REPOST: TOS A/U, 5/6, New Minglewood Blues, [PG13] K/S

[Killashdra]

New Minglewood Blues (sequel to Deep Elem Blues)
TOS A/U, K/S, h/c, part 5 of 6
PG-13 for Violence and Other Unpleasantness

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 it, 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 of the masters. 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; it had been 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.
Almost, he 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
Dirhja's environmental controls had been reset for her own
needs, and 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
the Vulcan nights are chill enough, no Vulcan can long
withstand unceasing cold. All of this was unpleasantly
familiar to Spock; it was 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 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; his face totally
impassive. 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...
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 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.
Hazel eyes met black ones, 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, then, 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 of
his age 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 the hazel 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. <<I
know. He's just a kid, and we didn't rescue him once just to
hand him over to *her*. Besides, I don't think *I* can live
through that again, either.>> 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, and he had lost
the mind rules long ago. He had suffered much at the
masters' hands, over the years; 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 then, 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. <<I would... not trust
that, too ...much. Before we... came aboard, there were... no
chances taken, at all. ...She may think... to trick you, into...
an unwise move.>> 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 best he might 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. <<I could feel you worrying. I'm alright, t'hy'la.
Are you?>>
<<I am... well enough, Jim. She has not... disturbed us.>>
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 --
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. 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 that discussion, that 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 minims getting as comfortable
as he could; he wanted no distractions, for what he had to
do. He slowed his breathing, and made it deeper. 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, amongst what Sek'hel knew of the mind arts. It
was something that he *almost* remembered from his own
studies, so many years ago... It was, as he recalled, one of
the things they 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 was captured. It had been good, 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. It was good, 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 if he succeeded
in what he intended to do, his body would 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 w--
attend." 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 could remember, that success in
this would almost certainly kill him -- but if so, then so be
it. Jim and Sek'hel would be free, if he succeeded; there
were far worse ways to die than that. 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, 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 trigger word that he put in place last night, 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; it is 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. It is not important. 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 to
him now; 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; they seem to hang in mid-air, two
small black devices... He strikes, hammering at her head
with his joined fists, feels bone break -- his or hers, he
does not know, and 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; 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; there was a thick cushion of numbness 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, but it wasn't important. 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; he rubbed at his throat, wincing.
Spock thought that he stood up, then -- 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 it wouldn't work.
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.

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

End of part five.

Greywolf the Wanderer
--borrowing Zepp's account.
--mail me at grey...@snowcrest.net