Work Text:
ASHV’CEZH
(Revenge Worse than Death)
Shelley Butler
A wave of sand pours into the house.
Like an unrelenting tide, filling every crevice and crack. The monstrous deluge rises up to the ceiling and pours through the doorway into her room.
She can’t get to the door fast enough before the sand is cascading upon her--suffocating, drowning, burying.
T’Pring woke up. Her eyes flew open and her heart pounded in her side.
She sucked in as much air as her lungs could fill. Just air. No sand.
Exhaling slowly, she drew her hands through her long loose hair, trying to erase the memory of the terrible dream.
***
She rose and walked barefoot into the kitchen and turned on the lights. She got a glass from the cabinet, poured ultra filtered cold water from the drinking water tap. She drank all of it to wash away the imaginary sand.
The chime of the house’s forcefield sounded.
Perfect timing, of course. Evening. The exact time her husband would return home. Always, always the exact time.
She walked into the front room with its utilitarian sofa, straight-backed chairs and bland colors. Bare white walls punctuated by duro-glass windows that looked out to the desert.
She hated the desert.
She longed for a mansion in ShiKahr, where no sand would rub her sensitive, tender skin. No sand to spoil the beautiful furnishings, the elegant paintings or the fine tapestries.
Through the clear door that separated the sand room from the rest of the house, she watched her husband remove the fine gauze head covering and large goggles that protected his hair and face from the ravages of the elements.
She watched as he stripped off the coveralls. The sand showered down to the floor in a dry puddle. The sand would all be vacuumed away in minutes, but still much of it clung to clothes and exposed skin.
Despite the forcefield set up around the house, the sand got in. The desert wind always blew hardest when the front door was opened. At least it seemed that way. Each time anyone came or went and the forcefield was shut off, the sand arrived.
Her husband shook his short cropped dark hair, rubbed his face and hands, and turned, meeting her eyes as the door slid open.
Stonn stepped through quickly and the door slid closed behind him.
***
Her husband came forward to greet her and she allowed the brief touch of hands, hoping he would not sense her involuntary shiver.
“I will input the day’s research report. I estimate twenty point five minutes,” he said. “I will engage in meditation subsequent to our evening’s repast. Do you find this acceptable?”
“Yes,” she said and almost laughed. This was his usual routine each evening unless he was called away for some research expedition. She longed for more of those.
Stonn turned away and went to his office.
T’Pring followed and stood in the doorway studying her husband in the glowing light of the computer viewscreen. He gave a command and the computer answered. He absently dusted a few grains of sand from his hair and rubbed his face. His skin was more weathered than when she had first known him. The days of research out in the elements had assured that. He picked at his ear.
She shivered.
If only she had known. If only she had seen the signs when she first met him. But that was illogical thinking. How could she have known that her future husband would be a nothing, a nobody, a minor research scientist of minimal ambition?
If she had known, she never would have challenged. She never would have given up all that could have been hers.
For him.
In her father’s home, while the household slept, they had planned. Their illicit meetings had been secretly thrilling as they conjured up scenarios, whispering to each other in the darkness, lit by a small single lamp.
He had been so strong then, so powerful. She dreamt of her future life with him. They say Vulcans do not dream, but she had.
Dreams of the finest dresses spun from exotic silks. Dreams of formal affairs in the ancestral mansion with the elite of Vulcan society. Dreams of her private audience with T’Pau concerning pressing matters of state. Dreams of being toasted and acclaimed wherever she might travel. People whispering in awe when they saw her wearing the most fashionable clothing--elegant, but understated. Dreams of flirtations with handsome men. Dreams of envy from all the women who saw her with her famous, rich husband.
Dreams. Her future ripped from her.
Stonn shifted in his chair to look at her. She wanted to sneer or say something sarcastic, but that would get her nowhere. He would not be affected. Even if he were, he would not show it. Any display of emotion would only reflect on her. Show him how un-Vulcan she had become.
So instead, she forced a smile and turned away.
At least she had gained one benefit from being with Stonn. She had been able to use him to achieve the knowledge, the capability and the means to affect her future. Nothing would stop her. She could visualize her final goal with infinite clarity. Life would be good.
As it should be.
She was still beautiful. Her skin was smooth; she never went outside without protection. Her hair was still long and gleaming ebony black. Her lithe body was still strong and supple.
He was a pawn. Unwitting fool. She had effortlessly cajoled and seduced all the information she needed from him. How easy he had been to manipulate as she engaged in oral copulation. She moved her tongue inside her mouth, tasting the uncomfortable memory of his bitter semen.
And while he pumped away inside her, she escaped to visions of her future, surrounded by handsome admirers and all the wealth and grandeur she deserved.
Once she learned how to gain access to his vast computer resources, she had turned her back and slept.
***
They ate dinner in silence, as always.
She tried not to watch him too carefully throughout the meal, but her anxiety forced her to keep glancing up. He did not seem to notice--her efforts to weaken their bond and minimize the connection were finally coming to fruition.
After an eternity, he placed the eating utensil beside his plate. He rose from the table and walked a few steps in the direction of the bedroom to prepare for his meditation.
She sat paralyzed while her heart pounded.
He stopped, faltered slightly, and put a hand to his throat.
He turned. His face drawn and pale, his lips parted, saliva dripping from the corners of his mouth, his eyes wide and unfocused. His other hand reached out towards her. His eyes were huge and unblinking. He fell to his knees, gagging and gasping for air.
