealing one of the blankets for himself. Whether it was because of the bond with Spock or simply that he himself was too tired, he still couldn't quite seem to get warm. "I wouldn't be surprised if he is sore," he said. "I've never seen anyone move that fast. Do Vulcans do that kind of thing often? I never heard of it before." Jim could move pretty quickly himself, if it came to that, with the wire's help. But Spock's speed had been blinding.

Sek'hel looked away for a moment. "No, we do not. The technique is very old; its use is quite rare now. Most of the time, the person who does it dies. Had I known that he planned to do it I would have tried to dissuade him." Though his control was as tight as ever, the boy's face was haunted, his eyes full of thoughts of what had almost happened...

Jim's voice was very quiet. "So would I, Sek'hel -- which, I suppose, is why he didn't tell us. It's an old habit of his, believe me." He finished wrapping himself up, reached into his pocket, and quietly tapped two hours of sleep into the control. "See you in a couple of hours, kid." He ducked into his blanket, touched the hidden control, and was instantly asleep. Sek'hel was intrigued but said nothing. Jim, he knew, preferred not to speak of this thing; therefore, he would not. It had been pure chance that let him see it during the fight with !M'zh!w*hee; he thought it quite likely that no-one had noticed.

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

Late that night, something brought Jim up out of a sound sleep; he'd nodded off at the pilot's station. None of Spock's jury-rigged conn alarms had gone off... Some vague feeling of trouble took him into the main cabin, then to the sleeping quarters. There he found Sek'hel trying to get Spock to drink something he had made up, some kind of supplement mixed with juice. The Vulcan was curled up facing away from them. He was awake, but only barely so; he'd been given a pain shot not long before. The blankets were a churned mess. He had not been resting quietly.

"You need to sit up and drink this," Sek'hel was saying patiently.

But over the bond, Jim could feel Spock wasn't thirsty; he just wanted to go back to sleep. Jim tapped the boy on the back, leaned down, and put his own hand on Spock's too-thin shoulder. He was hot, even for him, burning up, it seemed. His hair was soaked with sweat, tangled about his face, and when he turned his head, there was a wild look in his eye -- as if, for a moment, he had no idea who they were. Jim kept his hand where it was and concentrated on reaching through the confusion and fever. <<Please, t'hy'la...>> And after a while, Spock allowed them to sit him up, and he drank about half of Sek'hel's potion. He didn't really care for the taste -- Jim could feel that, but he did drink it.

Even so, it proved to be a long night. Jim and Sek'hel took turns at first, but he would really only rest with Jim there. It was almost the start of day watch when Sek'hel came in, tapped Jim on the shoulder, pointed to Spock, who was finally sleeping quietly, and sent him off to get some rest himself.

It was midafternoon when Jim came back in and found them both asleep, the boy slouched in the chair, Spock wrapped up in a roll of blankets with only the top of his head sticking out, a wild tousle of silver and black. So they both slept that way, sometimes. Must be one of those Vulcan things... He smiled and walked out again. When he returned later, he found Sek'hel was wide awake and just closing up the medkit. The boy saw the questions in Jim's eyes. "The fever is gone now, but he keeps waking himself up. I had to give him another pain shot. Has he always talked with his hands while he sleeps?"

Jim nodded. "Yes, at least for the last few years he has."

"I thought perhaps so. When he dreams, he talks in his sleep -- and his hands hurt, and he wakes up. I am trying something longer-acting. It is not as strong, but with this sort of damage, perhaps it will give better relief. He needs to see a doctor, though. I cannot do this kind of rebuilding, but there is no reason not to have it done. He has no injuries that cannot be repaired -- and it is a good sign that he dreams so soon." He set the medkit down on the floor, pulled the covers up over the sleeping man's shoulders, and turned to face the human.

"There is a thing which I need to discuss with you," he said, looking uncomfortable. It reminded Jim again of Spock, when they first met, always apologizing for something. It must be another Vulcan thing. The boy cleared his throat and continued. "While you were away, when we were in the holding area, your -- Selek -- he had a seizure. In order to get him breathing again, it was necessary for me to touch his thoughts. In doing so I became aware of who the two of you -- who you were, at one time.

