Fic: Kings and Pawns - Chapter 13/22
Title: Kings and Pawns
Author: jlneveloff
Movie Adapted: The Count of Monte Cristo
Fandom: Star Trek (TOS Reboot)
Genre: Drama, Action/Adventure, Romance, Angst
Characters/Pairings: Spock/Uhura, Kirk, Pike, McCoy, Gaila primarily & Scotty, Chekov & Sulu to a lesser degree...Oh, also Nero, Spock Prime, Sarek and even Admiral Barnett has a part to play...So pretty much everyone.
Beta: slwmtiondaylite
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: ~3943
Warnings: Language, mild adult situations, violence and the occasional plot hole
Disclaimer: Star Trek and associated characters created by Gene Roddenberry. I own nothing at all. …which makes me all kinds of sad, ‘cause I really wanna borrow Spock for a while. Based upon the film The Count of Monte Cristo, written by Jay Wolpert (based upon the novel by Alexandre Dumas père) and directed by Kevin Reynolds.
Summary: In a Universe that has always known power and corruption, it is only a matter of time before the power takes over once again and innocent people are sacrificed. Spock/Uhura. Alternate MirrorVerse.
written for the LJ community reel_startrek, Round Two.
Author's Notes: This is my first...well, novel length story, so there is the chance that I may have plot holes...You have been warned ;)
This is also based on the film more so than the novel. I've never read the novel, but I am aware that the film diverted from it greatly.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
GAILA AND THE MERCENARIES
A shriek awoke Spock. Startled, he jerked up against the seat, the fastenings holding him tightly in his spot, as the shuttle had landed at nose first, at a slight angle and gravity wanted to propel his body forward. His head ached. Feeling something warm and sticky trailing down the side of his face, he reached up and gently touched it. Slowly he pulled his hand back and examined it, finding it stained green with blood. He would need to bandage the wound quickly. Spock examined the rest of his body searching for more wounds but only found bruises. He shook his head in an attempt to clear it, his vision having grown slightly blurry.
The emergency lights in the shuttle’s cabin had activated and he noticed that there was no power coming from the engine. He looked ahead, finding the viewport window had shattered in the force of the crash. It was dark outside...wherever he was.
Spock unfastened the safety harness and slumped forward, the gravity tossing his body forward. He reached out to grab a hold of the console, preventing himself from falling further and slowly stood. As the shuttle was only at a slight angle, standing was not difficult.
The shriek rang out again, the same noise that had woken him. This time Spock was able to tell that it was a scream. Female from the sound of it. She was terrified. Ignoring his body’s protests, Spock quickly scanned the floor, searching for the phaser he had stolen from the guard in the prison, but it was no where to be found, possibly having been thrown out the viewport window during the crash landing. He heard another scream and decided the urgency required him to forgo the weapon and he rushed to the doors, prying them open and exiting.
Spock paused, waiting to hear the sound again. His eyes scanned over the horizon, taking in the deep blue, almost green, sky and low hanging clouds. Around him were large jagged rocks and snow-covered mountains but in the far distance, he could see red lights and low smog, perhaps a city of some sort. There was little vegetation in his current location, this unforgiving environment. He listened for a few more seconds trying to ascertain the woman’s location.
The scream came once more, coming from his left. Hurriedly, ignoring his pain, Spock rushed towards the sound. He vaulted over rocks and stones, his feet pounding into the ground. The scream came again, much closer this time. He was heading the right direction. Spock whirled around a corner and saw a figure of a woman running towards him, her bright red hair glinting in the faint light. She faltered slightly when she saw him, perhaps assuming he was with the large humanoid lumbering behind her. As Spock ran towards her, he called out in an attempt to reassure her that he was not there to hurt her. His destination was the male figure behind her.
Spock saw a flash of green when the woman and he ran past each other, her to safety and him to her pursuer. Both the large man and Spock halted just before they ran into each other and Spock was able to get his first good look at him. He was large, heavyset and he stood tall, perhaps a foot taller than Spock. Spock’s eyes trailed up his form, taking in his apparent civilian clothing, his long kinky hair and the ridged forehead. Klingon.
Yes, he was larger than Spock and would be a strong opponent, given his race’s warrior nature, but Spock’s strength would rival with the Klingon’s and his smaller frame would give him the added advantage of agility. Spock assumed the starting position of suus mahna, the Vulcan martial arts, waiting for the fight to begin. The Klingon laughed at him, sizing him up, no doubt taking the Vulcan’s tattered clothing and bloodied face as a sign that he was merely a minor setback, something to be dealt with quickly. Spock glanced behind him and noticed that the woman had stopped running and had turned around, watching them.
The Klingon launched first, noticing Spock’s distracted gaze. But Spock was able to sidestep the attack, his speed much quicker than the Klingon’s. The fight continued as such, with Spock avoiding, sometime narrowly, the Klingon’s attacks and with Spock occasionally striking him. Several moments later, Spock was able to gain the upper hand. He sidestepped a punch and grabbed the Klingon’s arm pulling his body forward, causing him lose his balance. He stumbled and Spock moved behind him, grabbing him by his neck, his arms encircling the Klingon, and he squeezed tightly, attempting to draw the air out of him. The Klingon thrashed against him and Spock held him tighter, trying to make him pass out.