“Goodbye, Stonn,” she said and stepped over his prone body.
***
The sanash-isram sanctuary looked as though carved out of the rocks of the L’langon Mountains.
Mount Seleya was situated far to the east, rising from the horizon in deep purple splendor. The city of ShiKahr lay to the west with a vast distance of desert between.
Eridani burned hot in a red-orange sky, but the mountain peak where the sanash-isram lay was obscured by a dense veil of heavy gray clouds.
T’Pring watched in satisfaction as the desert slowly became rocks and soil and trees.
Truly a paradise. She looked out the aircar window at the enormous mountain looming in the distance.
Mount T’Rana. Her new home for a while.
The burnished cliffs had seemed barren from far away, but as her aircar neared, T’Pring could see bushes and trees dotting the sides of the rocky cliffs.
Even though she had been with Stonn out in the desert for only five months, the passage of time felt like an eternity. But now that was over. Achievement would take time, but she was patient. Now she faced her greatest goal. She would get what she wanted.
Nothing would stop her.
The aircar slowed and began to descend. The public vehicle could only take her so far, no transports being allowed past a certain point. A visitor had only one way to get up the mountain to the sanash-isram.
Walk.
The driver stopped the aircar near a narrow dirt path. There were no signs or markers of any kind, but she knew this was the correct place. She had dreamt of it.
As she stepped out of the aircar, a warm breeze played with her long, diaphanous skirt. What a difference from the usual blast furnace that would assault her every time she would leave the desert house.
She lifted her face to the breeze and inhaled the clean air redolent with the scent of wildflowers that were able to grow at this altitude. This was paradise and she could smile. No one would admonish her. Ever again.
She walked to the back of the aircar and saw that the driver had already taken her single bag from the storage compartment. He set it down on the soft grass next to a dirt path.
“I suggest you begin your ascent immediately,” he said, the breeze ruffling his perfectly straight bangs, “as it will become dark in three point two hours.”
She stood on the dirt path and watched as the aircar sped away. When it was out of sight, she picked up her bag and began the long walk up the mountain.
***
The heat rippled off the desert sand.
The bells chimed and jangled until her nerves were raw. But her countenance betrayed nothing. Her hands clenched at her side.
The kalifee.
She had demanded the challenge as was her right. Their plan would succeed and Stonn would be hers. And if Spock were killed or the Human killed, so much the better.
She stared mesmerized at the two men rolling, tumbling, grappling in the sand.
The embers of the fireshrine exploded in a shower of flames and sparks. The cries and moans and grunts echoed in the hot still air. The wind had died. The bells had stopped.
The sound of the lirpa as it sliced through the air.
Blood, Human blood, the color of Eridani before the black of night oozed from the gash in the Human’s chest. Deep red drops fell to the sand.
Her heart beat wildly.
She tore her eyes away to look at her chosen one. He stared straight ahead. He did not glance at her.
She looked back at the two men locked in combat.
Then she knew.
Spock desired the Human.
He was in love with that weak alien. She could sense the feeling clearly. She could hear it and smell it and taste it.
The Human.
Her stomach churned. Bile rose in her throat. Her hands were fists. She wished she held a lirpa, she would kill that treacherous Vulcan. No, she would kill the Human first and let Spock watch. Then she would kill Spock. How dare he desire that…Human…over her.
No matter that she only desired Stonn. The insult of Spock choosing a pathetic Human over her was sufficient cause to enrage. She would never forget this insult. She was Vulcan. She and Spock had been betrothed when she was only a child. She had a right to choose another. He did not.
Spock’s erection was enormous. But he was in plak-tow and arousal was considered a normal response to the blood fever. If it were not for the psychic emanations that spoke clearly as to whom this desire was directed, she might have ignored it.
No wonder their betrothal link had been weakening. She had found it curious that as Spock’s time drew near, the link seemed to be dissipating instead of strengthening. Even though she had no feelings whatsoever for him, Spock should have been inexorably drawn to her.
Now she knew.
That Human.
Her throat constricted and her vision blurred. She tasted rage. It tasted like blood.
The insult would never be forgotten.
Never.
***
Spock raised his eyes from the tri-level chess board. “It is your move, Captain.”
Kirk leaned back in his chair and brought the brandy snifter to his lips. Spock watched as his captain’s lips parted slightly when the rim of the glass touched them. The tip of the dark pink tongue dipped into the amber liquid and he took a sip. He lowered the glass, his lips glistening wet with brandy.
And Jim’s eyes.
The lashes that framed those eyes cast tiny shadows on his cheeks even in the soft light of the captain’s quarters. His hair was streaked with gold, no doubt due to the recent expedition to Denebia’s oceans. The planet’s season had been comparable to Earth’s summer, the sun high. But what Spock remembered was the full moon. At nighttime, on the beach beside the black waves that endlessly spread and receded over the black sand, the ethereal moonlight had bathed Jim in its softness. The moonlight had washed the captain in silver.
“Spock?”
“Yes, sir?” He sat up straighter in his chair.
“Neither of us is paying attention to this game. Let’s stop.” The captain smiled. Spock thought again of the Denebian moonlight.
“As you wish,” Spock said and began clearing the chess pieces on the table.
The captain’s hand touched his just as he was picking up the black king. “Leave it,” Kirk said softly.
“As you wish.” The hand remained on his. He did not know what to do. He did not want to look up into those hazel pools. He did not want to drown.
“Spock.” Those lips, that mouth that spoke his name like music.