"I tell you this now only for one purpose: to reassure you that I will in all ways observe and protect your privacy. My contact was inadvertent and for good cause; nonetheless custom requires that I notify you." He bowed a little, an oddly formal gesture coming from this rumpled kid with a medkit at his feet.

Jim sat back and thought for a minute. "Seems to me, Sek'hel, that the cause was sufficient." The boy nodded, and looked relieved. Jim went on. "If you hadn't intervened, none of us might be alive right now, because neither of us could have done what he did later. So thank you -- from both of us, all right?" After that, Sek'hel looked slightly more relaxed.

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

The next morning Spock just woke up. He opened his eyes, looked around, and said, "Cousin Sek'hel... I ...thirst." He didn't understand why Sek'hel looked so relieved. The water was cold and sweet, and pain or no, it was good to be alive.

He drank the E-rations that Jim had always claimed were so disgusting and found them tolerable. He was very tired, and he slept most of the time. He was dimly aware that Dirhja was in warp headed somewhere, but he had no idea where. It didn't really seem to matter, just yet.

Finally he heard them drop out of warp. Jim came and perched on the edge of the bed. He gave an elabourate shrug. "Hey. You, with the ears..." He was smiling, and the flat chain collar was gone from around his neck. Spock moved his head and noticed that his own collar was gone, too. And it was warm again -- he was finally warm enough.

He tried to sit up but his hands got in the way. He winced and sagged back against the pillows. "Jim?" The human was up to something. He had that look on his face again.

Jim cocked his head. "Listen -- I know your feelings about doctors. But if you ever want to use those hands again, you're going to have to see one." Spock glanced down at his hands and, by pure effort of will, managed not to move them this time. They were -- odd-looking. There were bends where there weren't supposed to be any; they were lumpy and swollen -- and they were exquisitely tender. Even with the pain meds, he was always bumping them on things...

He couldn't even feed himself like this. "What... do you ...suggest?"

"We're back at the Vortex. I can send a message to Yojo Vakako from here, and he knows a doctor who will be discreet. Will you let him see you, if I bring him here?"

Spock permitted himself a small sigh. "It would... appear ...that I ...have little ...choice. Yes... I ...will see... him." He looked down at his hands again. "Do you... know ...Jim -- I... had no idea ...that this..." He ran out of words again, but he knew that Jim understood.

He was still very surprised to find himself alive. He had not expected to survive the ach'adh-tzech'besh -- hardly anyone ever did. That was not its purpose. It was for that time of ultimate desperation when no other choice remained. And that had certainly been the case.

But his hands -- no. He did not wish to lose the use of them. And he had not seen any real doctor in a very long time. Only the veterinarian, at the camp, when the overseers had thought it needful... There was no other choice; his hands were not going to heal themselves. Since it appeared, after all, that he was going to live, he had better do something about them.

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

The doctor had come and gone. It had been a taciturn Ilmarian, invisible beneath a cloud of veils and robes -- but indubitably a doctor, for all of that. It made Spock promise to be seen in one week, if not by itself then at least by someone of a medical persuasion.

In fact, it had quite unexpectedly made him feel homesick as it grumbled at him and very gently put his hands back together. So clear, for a moment, was the image of that other doctor in his mind that he blinked a couple of times before he realized who the image was. He hadn't remembered that face before. The name, yes -- but not that face. That was something new. He could not put a name to the feelings it invoked.

He was still lying there staring at the ceiling when Jim came in. The human sat on the edge of the bed, looked at the Vulcan's expression, and grinned. "I think I know what's eating you. It did kinda sound like Bones on a tear, didn't it?"

Spock nodded, allowing himself the faintest ghost of a smile. "Yes," he drawled, his voice still harsh and rasping. "It was... quite ...familiar." He looked down at his hands. They were still splinted and bandaged, but at least they were the right shape again. "It said... in a ...week ...I can..." He got stuck, and after a moment, he just shrugged human fashion.