In his attempts to render the Klingon unconscious, Spock failed to see the Klingon reaching into his clothing for a weapon until the woman called out, warning him, a second too late. Spock felt the blade pierce his abdomen and realized that he had to use deadly force to dispatch the Klingon. Spock grabbed the Klingon’s chin and forehead before twisting with as much strength as he could. The sound of bone cracking signaled his success and he released him, the limp body crumbling to the ground.
Spock took a deep breath in an effort to ease the pain from his stomach wound. He placed his hand against it, pressing down. The bleeding needed to be stopped, or at best, slowed until medical attention could be found. Spock stepped back and leaned against a rock. The woman hesitantly walked toward him. Spock watched her out of the corner of his eye, noting her appearance clearly for the first time. She indeed had the bright red hair he saw earlier. And that flash of green as she had run past him was her skin color; she was Orion. She was physically appealing, with bright blue eyes. But she was not dressed as any Orion woman Spock had ever seen. A typical Orion woman, or the ones that he had seen, was barely clothed, dressed in bikinis or loincloths barely covering their most intimate areas. It was meant to entice men of various species who were susceptible to their pheromones.
But this Orion woman was fully clothed, dressed in what appeared to be a uniform of some sort. Her clothing bore the marks of an attempted assault, having been ripped at some point. Her red hair had been tied back out of her face, the loose tendrils framing her face. Spock watched as she grew closer, her eyes wide.
“Oh, my God,” she said, surprising Spock with her accent-free Standard and typical human saying. She reached her hand out and sought his wound, wanting to examine it herself. “I didn’t mean for you to get hurt. Thank you, sir, for saving me. I am so, so stupid,” she finished, pulling his hand away from his stomach wound.
“It is of no concern,” Spock told her, trying to push her hand away.
But she was not having it. “No concern?! You could have died!” she exclaimed, ignoring his protests, lifting his tunic. “And it would have been my fault. I can’t live with that on my conscious!”
She pressed down on the wound and Spock suppressed a grunt. “Then perhaps you should not have angered a Klingon,” he replied.
She scoffed. “It’s not like it takes much to make one mad. But just for the record, I didn’t ask for your help.” She lowered his tunic and brought her hand to his head wound. “But thank you anyway."
Spock remained silent, suspecting that she would not appreciate his admission that he had acted on instinct upon hearing a female in danger. As Kirk would say, he fell for the damsel in distress act. She brushed his disheveled hair aside, gently removing it from the sticky blood from his head wound so she could examine it closer. Suddenly she pulled away her hand, "Oh, you're Vulcan."
"And you are Orion," Spock replied, an eyebrow rose at her statement.
She was momentarily flustered by his response. Spock realized that he had embarrassed her by mentioning that she has just stated the obvious, something most Vulcans found to be a waste of time. "No, no," she started. "I just meant 'no touching'. I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable."
Spock shook my head. "I am not uncomfortable,” he reassured her. “Had I been, I would have told you.”
“Right, sorry,” she mumbled, resuming her examination. Her voice was soft when she spoke again. “We need to get you medical attention.”
“That is not necessary,” Spock replied, shaking his head. He had been able to suppress the pain quite easily, which he took to mean that the wound was not as serious as she believed it to be but when he stood, he suddenly faltered, finding that he was weaker than he expected, the adrenaline having left his system. He stumbled back down against the rock. “Perhaps you are right, but I am unsure of where one would find such.”
The Orion woman stepped toward him and helped him stand, supporting his weight against her, arm wrapping around his waist. "I know where we can get help," she told him. She tugged gently. "Come on, our camp is this way."
Spock allowed her to lead him as she navigated her way around the rocks flawlessly, appearing to know where she was. As Spock had no bearing on their location, he entrusted his well-being to her, not receiving a deceptive feeling from her. “May I ask,” Spock spoke. “What planet are we on? I have been unable to ascertain that.”
“Qo’noS,” she replied. In Standard, that translated to Kronos, the Klingon homeworld, which would explain the man Spock killed moments ago. They walked for several minutes in silence before she spoke again. “My name is Gaila, by the way.”
“Miss Gaila,” Spock nodded. “You may call me Spock.”
“Spock,” she repeated, a smile forming on her face. She turned her eyes towards him, studying him as she led Spock towards this ‘camp’ she mentioned earlier. “If you don’t mind me asking, where do you come from? Judging from your outfit and that collar around your neck, you’re not from around here.”
“You are correct,” Spock replied. “I am not.” He did not elaborate, unsure of how much he should tell her. He had only just met her and was not entirely convinced he should trust her just yet, despite not sensing trickery in her touch. And if she was trustworthy, he did not want to risk her life should he be pursued further.
“Okay,” she dragged the word out, clearly wishing he had been more forthcoming. Suddenly, Gaila exclaimed, “Oh, here we are!”
Spock was unsure of where ‘here’ was. He did not see anything in front of them except more rocks and snow-covered mountains in the background. His eyes scanned the horizon in the off chance that he had missed it, but still nothing. He was about to comment on this to Gaila when she reached into her pocket and extracted a communications device.
“This is Gaila, come in,” she spoke into the device.