“Captain?” He had to look up. If he did not, it would be obvious he was not looking up. Then he would be questioned about it. He would be unable to answer. He would have to lie. And Vulcans do not lie.
He looked up.
The beautiful eyes searched his face. “We have to talk.”
The hand slid slowly off his, leaving a tingling, vibrating trail.
“What is it concerning, Captain?”
“Jim, Spock. Not Captain. Jim. Remember? When we are alone?”
“As you wish, Ca…Jim.”
“Stop saying that.”
“I am endeavoring to do so.”
“No. Stop saying as you wish.”
“Yes, sir. Jim.”
“Spock, this is getting us nowhere.”
“Where do you wish us to go?”
“Spock….” The captain stood up, walked to his desk and picked up the decanter. The golden skin showed through the thin white shirt, a few buttons open to reveal the hollow of the neck, the top of a smooth muscular chest.
Jim poured a small amount of brandy into his glass, then offered some to him. Spock extended his glass, willing his hand to be still. He watched the liquid pour from the decanter. He stared into the glass and brought it to his mouth.
“There is…something…happening between us,” Spock heard Jim say, but he continued to stare into the amber depths of his glass.
“To what are you referring?” The brandy tasted hot and sweet on his tongue. He swallowed. The alcohol raced through his bloodstream but did not calm him.
“Ever since your pon farr and that fight we had, things have changed between us.”
“You are my captain…and my friend.” He would resign, leave Starfleet forever.
“Yes, I know, and I treasure that friendship.” Jim stared at him. “But I think there’s something more.”
Spock was adhered to the chair. “More?” He did not recognize his own voice.
“We need to talk about what happened on Vulcan,” Jim said and sat down on the sofa across from his desk.
Spock turned in his chair. His legs would not allow him to stand.
“I regret my behavior and submit myself for disciplinary action.”
“No, Spock. That’s not what I’m talking about. Besides, you certainly were under the influence.”
“Yes. I was not myself.”
“But I was.”
“Captain?”
“Something happened between us on Vulcan. Something I don’t think I can deny any longer. It’s been a while since and…”
“Six months, five days, sixteen hours by ship’s time.”
“Yeah, well, it’s been long enough. Certain feelings were…. I’m not sure I can really explain it.”
“Certainly our combat was extremely stressful for you, Captain. I am able to understand how…”
“No, I don’t think you do understand. I felt…emotions. I felt things for you that I hadn’t realized before. It happened when we were fighting. You touched me, you were holding on to me, and you were in the fever. Your mind was completely open. It’s taken me a while to assimilate all this, but now I know.”
“I do not comprehend what you know, Captain. I was in a trance-like state. I cannot be held accountable for that time.”
“I know it was the fever that caused you to fight with me. That and T’Pring’s challenge. But that doesn’t explain what I felt.”
Spock stood. “What did you feel?”
Jim stood up and faced him. “Something…more, that is, I’m trying to tell you. Oh shit, Spock, this is not coming out the way I planned it. What I mean is…”
“Captain, it is late. You are understandably tired after our recent mission.”
“No, I’m not. That’s not it.” He turned away and put his glass on the desk.
“I shall see you in the morning,” Spock said. “Goodnight, Captain.”
Jim stopped him with a hand on his arm. It burned. “Spock…”
He looked into the eager upturned face of his beautiful captain.
Spock placed the brandy glass on the desk. He walked to the door. He hesitated. He touched the button and the panels separated.
He walked out.
***
T’Pring awoke at dawn on the first morning.
The light of the morning sun was just beginning to slowly filter in through the small window, revealing the room. The walls were a rough pattern of stones that had been carved out of the rock cliffs of the L’langons. Red mineral veins swirled through the stone and glowed warmly in the glistening light.
Such a different light than the one she was used to. The harsh desert light that came into her bedroom had been glaring and made her eyes water. She had had to endure so much--the swift rise of temperature from the freeze of night to the furnace of day. Even though the house had been climate controlled, the light still felt hot and stifling.
But it was different here. This was not the desert. This serene place did not resemble the baked, sand-filled ugliness of the desert. The light that came in now was the light of the Vulcan mountains--soft and cool.
She reached out and felt the empty space beside her in the bed. She yawned and stretched luxuriously.
It was still early and the sanash-isram was quiet. But then she supposed it was always quiet. The Vulcans who resided here would demand quiet. This was the refuge of those beleaguered by psychic and physical noise.
She sighed. So peaceful. Already she was attuned to the telepathic quietness. The sanash-isram maintained strict rules on shielding. That rule would certainly work in her favor. They would never know the true purpose of her visit. By the time they found out, it would be too late. She yawned again and smiled.
He was here.
The one who would help cleanse herself of the disease.
The disease called Spock.
***
Spock watched as the captain paced the anteroom of his quarters.
He was not sure why the captain had called to join him in the evening when they were off duty.
As he watched, he shifted his stance and attempted to appear normal. His hands clasped behind his back. His expression set into one of carefully studied neutrality. His chin slightly lifted. He balanced his weight on both feet.
He wondered at his ability to remain standing.
Despite all his efforts at meditation to rid himself of the growing feelings, he remained completely unsuccessful. Even more unsuccessful when the captain was in close proximity. Such as now. No distraction signaled from the comm unit. No scientific research to engage his mind. Nothing to look at except him.
“I want to talk to you,” the captain said. “And this time, you’re not going to leave until I’ve finished.”
“Yes, sir,” Spock said.
The captain stopped pacing, but his body seemed tightly coiled with energy.