"In a week you can start using them?" At the Vulcan's nod, Jim continued. "That'll help. Is it my imagination, or is it harder for you to talk when you can't use your hands?" Jim remembered Sickbay on the Enterprise and its equipment -- there, Spock might have been up and around that afternoon and back at work the next day. He sighed.

Spock looked faintly rueful. "It... is harder. Doesn't... matter. Jim... on planet ...I had..." Once more, he got stuck. He frowned very faintly; in his situation, Jim would have been scowling fiercely.

Lambasting himself for an idiot, the human dug out his control and boosted himself up enough for the mindtouch. <<There. Can you hear me?>>

Gratitude, then, on the bruised face. <<Yes. Thank you, t'hy'la.>> He paused for a moment to collect his thoughts. <<On the planet, I had... a seizure. Sek'hel made it stop. Jim -- I had stopped... breathing. He had to touch my thoughts. He knows who we... were.>> He was looking distinctly embarrassed now.

Jim smiled, just a little. <<I know. He already told me about it -- and he was as nervous about it as you are. Swore up and down he'd protect privacy... I think it'll be all right. He might be just a kid, but I have a feeling he's a kid who keeps his word.>>

<<So I also... believe. He may be young but he has passed the... kahs-wan. And he is a healer, or he... will be.>> There was no doubt in his face or in his mind. Jim still felt skeptical, but the kid was a Vulcan. Maybe that made it different.

<<You know... that it does, Jim.>> And this time that was definitely the bones of a smile.

The human shook his head. Suddenly he recalled the look on Sek'hel's face in the middle of the crisis. He grinned. <<I'll have to take your word on that. Anyway, you wouldn't be alive if he hadn't acted, would you?>>

The black eyes were solemn. <<No. I do not... believe so.>>

<<That settles it then. I'll tell you what I told him -- "the cause was sufficient." I'm just glad you made it. Damn if I know how, after pulling a crazy stunt like that, but I'm glad anyway.>>

<>

<> The human was bouncing on the balls of his feet, as McCoy had often done; soon now he would probably just turn and start pacing.

Spock looked up at him, curiousity sharp in those wide dark eyes. <>

Jim laughed, more at himself than anything else. <<Oh, that. Hell, I did something really stupid. I figured if I turned the wire all the way off, I could attack her. And it worked, sort of -- I did turn it off, or so I thought, and was able to strike one blow, anyway, by pretending very hard that all I was doing was throwing a ball. But I forgot -- she'd had me amped up for days at that point. I got in one good shot, and the damned thing blindsided me. All the strength went out of my legs. The floor jumped up and bit me. I couldn't move; I could breathe a little, but I couldn't move. And then she got my control, and that was it. Seems I don't really have the access to turn it off. I'd never tried it; I didn't know.>> He laughed again, but Spock could hear the bitterness.

<> He frowned, trying to remember something. <<There is something... I saw it in her thoughts... There may be... cargo, somewhere on board...>>

Jim grinned at him. <<I'll check for that. Be nice if it was loot, eh? Hard to be dashing and successful pirates without any loot.>>

<<Indeed...>> As the human left to check the holds, Spock leaned back and allowed his eyes to close. Jim could be active enough for both of them. For himself, for now, it was enough simply to be alive. To be free.

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

<<Jim?>> Spock opened his eyes and looked around, seeing only Dirhja's sleeping area. He could always tell when the human was near. Careful of his hands, he worked his way up into a sitting position unassisted -- something he hadn't been able to do a few days ago.

Jim sidled around the door and grinned. <<Hey. The kid's finally asleep; I thought maybe you'd like to get your shoulders rubbed. I can feel how tight they are, out at the conn. I didn't figure you'd be getting much rest that way.>>

Spock moved to shrug and had to stop, wincing. <<Your feeling... is more accurate than was... my own.>> he admitted. <<The doctor said that... the muscles were strained, that the damage is not ...permanent, that it would pass in time. But it... is tiresome.>> His face and voice were rueful. Spock had always hated having to admit to infirmity of any kind, and all the years had not changed that in him.