“’Ey, lass, Scotty ‘ere,” the faint crackly voice replied.
Gaila smiled at the sound of the man’s voice. “Hey, Scotty. Open the doors, we’ve got company.”
“Good or bad?” the man called Scotty replied, sounding worried.
“Good,” Gaila was quick to reply. “Or at least I think it’s good.”
“Okay, just a sec.”
Spock soon understood why she had stopped where she had and why he didn’t see anything other than more rocks. There was a hum and a faint crackling as the small ship she had referred to as their ‘camp’ was revealed. It had been cloaked, with a cloaking device that must have been misappropriated from a Romulan or Klingon ship - most likely Klingon given their location - as this particular ship looked as though it was a former merchant ship. Unless things had changed a lot since Spock had been in prison, merchant ships were not equipped with such devices.
The large cargo bay doors opened and Gaila helped him up the steep platform and into the ship. Once they had reached the top, they came face to face with several members of the ship’s crew. Spock noticed several humans but also various other alien species, such as Andorian and Tellarite. He also noticed that many of them were armed, probably as a precaution, and that many of the boxes scattered around the cargo bay were marked as containing firearms. They greeted Gaila warmly, welcoming her back to the ship with open arms while they cautiously watched Spock. Gaila noticed their vigilance and stepped forward.
“Hey, everyone, this is Spock. He saved me from a Klingon who, uh…” She giggled. “Well, he wasn’t too happy to see me.”
Her endorsement easily melted the ice and Spock saw their demeanors relax. One of the men stepped forward and smiled at him. He was human, with a thinning head of reddish hair and round friendly eyes. “I am the leader of this little band of misfits. Montgomery Scott. You can call me Scotty.” He pointed towards the Orion. “Thanks for saving our Gaila,” he said, his thick accent speaking of Scottish origins.
Spock nodded to him. “It was no concern.”
Gaila scoffed and rolled her eyes at his response. “No, you don’t. Don’t downplay this,” she said. She looked at Scotty almost worriedly. “We need the doctor. This dumbass got hurt and is pretending it’s nothing.”
Scotty looked Spock over and noticed the wound on his stomach, which he was still keeping pressure on, but the blood had begun to flow over his hand. Scotty’s eyes widened and he called back. “Oy! Chekov! Go an’ fetch us Doctor M’Benga!”
An excitable young man, with a mop of curly brown hair and wide blue eyes ran forward. “Aye, Keptain!” he exclaimed, a Russian accent influencing his words. “Right away!” He rushed toward the door at the rear of the cargo bay and headed towards Dr. M’Benga’s location.
Spock was thankful when Gaila finally led him towards a place to sit, even if it was an upside down cargo box. He had begun to feel slightly light-headed and he knew that Scotty would have questions.
“So, what prison did you escape from, mate?”
Spock knew his appearance must have been more forthcoming than he was so he knew they would not take evasion as an answer this time. “I have spent the last twelve years in the mining prison of Rura Penthe.”
Shocked gasps erupted in the cargo bay. Spock looked over the others, noting their surprised expressions.
“Holy crap!” Gaila exclaimed. She truly had an unusual way of speaking. “No one’s ever escaped from there! How did you pull that one off?”
Spock recounted the story of how a cave-in occurred in the mines, giving him an opportunity to flee. He told them of how he made his way outside the mines and onto an abandoned shuttle. He finished his tale by describing how he had been followed into orbit and fire upon, causing him to crash land on this planet. The crew stared at him with wide eyes. Spock did not believe his tale was anything extraordinary, but these men and women were looking at him with something akin to awe. It was a little uncomfortable; he did not feel worthy of such adulation.
“If I may ask, Mr. Scott,” Spock spoke, looking upon the leader. “Who are you? I gather from the number of people on your crew, the amount of fire power you have stored here in the cargo bay and the fact that you are using a cloaking device, that you are mercenaries.”
Scotty nodded, not seeming surprised at Spock’s correct assessment. He was Vulcan after all, a species known for being observant. “You’re right, for the most part. It’s a bit more complicated than that. Many of-”
“Out of the way!” the voice of the young man known as Chekov shouted, interrupted Scotty’s explanation. “Doctor coming through!” The crowd dispersed and allowed him to pass. Behind him, with a medical bag in his hand, was another human man of African heritage. Spock presumed he was the doctor.
He rushed to Spock and dropped to his knees. “I am Doctor M’Benga,” he introduced himself. “I am told you are Spock.”
Spock nodded. “Yes.”
“Why were you tossed in Rura Penthe?” Scott asked, while Dr. M’Benga opened his medical bag and proceeded to examine Spock’s head wound, cleaning the area and disinfecting the wound.
Sensing that this group of people meant him no harm, Spock decided to speak the truth. “I was a member of Starfleet. And in a fit of professional and personal jealousy, I was falsely accused of treason and kae’at k’lasa.”
Chekov was perplexed. “What is this kae…whatever it is?”
Spock opened his mouth to reply but was cut off by Dr. M’Benga. “Mind-rape.”
Spock was surprised. He had accurately translated the crime. “You speak Vulcan?”
M’Benga shrugged. “I specialized in Vulcan medicine, though I don’t get a lot of Vulcan patients coming through my doors, so thank you for letting me get some practice in,” he finished with a smile, letting me know that he had been jesting.