“You and I have shared an excellent working relationship. And your friendship has always been, well, precious to me. I’d never want to change that.” He moved closer. “But ever since that incident on Vulcan, I’ve been experiencing some very strong feelings about you. I’ve thought a lot about this, and I’ve got to risk telling you because it is interfering with my ability to command this ship.”
He paused and looked at Spock. “Nothing should interfere with my command. I’m supposed to be the brave starship captain. But right now, I don’t feel very brave.”
“Captain…Jim…”
“No, let me finish.” He turned slightly away with a distant look in his eyes as he remembered. “When we were fighting, there at the koon-ut-kalifee, you were in contact with me, both physically and mentally. My memory is hazy, but I heard some things---felt them, I think from your mind.”
“It was a mind link,” Spock said.
“You never told me.”
“I have not wished to discuss such a painful event. I apologize if my reticence has caused you distress.”
“Distress, Spock? I only thought I’d gone crazy! All these months, I’ve kept remembering that time. Knowing I felt something. Not knowing what.”
“What was this something that you felt?” He already knew the answer. This was the very confrontation he had wanted to avoid. Now it was unavoidable.
“There was a connection between us--some kind of psychic link. Everything was so chaotic that I thought I had imagined all of it. But now I know what I heard and felt. Your thoughts.” Kirk faced him directly. “Your desire.”
Spock swallowed. “Jim…”
“Are you going to deny it? Are you going to run from me again?” His eyes glittered with a challenge.
“No,” he answered.
“I think I’m in love with you, Mister Spock.”
The moment froze. Neither spoke as their eyes met.
The time was now.
Spock stood so close, closer to the beautiful, lush mouth of his captain. His lips barely touched. The captain did not move away.
As if on their own accord, Spock’s arms surrounded the captain. Their mouths pressed together in an inflamed kiss.
This, the taste of the sweet mouth on his, had seemed so impossible only moments before. Now the reality overwhelmed him and his heart thundered in his side.
He had never felt better.
He held the strong, masculine body in his arms and kept kissing the beautiful mouth of the captain.
Jim drew back and looked into his eyes. “I want to make love to you.”
Spock’s heart soared, but he said, “We must wait.”
“Why? We want each other, isn’t that all that matters?”
“I must discuss this with you.”
Jim frowned. “You make it sound so cold--like ship’s business or something.”
“That is not my intention.”
“Do you want me?” His eyes were so bright.
Spock gave a small smile. “I want you as I want my life. I very much desire you.”
“Then what?” Jim grasped Spock’s shoulders.
“My feelings for you did not begin at koon-ut-kalifee. It was only then that you became aware of them. But it is only now that I know how you feel about me. I need time to assimilate.”
“I’ll give you time.” Jim pulled Spock to him. “After.”
“Jim,” Spock said. “I am unused to emotions. My training, my upbringing, my life has been to suppress emotion. I am, and have been, a being of logic.”
“I know. But you can’t deny this.” Jim put his hand on the very hard bulge beneath Spock’s uniform pants. The palm of Jim’s hand pressed firmly onto the alive, warm hardness. Spock felt incredible heat gathering beneath the hand. He had dreamt of this. He had actually had dreams of this touch.
“No, I cannot deny,” he said, hearing the soft moan in his own voice. “Nor would I want to deny. But there are many aspects to consider.” He gently extricated himself and stepped away. “One is the nature of Vulcan relationships.”
“Relationships as in two males?”
“Yes, but any pairing. Have you heard of the Vulcan term t’hy’la?”
“When we were at the ceremony, T’Pau told me something about it while you were in the trance.”
Spock’s eyebrow went up. “Indeed? That is most enlightening. She must have been aware of my feelings when she initially touched my mind. She has never revealed her discovery to me.”
“T’hy’la. Is that what you want to be with me?” Jim looked so young and innocent at that moment. Spock’s heart surged.
“Yes.”
“I do too. So what’s the problem?”
Spock sighed. “I do not believe you understand the full ramifications of such a relationship.”
“Then tell me what I don’t understand.”
Spock paused and looked out the viewport. “Being t’hy’la means a total and absolute commitment. It means we must bond.”
“So? We’ll bond.”
“Jim,” he said and turned to face him. “Bonding is for life. It extends even beyond life to our katras. Our souls. It is a physical, emotional, spiritual and mental bond.”
“Mental? As in your going inside my mind?”
“Inexact, but essentially accurate. Our minds would be inexorably linked with each other.”
Jim stood very close. Spock felt the warm, gentle breath on his face as Jim’s lips softly brushed his.
“Show me,” Jim said, closing his eyes.
Spock placed his fingers delicately on Jim’s forehead, between the eyes, on the cheek and the jawline. He closed his eyes and saw the brilliant light that was James Kirk.
Spock touched it once, twice like a bather testing the water.
The Human’s mind was like the light and energy of Eridani. It would blind him.
The urge to embrace the dynamic mind was overwhelming. He knew he must not.
He wanted to.
With extreme effort, he pulled away. The light faded. Spock removed his fingers and opened his eyes.
The captain’s face stayed upturned, his eyes still closed, a small smile on his lips.
The eyelashes lifted to reveal glittering eyes. “That was incredible,” Jim said breathlessly as a single trail of moisture coursed down his cheek. “Is that what it’s like?”
“The actual mind link and resulting bond will be of far greater intensity. It is a powerful psychic force. Indeed, I felt drawn to you with only the lightest of links.”