Jim inclined his head, the wire lending him, as always, that unnatural grace. <<Here, slide forward, and I'll see what I can do.>> A few moments, then, of cautious moving around and Jim was safely settled behind him, leaning against the wall.

He couldn't help making a small hiss as the human's cool fingers reached for the knots, beginning to work them out. Born a touch-telepath, he had all of his life avoided touch as much as possible. It was only lately, and only with this one, that touch was at all tolerable. Jim's thoughts were... unobtrusive. Easy to co-exist with. In a crowded marketplace, jostled by the thoughts of many, he would be lost.

Another hiss as a particularly bad spot began to loosen up. He'd been skipping some of his pain pills. They interfered too much with his concentration. He had begun studying with Sek'hel again during his convalescence, trying to re-learn the mind rules. Without them, without that which lay at the very heart of what it was to be a Vulcan, he didn't really feel like one. As yet, he had not been successful, and Jim knew that Sek'hel thought he simply was not ready yet. In the back of Spock's mind was the fear that he might not be able to re-learn them. Not everyone who was brain injured did; sometimes there was just too much damage.

Thinking of that made him tighten up again. Jim renewed his attack, using his own awareness and the bond to seek out the worst of it. <<You're brooding again, my friend.>> Warm hazel eyes in his mind, then the coolness, once more, of those remorseless fingers. <<You're brooding, and you're skipping pain meds again.>>

The Vulcan looked down for a moment, caught out. <<I... suppose that I am.>> A small involuntary gasp escaped him. That knot, right there -- that one was the worst of them all... His eyes began to close. <<It is not logical ...but I am... troubled tonight.>> He forgot, tried to use his hands, and froze for a moment. Again, that slight hiss of indrawn breath, though he made no other complaint.

Jim changed his angle and went after the trapezius muscles. <<Worried about planetfall tomorrow? Sek'hel was practically bouncing off the walls tonight. I never knew Vulcan kids got that hyper.>> Slowly, the muscles began to relax, to give up their tightness.

The faintest trace of embarrassment... <<We are not ...supposed to. But occasionally there are... exceptions. He has never been away... before. And he is... home.>>

There was a pair of tendons, like tight steel wires, running up the back of that long neck; Jim pursued them with his thumbs, merciless. <<You shouldn't be worrying, you know -- with Sek'hel's chop on those papers, we're legitimate hired transport.>> Sek'hel's chop, and more than a few of !M'zh!w*hee's no doubt stolen bars of latinum. Dirhja was now duly and lawfully registered to fly the colours of the Republic of New Jamaica, signed by President-for-Life Selassie Marley himself an' all, man. A small brass plate under the main viewscreen confirmed it, the New Jamaican flag was painted on the hull, next to the Rihannsu calligraphy of her name, and the proper documents were locked in the ship's safebox. Jim was surprised how easy it had been, really. Money changed a lot of things. Money bought a new autodoc, and medical supplies, and better medications for Spock. Money bought the right to come and go freely. Long ago, he had taken that for granted. He never would again. Most of all, money assured one of anonymity, if desired. He had worn the robes and veils of the deep desert at their registration, and none had remarked on it. If the generous and wealthy gentleman wished to dress in such a way, why then, that was of course his business...

The Vulcan winced and gritted his teeth, but he stretched out his neck and let Jim keep on with what he was doing. <<It is not even that. It is... it is that I could ...go back now. We are here. I always... thought I would wish to. Even with empty hands, I ...could join a monastic order. Such do not... ask who one was before. But I do not wish... to go back.>> Barely visible under that flat Vulcan mask were wonder and fear. Yet he must speak; above all else, there must be honesty at the heart of this, if it was to work at all. <<This... ship... This is home, now.>>

Jim knew exactly what he meant. He had spent most of his life aboard one ship or another. A number of years aboard this one, in fact. He had never felt as comfortable dirtside as he did once he returned to the ship -- any ship. Though he'd been born and raised a grounder, Jim would never be one again. He was comfortable here, as he was nowhere else. Only here with Spock could he relax and be himself. Seemed like a pretty good definition of home to him.