“My pleasure, Doctor.”
The doctor lifted his tunic and inspected his stomach. He pressed down on the area around the wound and Spock was unable to suppress his gasp. The pain had increased. The doctor spoke up suddenly, urgently. “I need to get him to the medical bay. This was dangerously close to your heart, a few more inches up and you would have been killed.”
“See!” Gaila exclaimed, angrily pointing her finger in Spock’s direction. “I told you it was serious!”
Spock nodded. “That you did. I apologize for not taking your concern seriously.”
Scotty spoke before Gaila could get another word in. “We can talk more after you recover. Chekov, Gaila, help him get to the medical bay.”
**********
After the doctor stitched up his wounds, Spock was allowed to take a shower to rid his body of years of dirt and grime from the mines. He had been given a change of clothes, for which he was grateful as he had been wearing the same tunic and pants for years. Spock hurriedly took his shower, even if his human instincts wanted him to savor it. Once he was dressed, Spock looked in the mirror, almost not recognizing his reflection. His hair was long and tangled and he had grown a fairly lengthy beard during his incarceration. He found a brush and ran it through his hair, trying to remove the tangles and make his appearance at least somewhat presentable before tying it back. Spock discovered an unused razor in the cabinet and carefully and slowly shaved the overgrown beard from his face.
Soon, Spock felt more presentable than he had in years and he exited the bathroom, walking gingerly so as not to jostle his still healing wounds. One of the crew members saw him and directed him towards the small mess hall in the center of the ship, where he found Mr. Scott, Gaila and the young Chekov waiting. As soon as Spock entered the room, they greeted him.
“Damn, you certainly look better underneath all that scruff,” Gaila said a teasing smile on her face. Spock quirked an eyebrow at her comment. He knew women found him to be physically attractive and had been reminded of it many times by Uhura, but he had not been in the company of a woman in many years. Her sudden declaration had momentarily surprised him.
“Please, have a seat,” Scotty told him, ignoring Gaila. Spock nodded and sat in the seat across from him, hands folded on top of the table.
“Let’s get that damn collar off,” Gaila said with fury in her voice. “I can’t stand seeing it on you anymore.” She stepped toward Spock with an engineer’s kit in her hand and began to work on removing the collar.
Spock nodded and put himself in her apparent capable hands. Soon the collar was off and he was finally able to move his neck around entirely. “Thank you,” he told her. “I am eternally grateful.”
She blushed. “Oh, it was nothing. You helped me, I helped you.”
“You were in Starfleet?” Chekov asked Spock, his thick Russian accent coloring his words, giving his speech an endearing lilt. “I remember hearing about you, the only Vulcan in the fleet. I had always wanted to serve with you aboard the Enterprise.”
“Thank you,” was the only response Spock could think of, surprised by Chekov’s admission.
“Would it be too much to ask you your opinion on transwarp beaming?” Chekov asked, becoming excited about the prospect of speaking with the formerly renowned Vulcan scientist, one of the few that Starfleet had during his time in the fleet. “Scotty and I have been arguing over the whether or not it’s possible…I say no. But Scotty here says yes.”
“I am afraid that I would not be much use, Mr. Chekov,” Spock answered, slightly disappointed for feeling overwhelmed by the scientific query. “I have not yet had the time to reacquaint myself with the latest scientific discoveries since my imprisonment.”
Chekov suddenly looked embarrassed, having forgotten himself in his excitement. “Right, I am sorry, Mr. Spock. I did not think before speaking.”
“It is quite alright,” Spock reassured the easily enthused man. He turned his attention to the leader of this group, Scotty. “May we begin where we left off? You were telling me who you are.”
“Right,” Scotty said, leaning back in his seat. “As I was saying, you are partially correct, we are mercenaries. Many of us, at least the humans here, myself included, were members of Starfleet as well but we were accused of crimes, ranging from petty theft to murder, or anything in between. All of it false.”
“It does not appear to be worrisome to the commanding officer in Starfleet to levy false accusations if it serves their personal goals,” Spock replied, not in the least bit surprised.
“Yeah, got that right,” Scotty replied. “Well, after we were kicked out and what have you, we banded together. Things have gotten a little better post-Nero, but power still corrupts everyone. There are a few of the higher ups who want peace. But they’re constantly being overturned by the corrupted; one admiral in particular. He’s got a nasty streak in him…corrupted beyond belief. And he’s dragged others with him as well. Even got his own mini-fleet to do his bidding, whatever he sees fit, regardless of the consequences. Some say that he’s got his eye on becoming Emperor, despite the fact that it’s supposed to be a council type ruling. He is a truly corrupted individual to say the least.”
“May I ask, sir, what your current mission is?”
Scotty laughed. “Well for now we take odd jobs here and there, whatever we can to make ends meet. There has been a contract issued by those in Starfleet who want their…problem to go away so we’re going after him.”
“And what is the name of this particular admiral?” Spock asked. “Perhaps I have heard of him.”
“Admiral Christopher Pike. Getting a bead on him has been difficult. He’s been eluding us for quite a while,” Scotty explained.
Spock raised his brows in surprise. “Quite the coincidence, Mr. Scott. It appears that we share a similar goal.”