“I felt so open to you. I’m not sure how to describe the feeling. Exhilaration. Or pleasure, but more. Much more. I felt you inside my mind.”
Spock smiled softly. “On a deep level of consciousness, our thoughts and feelings would be one. Even death does not part us. The link is eternal. It is unbreakable except by extreme measures.”
He paused and looked deep into the most beautiful of eyes. “Neither of us may ever stray from this psychic bond.”
Jim frowned slightly. “You mean never sleep with anyone else again?”
“Essentially correct, but casual sexual encounters are not an issue.”
“What if one of us does try to bond with another?”
“The ramifications could be very serious.”
“I’ll bet you’d be one jealous Vulcan.”
“The effects would be far more significant than mere jealousy. The repercussions can mean unparalleled psychic pain for the recipient. Documentation has shown that in certain instances, if the infidelity involves a mental contact, death has resulted for one or both of the bonded partners.”
“Death…” Jim said and looked at Spock with wide eyes. “You mean they can die if someone else, another lover, tries to bond with one of them?”
“There have been such cases. However, the outside mental contact must be highly intrusive.”
“Are all Vulcans who are together, bonded like that?”
“No, not all. Only those who wish to be t’hy’la.”
“It sure makes a strong case for fidelity,” Jim said. “I’ll bet there are very few cheating Vulcans.”
“The mental intrusion into the bondmate’s mind would have to be quite powerful. Mere cheating as you put it, would not make such an impact.”
Jim turned away, gathering his thoughts. He turned back. “What about us, Spock? What about bonding between two males?”
“Bonding is performed only between two perfectly matched beings. The gender of either is of no consequence. Bonding is not essential or even necessary for reproduction. Historically, pre-reform male warriors bonded and were t’hy’la. T’hy’la means intense and irrevocable spiritual, intellectual and emotional connections. It is the way of Vulcan.”
“Like soulmates, Spock?”
“Yes, Jim. Our katras combine.”
The Human smiled and Spock felt his heart melt. Illogical and irrational. Nevertheless, Spock felt his heart melt.
Jim looked directly at him, searching his face. “When do we begin?”
Spock swept Jim into his arms. “I would bond with you now if it were possible.”
“And it’s not?” The handsome face beckoned Spock to kiss it.
“There are further considerations,” Spock said, trying to quell his rising desire. “Our command status on board the Enterprise, for one.”
“Nothing would ever get in the way of my command,” Jim said looking directly at Spock. “You know that. Nothing.”
“Agreed. You are a most determined Human.”
“And an especially determined Human when I want something,” Jim said.
“There is another consideration. The pon farr.”
A cloud passed over Jim’s eyes and he frowned. “Would you fight me again?”
A smile tugged at Spock’s lips. “No, Jim. I would desire your body.”
“Would you…fuck me?”
Spock sighed a very unVulcan sigh. “Sometimes, especially in male bondings, the sexual encounter can be violent.”
“A little roughness? Spanking, bondage? Sounds fine to me.”
“I am not speaking of just roughness,” Spock said. “I am speaking of total loss of control…unbridled needs…I could hurt you.”
“I’ll worry about that when the time comes.”
Spock released his hold on Jim’s shoulders and stepped away. “I shall say goodnight, now. We have much to consider.”
“Yes, we do,” Jim said. “There’s so much more we need to talk about. I doubt I’ll sleep tonight.”
Spock hesitated at the door, then turned to look at him. “There is something I have not yet told you.”
“What is it?”
“I, too, am in love.”
Spock walked out, his heart and mind filled with a thrilling, joyful light.
***
The sanashi looked at T’Pring with the same expression that all of these Vulcans bore. One of detached arrogance.
“You have resided here for the required amount of time, and your generous donation has given you permission to access the library,” the woman said. “We have an extensive collection of the writings of Surak which is highly coveted.”
T’Pring watched in smug satisfaction as the emotion of pride seeped into the woman’s tone. The sanashi stiffened and gathered her gray robe around her.
“You are given library visitation rights each day until the evening bells sound.”
“I will go to the library now,” T’Pring said, using the best of her strict Vulcan inflection.
The sanashi did not react to the imperious tone of voice. T’Pring knew exactly how to talk to these people--these self-righteous Vulcans.
The acolyte turned without acknowledging her to follow.
They swept silently down a cold, dim hallway lined with burning sconces, so antiquated in such an advanced society. But T’Pring knew this place was unique. And chosen for a purpose.
They reached a large wooden door. She stood closely watching as the woman opened it. There was no key, no lock, no secret code. The sanash-isram had no need of such security. Being situated where they were, high up in the mountain and quite inaccessible, no unwelcome or errant visitor could enter. She smiled--inwardly, of course.
They descended wide, heavy stone steps into the darkness. As they rounded a curve, light from the sconces grew brighter so T’Pring saw that the walls were carved from rock. They were deeper underground. Under the mountain.
Finally, the steps ended in a cavernous room whose only feature was a number of wide doors along the walls. No furniture of any kind graced the stark room, but most importantly, T’Pring noticed no attendants or guards.
A male sanashi passed by them without acknowledgement. She was glad he did not notice as they came to one of the heavy wooden doors. Again, no locks or keys. As they entered, T’Pring stifled a gasp.
The library was enormous.
The vaulted ceiling rose impossibly high, belying that the room was underground. Row after row of shelves filled with antique books descended far into the depths of the room. One entire wall held massive banks of drawers accommodating physical devices to access information.