He began to work on the long muscles of the Vulcan's arms. They were also far too tight. <<You're right, you know. I hadn't really thought about it, but you're right. This is home.>> He smiled. <<So what's wrong with that?>> He finished one arm and picked up the other. The black eyes squinted shut and Jim said, <<No, I don't think so. That's too sore. Wait a minute, let's try this, instead.>>

And a warm heaviness settled over the aches in Spock's right shoulder, the soreness in that arm. A compress: hot and damp and heavy and ...comfortable. <<That... is helping.>> Some of the pain eased out of his thoughts.

Jim relaxed in turn. <<That's good. You just let yourself hurt all the time, t'hy'la -- it's as if you think it doesn't matter, because it's only you. But it does matter. I feel it, and I think it matters. If you're always tired and always in pain, how well can you heal?>>

He had no answer for that. He hadn't thought of it that way. Jim reached out and touched his cheek for just one instant. <> In his thoughts were only calm acceptance and the awareness that the one thing they did have now was time.

Listening, Spock realized that Jim really didn't care if he could speak or not. He didn't care about the mind rules. He didn't care about any of it. Only about staying free, and about how empty the world had been, when he thought he was alone. The human had thought that he was planning to leave, and as for what Spock had been thinking... The Vulcan turned his head and stared into the warm familiar eyes. He kept his own eyes open, and he took a chance. <<Jim -- if it is... if you want, I will not go. I will... stay, here. Is that what you ...were going to ask?>> He didn't breathe for a moment, waiting for the answer.

Jim shook his head and grinned ruefully. <<I don't know if I'm ever going to get used to you reading me like that. But I don't guess it matters. Yes, that's what I was going to ask. When you started talking about becoming a monk -- well, I can't see that. But I thought I'd better check, just the same.>> He looked away for a moment; when he looked back, his face was lit up with that familiar lazy cat grin. <<So does this mean both of us are staying on? The dread pirate Dirhja won't be needing to sign up new crew?>>

Spock remembered that grin. He had always remembered it. It had been the only thing he still knew when Jim first found him. <<Not... at the moment. No.>>

One last sore spot, then, at the base of the skull, where the heat pad didn't reach. Jim dug into it, rolled his thumbs, went back. <<What made you think I was going to leave, anyhow?>>

Faint memories, of different faces, of... what? The scent of sun on hot sand... A flash of actinic sunlight on the edge of an upturned blade... Spock himself was not sure where the idea had come from. <<I... do not... know.>> Something that had happened to him, once -- a rejection, a pushing away... But it was gone again. He couldn't remember.

Jim reached for his arm, helped him turn over, get settled. <<Hell, look what happened the last time I left. It took me twelve years to find you. Think I want to do that again?>>

Slanted black eyebrows shot upward. <<I... suppose not.>> The long thin face was resolutely not smiling.

An emphatic nod from the human. <<Well, all right then.>> He reached down and made sure the compress was in place. <<Best thing you could do now is sleep for a while with this on. Can you manage that?>>

Gratitude in the black eyes. <<Now I can ...yes. Thank you... t'hy'la.>>

<<It isn't very often I can talk to you so openly. Thank you, my friend, for saving my life...>> He sat there on the side of the bed, and watched as the slanted black eyes drifted closed. Soon enough the Vulcan was asleep, and for the first time in a week the pain lines were gone from his face. Jim sat and watched him for a long time, savouring the fact that they had both survived. So very nearly they had not. He had so nearly lost everything, a sum whose value he was just beginning to appreciate.

Vulcans. They were a lot like cats. They were stubborn, fiercely independent, quick to take offense and loath to admit to doing so. Hell, they were worse than cats, some ways. But there was no one in all the universe so loyal. There wasn't really anyone else but Spock who mattered at all, no-one to whom he could really speak.

The hazel-eyed man sat there long into the night, content simply to be there. If anyone had asked, he would have just grinned, and answered that he was only watching the cat sleep.

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

END

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