Author: jlneveloff
Movie Adapted: The Count of Monte Cristo
Fandom: Star Trek (TOS Reboot)
Genre: Drama, Action/Adventure, Romance, Angst
Characters/Pairings: Spock/Uhura, Kirk, Pike, McCoy, Gaila primarily & Scotty, Chekov & Sulu to a lesser degree...Oh, also Nero, Spock Prime, Sarek and even Admiral Barnett has a part to play...So pretty much everyone.
Beta: slwmtiondaylite
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: ~3943
Warnings: Language, mild adult situations, violence and the occasional plot hole
Disclaimer: Star Trek and associated characters created by Gene Roddenberry. I own nothing at all. …which makes me all kinds of sad, ‘cause I really wanna borrow Spock for a while. Based upon the film The Count of Monte Cristo, written by Jay Wolpert (based upon the novel by Alexandre Dumas père) and directed by Kevin Reynolds.
Summary: In a Universe that has always known power and corruption, it is only a matter of time before the power takes over once again and innocent people are sacrificed. Spock/Uhura. Alternate MirrorVerse.
written for the LJ community reel_startrek, Round Two.
Author's Notes: This is my first...well, novel length story, so there is the chance that I may have plot holes...You have been warned ;)
This is also based on the film more so than the novel. I've never read the novel, but I am aware that the film diverted from it greatly.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
GAILA AND THE MERCENARIES
A shriek awoke Spock. Startled, he jerked up against the seat, the fastenings holding him tightly in his spot, as the shuttle had landed at nose first, at a slight angle and gravity wanted to propel his body forward. His head ached. Feeling something warm and sticky trailing down the side of his face, he reached up and gently touched it. Slowly he pulled his hand back and examined it, finding it stained green with blood. He would need to bandage the wound quickly. Spock examined the rest of his body searching for more wounds but only found bruises. He shook his head in an attempt to clear it, his vision having grown slightly blurry.
The emergency lights in the shuttle’s cabin had activated and he noticed that there was no power coming from the engine. He looked ahead, finding the viewport window had shattered in the force of the crash. It was dark outside...wherever he was.
Spock unfastened the safety harness and slumped forward, the gravity tossing his body forward. He reached out to grab a hold of the console, preventing himself from falling further and slowly stood. As the shuttle was only at a slight angle, standing was not difficult.
The shriek rang out again, the same noise that had woken him. This time Spock was able to tell that it was a scream. Female from the sound of it. She was terrified. Ignoring his body’s protests, Spock quickly scanned the floor, searching for the phaser he had stolen from the guard in the prison, but it was no where to be found, possibly having been thrown out the viewport window during the crash landing. He heard another scream and decided the urgency required him to forgo the weapon and he rushed to the doors, prying them open and exiting.
Spock paused, waiting to hear the sound again. His eyes scanned over the horizon, taking in the deep blue, almost green, sky and low hanging clouds. Around him were large jagged rocks and snow-covered mountains but in the far distance, he could see red lights and low smog, perhaps a city of some sort. There was little vegetation in his current location, this unforgiving environment. He listened for a few more seconds trying to ascertain the woman’s location.
The scream came once more, coming from his left. Hurriedly, ignoring his pain, Spock rushed towards the sound. He vaulted over rocks and stones, his feet pounding into the ground. The scream came again, much closer this time. He was heading the right direction. Spock whirled around a corner and saw a figure of a woman running towards him, her bright red hair glinting in the faint light. She faltered slightly when she saw him, perhaps assuming he was with the large humanoid lumbering behind her. As Spock ran towards her, he called out in an attempt to reassure her that he was not there to hurt her. His destination was the male figure behind her.
Spock saw a flash of green when the woman and he ran past each other, her to safety and him to her pursuer. Both the large man and Spock halted just before they ran into each other and Spock was able to get his first good look at him. He was large, heavyset and he stood tall, perhaps a foot taller than Spock. Spock’s eyes trailed up his form, taking in his apparent civilian clothing, his long kinky hair and the ridged forehead. Klingon.
Yes, he was larger than Spock and would be a strong opponent, given his race’s warrior nature, but Spock’s strength would rival with the Klingon’s and his smaller frame would give him the added advantage of agility. Spock assumed the starting position of suus mahna, the Vulcan martial arts, waiting for the fight to begin. The Klingon laughed at him, sizing him up, no doubt taking the Vulcan’s tattered clothing and bloodied face as a sign that he was merely a minor setback, something to be dealt with quickly. Spock glanced behind him and noticed that the woman had stopped running and had turned around, watching them.
The Klingon launched first, noticing Spock’s distracted gaze. But Spock was able to sidestep the attack, his speed much quicker than the Klingon’s. The fight continued as such, with Spock avoiding, sometime narrowly, the Klingon’s attacks and with Spock occasionally striking him. Several moments later, Spock was able to gain the upper hand. He sidestepped a punch and grabbed the Klingon’s arm pulling his body forward, causing him lose his balance. He stumbled and Spock moved behind him, grabbing him by his neck, his arms encircling the Klingon, and he squeezed tightly, attempting to draw the air out of him. The Klingon thrashed against him and Spock held him tighter, trying to make him pass out.