Glass cases lined an opposite wall displaying archival collections of objects from across the galaxy. T’Pring saw an Andorian weapon that looked like a feathered spear hanging in one case. Next to it hung a Vulcan ahn-woon. Another case had glittering jewelry---a large ornate necklace that had obviously adorned a Vulcan leader of ancient times. So many cases and objects, it was impossible to see all without spending much time here. And she did not have the luxury of time.
One of the most striking features of this library was the many long tables set in the center with large monitors lined up along the tables. At each station, a sanashi resided, the light of the vid-screens flashing coldly in their faces. Their differing levels of spiritual attainment were made clear by the color of robe and sash.
No one looked up or acknowledged the two women at the door.
Good, T’Pring thought.
The sanashi stood stoically with an expression on her face that T’Pring wanted to slap.
“You may begin your study now,” the woman said. “When you have finished, if subsequent to the evening bells, you will contact me via the comm link. If not, I shall return at the appointed time.”
The officious woman turned, her robe swirling, and left T’Pring gazing at the vast and tranquil library.
***
Without hesitation, T’Pring began her research. She had already studied and learned everything she needed to know except for some vital information found only in this library.
Information she was able to glean because of their absurd reliance on Vulcan honor.
It did not take her long.
***
No one saw T’Pring leave.
She stood outside the library in the room with the doors, pondering which one to try first. If anyone came there, she could just plead ignorance as to which door was the library. But there were no sounds of footsteps on the stone stairs nor any voices. Not that there would be any. Silence was the norm here.
As she looked around, one of the doors caught her eye. It was the only one with a glowing red light in a small attachment on the door.
She was wearing soft pants with pockets; she had not come unprepared. She took out a small device, thanks to Stonn’s clueless benevolence, and pointed it at the door. The red light turned green. The universal sign of open.
She glanced over her shoulder and quickly entered the room, the door shutting solidly behind her. She hoped the light turned red on the outside, but she had to work quickly, nevertheless.
Suddenly, the room illuminated.
This time, she did not stifle her gasp.
The room differed from any other part of the sanash-isram. While the rest of the sanctuary was made of stone or wood and steeped in antiquity, this room displayed steel titanium and duroglass and was fully technologically advanced.
The blinking lights of scanners and myriad sounds of computerized equipment filled the space. For one purpose only.
To secure its solitary patient.
Her heart beat rapidly as she faced the structure in the center of the sterile room.
A stasis containment hovered inside a shimmering pale blue forcefield. The coffin-like containment floated, its transparency revealing a prone figure within. Overhead, a medical scanner hummed and flashed various measurements.
T’Pring stepped closer and peered through the forcefield and the duroglass.
The occupant was asleep. More accurately, the occupant was in stasis.
He was also one of the most beautiful males she had ever seen.
He floated on a bed of air within the containment--his luxurious, shining ebony hair spread out beneath him. Thick black lashes graced his closed lids and lay on high, defined cheekbones. His full lips were slightly parted as he rested in repose.
He was naked, displaying a lean, muscular body.
The Vulcan Starok.
The object of her quest.
The charismatic Vulcan had amassed a fortune gained from his many devoted followers. His ambition to take over all of Vulcan had failed when he was finally apprehended, but not until he had caused the death of thousands.
The stories surrounding him were varied and outrageous. Some said his psychic powers were beyond imaginable. Some said he was a god. He remained a legend, but in the end, he had been brought down and sentenced to stasis here in this remote sanctuary.
She started, realizing her sense of time had been lost as she stared at this vision. She did not have time to ponder his history or his beauty.
She had to awaken him.
Swiftly, but as quietly and as efficiently as possible, she went to work, silently thanking whatever gods necessary that Stonn had been a scientist and had access to all the VSA medical knowledge, including, conveniently, information on stasis.
She began touching keypads, entering codes and monitoring vital input in preparation for shutting down the forcefield. She had studied well. Perhaps her performance in the bedroom had been worth it.
She thought about the length of time Starok had been in stasis. So far, he had only served twenty years of his consecutive life sentences, and this environment had been arranged for long term care. Still, even after all her study on the subject---made possible by her expertise with Stonn’s penis and this library---she would not know the Vulcan’s condition until after his revival. Much of a stasis patient’s recovery was determined by their physical and mental condition at the time of inducement. However, perhaps she could allow herself a small measure of hopefulness because Starok looked to be in prime physical condition.
T’Pring entered more access codes and then paused, her finger poised above the remaining keypad that would awaken the Vulcan.
She pressed it.
***
The forcefield shut down.
The anti-grav discontinued and the duroglass containment lowered down onto the surface.
Her hands shook with excitement as she lifted the transparent cover.
The medical scanner began sounding an alarm, but T’Pring quickly silenced it with a touch on the keypad.
Starok’s unseeing eyes were open, revealing a brilliant blue.
Blue eyes were rare in Vulcans, and T’Pring had never seen such a clear, almost translucent shade of blue.
But suddenly, he took in a forceful gasping breath, then just as suddenly, exhaled and closed his eyes.
He lay still.
Panic rose in her throat. Had she not initiated the correct sequence for revival? She looked at the monitor. All indicators registered normal. But there was no opportunity for a leisurely awakening. She had to get him out of there and away before the evening bells rang and her library time was up.
Despite those endless days out in the desert, she retained her acute sense of time. That sense told her that she had thirty point five minutes remaining.
She grasped the Vulcan’s shoulders, shaking him gently but firmly.
“Starok? Can you hear me?”
The Vulcan shifted, moaning softly.
“Starok, you must wake up. It is time. You must rise.”
The blue eyes opened suddenly, still unfocused. He seemed unaware, but he was breathing and he was awake. Enough to move. That was all she needed.
She helped him sit up. He moved his arms with great difficulty and stiffly shrugged his shoulders. His head hung down. She couldn’t tell how alert he was or what he understood.
But he was awake. And alive.
“Are you able to stand?”
He did not respond verbally, instead shifted his body so that his feet touched the floor. With her arm around his waist, she tried to support him as he stood. But his legs collapsed at the first hint of weight.
He fell to the floor.
She held her breath, listening for any sign that someone outside had heard. Nothing. Exhaling and calming herself, she used all her strength to lift the Vulcan to his feet. This time he was able to stand.
He took a few halting unsteady steps towards her, but she stopped him with her hands spread across his chest. “No,” she said, “rest here,” and made him sit in a nearby chair. “Do you understand?”
His head was up and his eyes were open, but he did not speak. She could not wait for any more response.
She went to the door and opened it.
“If you would,” she called to a passing sanashi. “I require your assistance.”
The man entered the room, paused and gasped as he saw Starok standing.
Awake.
T’Pring moved quickly to the distracted sanashi and applied a nerve pinch firmly between his neck and shoulder. He collapsed to the floor.
Without hesitation, she stripped the hapless acolyte of his robe, thanking whatever gods that the size and length were approximately right. She helped Starok into the vestment and tied the purple sash around his waist. Another thanking of the gods that it was an initiate who had been passing---for a black sash indicating an advanced sanashi would attract too much attention.
She smoothed back the Vulcan’s long midnight hair, tucked its length under the robe and drew up the hood, obscuring his finely sculpted face.
She took the sandals from the feet of the still prone initiate and placed them on Starok’s feet. The sandals were slightly too large but would have to do.
She led him out of the room.
***
The sanash-isram was far behind them as the sun lay low in the sky. The mountain terrain was rough, but T’Pring forced Starok to move quickly. Branches and thorny bushes ripped at their clothes. The robe that Starok wore was especially vulnerable as it kept getting caught on twigs and branches.
Some parts of the overgrown path were very steep, but T’Pring would not slow down. Starok did not complain except to make occasional moaning sounds. More importantly, he kept walking, almost keeping pace with her.
For despite his interment in stasis, he was impressively strong. But she did not know if it was possible for him to take nourishment so soon. She had secured a flask of water from the sanctuary, and some bread in her pockets. So when they paused to rest, she gave him a piece of the bread and he ate it greedily. She held the flask for him to drink, careful that he did not have too much. He said nothing, just closed his eyes and appeared to sleep.
As Eridani dipped behind a peak, T’Pring saw an entrance to a cave. In the sanctuary's library, she had researched the topography in anticipation of their journey, noting this very place. Hopefully, with the same fortune that had prevailed so far, this cave would be warm, dry and unoccupied. They would spend the night here, and she would forage some edible plants and berries. By the light of dawn, they would set out again.
They had been following in a northeastern direction, and she was certain Starok would remember the location of his encampment. With a mind such as his, he would.
They entered the cave.
***
But it still took two more days until Starok grew stronger and became more alert.
Even after his long period of stasis and the hardships of the journey, he seemed to be recovering steadily. It helped that T’Pring was able to find plenty of nutritional vegetation for them to eat and even a small running brook to drink from.
During all their time together, Starok never spoke, and traveled without complaint.
After a particularly arduous climb, they rested in the shade of a tree.
She looked at Starok and felt a brief, sharp twinge in her left temple.
“T’Pring,” he said and leaned back against the tree, closing his eyes.
A moment of alarm coursed through her.
That was the first word he'd spoken.
She had not told him her name.
***
By the middle of the following day, they stood on a cliff overlooking a landscape of hills and forest.
“It is there,” Starok said and pointed north to a copse of trees.
T’Pring’s pulse raced. Soon her dream would be realized.
***
Now it was Starok who led the way as they went down a steep brush-covered hillside.
Completely isolated and hidden by years of growth, the cave was unknown to the authorities who captured Starok. Under verbal and intense psychic interrogation, the powerful Vulcan had not revealed its existence.
Where they stood, T’Pring could only see thick heavy vines covering rocks.
But Starok pushed the vines aside, revealing an opening.
The interior appeared to be an ordinary cave, seemingly uninhabited for years.
A small amount of light filtered in, highlighting dust motes in the musty air. T’Pring coughed softly as she watched Starok moving his hands along the stone walls.
He pressed his hand on the wall.
A deep rumbling sound ensued and T’Pring imagined a cave-in as the sound intensified, shaking the ground beneath them.
“Starok! The cave is collapsing!”
He did not respond but only stood facing the wall.
The solid rock began sliding aside.
Silence filled the air as the dust settled. T’Pring opened her eyes.
An entrance.
Without a word, Starok disappeared into the darkness, but T’Pring hesitated. It was impossible to see where she would be going. However, the thought of being left alone in this cave gave her the courage to go forward. She had gone this far. She had to trust him. There was no retreat.
She walked through into the blackness.
Bright light assaulted her.
Her eyes slowly adjusted and she realized Starok must have restored the power.
If T’Pring had been astonished by the contrast of the rustic sanash-isram above with the technologically advanced library and complex below, this place astonished her even more.