In his attempts to render the Klingon unconscious, Spock failed to see the Klingon reaching into his clothing for a weapon until the woman called out, warning him, a second too late. Spock felt the blade pierce his abdomen and realized that he had to use deadly force to dispatch the Klingon. Spock grabbed the Klingon’s chin and forehead before twisting with as much strength as he could. The sound of bone cracking signaled his success and he released him, the limp body crumbling to the ground.
Spock took a deep breath in an effort to ease the pain from his stomach wound. He placed his hand against it, pressing down. The bleeding needed to be stopped, or at best, slowed until medical attention could be found. Spock stepped back and leaned against a rock. The woman hesitantly walked toward him. Spock watched her out of the corner of his eye, noting her appearance clearly for the first time. She indeed had the bright red hair he saw earlier. And that flash of green as she had run past him was her skin color; she was Orion. She was physically appealing, with bright blue eyes. But she was not dressed as any Orion woman Spock had ever seen. A typical Orion woman, or the ones that he had seen, was barely clothed, dressed in bikinis or loincloths barely covering their most intimate areas. It was meant to entice men of various species who were susceptible to their pheromones.
But this Orion woman was fully clothed, dressed in what appeared to be a uniform of some sort. Her clothing bore the marks of an attempted assault, having been ripped at some point. Her red hair had been tied back out of her face, the loose tendrils framing her face. Spock watched as she grew closer, her eyes wide.
“Oh, my God,” she said, surprising Spock with her accent-free Standard and typical human saying. She reached her hand out and sought his wound, wanting to examine it herself. “I didn’t mean for you to get hurt. Thank you, sir, for saving me. I am so, so stupid,” she finished, pulling his hand away from his stomach wound.
“It is of no concern,” Spock told her, trying to push her hand away.
But she was not having it. “No concern?! You could have died!” she exclaimed, ignoring his protests, lifting his tunic. “And it would have been my fault. I can’t live with that on my conscious!”
She pressed down on the wound and Spock suppressed a grunt. “Then perhaps you should not have angered a Klingon,” he replied.
She scoffed. “It’s not like it takes much to make one mad. But just for the record, I didn’t ask for your help.” She lowered his tunic and brought her hand to his head wound. “But thank you anyway."
Spock remained silent, suspecting that she would not appreciate his admission that he had acted on instinct upon hearing a female in danger. As Kirk would say, he fell for the damsel in distress act. She brushed his disheveled hair aside, gently removing it from the sticky blood from his head wound so she could examine it closer. Suddenly she pulled away her hand, "Oh, you're Vulcan."
"And you are Orion," Spock replied, an eyebrow rose at her statement.
She was momentarily flustered by his response. Spock realized that he had embarrassed her by mentioning that she has just stated the obvious, something most Vulcans found to be a waste of time. "No, no," she started. "I just meant 'no touching'. I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable."
Spock shook my head. "I am not uncomfortable,” he reassured her. “Had I been, I would have told you.”
“Right, sorry,” she mumbled, resuming her examination. Her voice was soft when she spoke again. “We need to get you medical attention.”
“That is not necessary,” Spock replied, shaking his head. He had been able to suppress the pain quite easily, which he took to mean that the wound was not as serious as she believed it to be but when he stood, he suddenly faltered, finding that he was weaker than he expected, the adrenaline having left his system. He stumbled back down against the rock. “Perhaps you are right, but I am unsure of where one would find such.”
The Orion woman stepped toward him and helped him stand, supporting his weight against her, arm wrapping around his waist. "I know where we can get help," she told him. She tugged gently. "Come on, our camp is this way."
Spock allowed her to lead him as she navigated her way around the rocks flawlessly, appearing to know where she was. As Spock had no bearing on their location, he entrusted his well-being to her, not receiving a deceptive feeling from her. “May I ask,” Spock spoke. “What planet are we on? I have been unable to ascertain that.”
“Qo’noS,” she replied. In Standard, that translated to Kronos, the Klingon homeworld, which would explain the man Spock killed moments ago. They walked for several minutes in silence before she spoke again. “My name is Gaila, by the way.”
“Miss Gaila,” Spock nodded. “You may call me Spock.”
“Spock,” she repeated, a smile forming on her face. She turned her eyes towards him, studying him as she led Spock towards this ‘camp’ she mentioned earlier. “If you don’t mind me asking, where do you come from? Judging from your outfit and that collar around your neck, you’re not from around here.”
“You are correct,” Spock replied. “I am not.” He did not elaborate, unsure of how much he should tell her. He had only just met her and was not entirely convinced he should trust her just yet, despite not sensing trickery in her touch. And if she was trustworthy, he did not want to risk her life should he be pursued further.
“Okay,” she dragged the word out, clearly wishing he had been more forthcoming. Suddenly, Gaila exclaimed, “Oh, here we are!”
Spock was unsure of where ‘here’ was. He did not see anything in front of them except more rocks and snow-covered mountains in the background. His eyes scanned the horizon in the off chance that he had missed it, but still nothing. He was about to comment on this to Gaila when she reached into her pocket and extracted a communications device.
“This is Gaila, come in,” she spoke into the device.
“’Ey, lass, Scotty ‘ere,” the faint crackly voice replied.
Gaila smiled at the sound of the man’s voice. “Hey, Scotty. Open the doors, we’ve got company.”
“Good or bad?” the man called Scotty replied, sounding worried.
“Good,” Gaila was quick to reply. “Or at least I think it’s good.”
“Okay, just a sec.”
Spock soon understood why she had stopped where she had and why he didn’t see anything other than more rocks. There was a hum and a faint crackling as the small ship she had referred to as their ‘camp’ was revealed. It had been cloaked, with a cloaking device that must have been misappropriated from a Romulan or Klingon ship - most likely Klingon given their location - as this particular ship looked as though it was a former merchant ship. Unless things had changed a lot since Spock had been in prison, merchant ships were not equipped with such devices.
The large cargo bay doors opened and Gaila helped him up the steep platform and into the ship. Once they had reached the top, they came face to face with several members of the ship’s crew. Spock noticed several humans but also various other alien species, such as Andorian and Tellarite. He also noticed that many of them were armed, probably as a precaution, and that many of the boxes scattered around the cargo bay were marked as containing firearms. They greeted Gaila warmly, welcoming her back to the ship with open arms while they cautiously watched Spock. Gaila noticed their vigilance and stepped forward.
“Hey, everyone, this is Spock. He saved me from a Klingon who, uh…” She giggled. “Well, he wasn’t too happy to see me.”
Her endorsement easily melted the ice and Spock saw their demeanors relax. One of the men stepped forward and smiled at him. He was human, with a thinning head of reddish hair and round friendly eyes. “I am the leader of this little band of misfits. Montgomery Scott. You can call me Scotty.” He pointed towards the Orion. “Thanks for saving our Gaila,” he said, his thick accent speaking of Scottish origins.
Spock nodded to him. “It was no concern.”
Gaila scoffed and rolled her eyes at his response. “No, you don’t. Don’t downplay this,” she said. She looked at Scotty almost worriedly. “We need the doctor. This dumbass got hurt and is pretending it’s nothing.”
Scotty looked Spock over and noticed the wound on his stomach, which he was still keeping pressure on, but the blood had begun to flow over his hand. Scotty’s eyes widened and he called back. “Oy! Chekov! Go an’ fetch us Doctor M’Benga!”
An excitable young man, with a mop of curly brown hair and wide blue eyes ran forward. “Aye, Keptain!” he exclaimed, a Russian accent influencing his words. “Right away!” He rushed toward the door at the rear of the cargo bay and headed towards Dr. M’Benga’s location.
Spock was thankful when Gaila finally led him towards a place to sit, even if it was an upside down cargo box. He had begun to feel slightly light-headed and he knew that Scotty would have questions.
“So, what prison did you escape from, mate?”
Spock knew his appearance must have been more forthcoming than he was so he knew they would not take evasion as an answer this time. “I have spent the last twelve years in the mining prison of Rura Penthe.”
Shocked gasps erupted in the cargo bay. Spock looked over the others, noting their surprised expressions.
“Holy crap!” Gaila exclaimed. She truly had an unusual way of speaking. “No one’s ever escaped from there! How did you pull that one off?”
Spock recounted the story of how a cave-in occurred in the mines, giving him an opportunity to flee. He told them of how he made his way outside the mines and onto an abandoned shuttle. He finished his tale by describing how he had been followed into orbit and fire upon, causing him to crash land on this planet. The crew stared at him with wide eyes. Spock did not believe his tale was anything extraordinary, but these men and women were looking at him with something akin to awe. It was a little uncomfortable; he did not feel worthy of such adulation.
“If I may ask, Mr. Scott,” Spock spoke, looking upon the leader. “Who are you? I gather from the number of people on your crew, the amount of fire power you have stored here in the cargo bay and the fact that you are using a cloaking device, that you are mercenaries.”
Scotty nodded, not seeming surprised at Spock’s correct assessment. He was Vulcan after all, a species known for being observant. “You’re right, for the most part. It’s a bit more complicated than that. Many of-”
“Out of the way!” the voice of the young man known as Chekov shouted, interrupted Scotty’s explanation. “Doctor coming through!” The crowd dispersed and allowed him to pass. Behind him, with a medical bag in his hand, was another human man of African heritage. Spock presumed he was the doctor.
He rushed to Spock and dropped to his knees. “I am Doctor M’Benga,” he introduced himself. “I am told you are Spock.”
Spock nodded. “Yes.”
“Why were you tossed in Rura Penthe?” Scott asked, while Dr. M’Benga opened his medical bag and proceeded to examine Spock’s head wound, cleaning the area and disinfecting the wound.
Sensing that this group of people meant him no harm, Spock decided to speak the truth. “I was a member of Starfleet. And in a fit of professional and personal jealousy, I was falsely accused of treason and kae’at k’lasa.”
Chekov was perplexed. “What is this kae…whatever it is?”
Spock opened his mouth to reply but was cut off by Dr. M’Benga. “Mind-rape.”
Spock was surprised. He had accurately translated the crime. “You speak Vulcan?”
M’Benga shrugged. “I specialized in Vulcan medicine, though I don’t get a lot of Vulcan patients coming through my doors, so thank you for letting me get some practice in,” he finished with a smile, letting me know that he had been jesting.
“My pleasure, Doctor.”
The doctor lifted his tunic and inspected his stomach. He pressed down on the area around the wound and Spock was unable to suppress his gasp. The pain had increased. The doctor spoke up suddenly, urgently. “I need to get him to the medical bay. This was dangerously close to your heart, a few more inches up and you would have been killed.”
“See!” Gaila exclaimed, angrily pointing her finger in Spock’s direction. “I told you it was serious!”
Spock nodded. “That you did. I apologize for not taking your concern seriously.”
Scotty spoke before Gaila could get another word in. “We can talk more after you recover. Chekov, Gaila, help him get to the medical bay.”
**********
After the doctor stitched up his wounds, Spock was allowed to take a shower to rid his body of years of dirt and grime from the mines. He had been given a change of clothes, for which he was grateful as he had been wearing the same tunic and pants for years. Spock hurriedly took his shower, even if his human instincts wanted him to savor it. Once he was dressed, Spock looked in the mirror, almost not recognizing his reflection. His hair was long and tangled and he had grown a fairly lengthy beard during his incarceration. He found a brush and ran it through his hair, trying to remove the tangles and make his appearance at least somewhat presentable before tying it back. Spock discovered an unused razor in the cabinet and carefully and slowly shaved the overgrown beard from his face.
Soon, Spock felt more presentable than he had in years and he exited the bathroom, walking gingerly so as not to jostle his still healing wounds. One of the crew members saw him and directed him towards the small mess hall in the center of the ship, where he found Mr. Scott, Gaila and the young Chekov waiting. As soon as Spock entered the room, they greeted him.
“Damn, you certainly look better underneath all that scruff,” Gaila said a teasing smile on her face. Spock quirked an eyebrow at her comment. He knew women found him to be physically attractive and had been reminded of it many times by Uhura, but he had not been in the company of a woman in many years. Her sudden declaration had momentarily surprised him.
“Please, have a seat,” Scotty told him, ignoring Gaila. Spock nodded and sat in the seat across from him, hands folded on top of the table.
“Let’s get that damn collar off,” Gaila said with fury in her voice. “I can’t stand seeing it on you anymore.” She stepped toward Spock with an engineer’s kit in her hand and began to work on removing the collar.
Spock nodded and put himself in her apparent capable hands. Soon the collar was off and he was finally able to move his neck around entirely. “Thank you,” he told her. “I am eternally grateful.”
She blushed. “Oh, it was nothing. You helped me, I helped you.”
“You were in Starfleet?” Chekov asked Spock, his thick Russian accent coloring his words, giving his speech an endearing lilt. “I remember hearing about you, the only Vulcan in the fleet. I had always wanted to serve with you aboard the Enterprise.”
“Thank you,” was the only response Spock could think of, surprised by Chekov’s admission.
“Would it be too much to ask you your opinion on transwarp beaming?” Chekov asked, becoming excited about the prospect of speaking with the formerly renowned Vulcan scientist, one of the few that Starfleet had during his time in the fleet. “Scotty and I have been arguing over the whether or not it’s possible…I say no. But Scotty here says yes.”
“I am afraid that I would not be much use, Mr. Chekov,” Spock answered, slightly disappointed for feeling overwhelmed by the scientific query. “I have not yet had the time to reacquaint myself with the latest scientific discoveries since my imprisonment.”
Chekov suddenly looked embarrassed, having forgotten himself in his excitement. “Right, I am sorry, Mr. Spock. I did not think before speaking.”
“It is quite alright,” Spock reassured the easily enthused man. He turned his attention to the leader of this group, Scotty. “May we begin where we left off? You were telling me who you are.”
“Right,” Scotty said, leaning back in his seat. “As I was saying, you are partially correct, we are mercenaries. Many of us, at least the humans here, myself included, were members of Starfleet as well but we were accused of crimes, ranging from petty theft to murder, or anything in between. All of it false.”
“It does not appear to be worrisome to the commanding officer in Starfleet to levy false accusations if it serves their personal goals,” Spock replied, not in the least bit surprised.
“Yeah, got that right,” Scotty replied. “Well, after we were kicked out and what have you, we banded together. Things have gotten a little better post-Nero, but power still corrupts everyone. There are a few of the higher ups who want peace. But they’re constantly being overturned by the corrupted; one admiral in particular. He’s got a nasty streak in him…corrupted beyond belief. And he’s dragged others with him as well. Even got his own mini-fleet to do his bidding, whatever he sees fit, regardless of the consequences. Some say that he’s got his eye on becoming Emperor, despite the fact that it’s supposed to be a council type ruling. He is a truly corrupted individual to say the least.”
“May I ask, sir, what your current mission is?”
Scotty laughed. “Well for now we take odd jobs here and there, whatever we can to make ends meet. There has been a contract issued by those in Starfleet who want their…problem to go away so we’re going after him.”
“And what is the name of this particular admiral?” Spock asked. “Perhaps I have heard of him.”
“Admiral Christopher Pike. Getting a bead on him has been difficult. He’s been eluding us for quite a while,” Scotty explained.
Spock raised his brows in surprise. “Quite the coincidence, Mr. Scott. It appears that we share a similar goal.”