She stood in a large room, the source of lighting being glowing fixtures embedded along the upper part of the stone walls that met the ceiling.
The dirt floor of the outer cave was replaced by smooth polished wood, covered in part by finely woven area rugs richly designed with Vulcan patterns of desert flora.
Large tapestries depicting scenes of ancient Vulcan life adorned the stone walls.
The furnishings were chairs that appeared to be hand-carved wood from off planet. The designs were sleek, contemporary and clean.
In fact, as T’Pring looked around, everything was clean and dust free as though it had been left just the day before. Not twenty years.
She breathed in, smelling only fresh air. She realized it must be some filtration system that has continued to work despite this place having been abandoned. Sealed off from the outside as it was, no wonder there was no dust.
She needed Starok. Her plan must be implemented. And soon.
She went through a wide doorway that she assumed led out of the main room to the rest of the complex. She emerged into another room that featured a large, polished stone table in the center.
The massive table was surrounded by chairs, obviously a seating arrangement for many people.
Starok’s disciples.
She wondered what must have happened to them after he was captured so many years ago.
Perhaps they were all dead.
She looked around for a way out of the dining area, then went through a passageway that led to the kitchen.
T’Pring experienced amazement followed by envy. She did not have this kitchen or the servants who would tend to it.
It was large enough to feed at least forty or fifty people at a time with various preparation stations. Gleaming steel tables and countless pots and pans of copper, iron and steel hung from hooks above.
Stoves and ovens of all types, maybe at least five that she could see. Even a replicator unit. Against one wall was built-in refrigeration with a shining metal door in which she saw her reflection.
She desperately needed to bathe and change from her soiled and torn clothing. She loathed being unkempt and unwashed. The condition made her feel less the attractive and beautiful woman that she was.
She pulled a twig and a leaf from her hair.
She could not stand it any longer. Hunger assailed her. How reprehensible. She had to find Starok.
And when she turned away from the terrible vision of her messed hair and dirt-covered clothes, Starok stood before her, appearing suddenly and with no sound.
She gasped and stepped back.
“Follow me,” was all he said.
She chastised herself for that reaction. She straightened, composed herself, and he led her to a bedroom. It was beautifully furnished with the same contemporary style as the main room. She sighed in relief as she saw the adjacent bathroom with a large open shower.
Clean towels lay on shelves as if they had been placed there yesterday. An array of toiletries was arranged on tables next to two large sinks.
T’Pring wanted to escape her reflection in the mirror above a dressing table, especially so Starok would not notice it.
But he did not pay any attention and had already walked to the door. Turning, he said, “Clean yourself and find something suitable in the closet. Then come to the kitchen for a meal.” He shut the door behind him.
T’Pring wanted to rush after that condescending Vulcan, but time was of the essence, and cleanliness, sustenance and strength were essential to her plan.
She went into the bathroom and stripped off her disgusting clothing, letting all of it fall to the tile floor in a heap. She stood for a moment, feeling relief as the ambient temperature heated to a proper Vulcan environment.
The hot shower was divine, and she washed her hair and face and body until all the dirt and dust of the hateful desert went down the drain.
She toweled off and walked naked to the closet, her bare feet luxuriating on the warm floor. When she slid the doors apart, a supply of fine silken robes hung undisturbed.
She chose a robe depicting white birds of Vulcan against a luminous red sky.
As she tied the soft belt around her waist, she smiled.
Soon it would be time.
***
Starok had finished reopening the complex when she entered the kitchen and saw him sitting at one of the smaller tables. She imagined these must have been for the cooks and servers necessary to accommodate Starok’s many disciples.
Another stab of envy.
She shook it off. There was business to discuss.
Starok was eating, not having waited for her.
T’Pring sat down and looked across the table at the handsome Vulcan, made even more handsome from having bathed and completely revived.
His shining black hair was tied back revealing his gracefully upswept ears. His perfectly trimmed brows shaped over bright blue eyes with long thick lashes. And a face with a classic nose and strong cheekbones and full lips that made her wonder what they would feel like to kiss.
She stopped herself. She could feel the heat rising on her face.
“I already know some of your thoughts,” Starok said almost casually as he set his blue eyes on her.
“I felt your intrusion,” she said, looking away. “Is it not proper to have requested permission?”
The Vulcan’s elegant eyebrow arched. “I bear no such moral constraints. Morality and politeness are for mere followers and weaklings. I take whatever is necessary, whenever I require it.” He stabbed a knife into a piece of purple vegetable and put it into his mouth.
T’Pring looked at the plate of food before her.
It smelled delicious and looked even more so. She inhaled the fragrance. She was ravenous.
“Where did this food come from?” she asked and swallowed some delicately flavored vegetable.
Starok didn’t even look up as he continued eating. In between bites, he answered, “A hydroponic garden, overgrown but still functional.”
She wanted to appear in control and self-assured, but it had been days since they’d had eaten anything substantial, so she ate with abandon. Besides, she needed to be strong when she revealed her plan. The wait had been interminable.
“You,” he said after swallowing, “do not like waiting for what you want.”
“No,” she said. “I have waited too long. It is time for what I want.”
“Revenge,” he said, pointing the knife at her.
“Yes. Revenge against the one who robbed me of my life. Son of the man who robbed you of your life.”
Starok put the knife down, his eyes glittering fiercely.
“Sarek.”
The Vulcan said the name like a curse.
T’Pring spoke eagerly. “I was to bond with the son of Sarek. Spock.” Her heart raced. “But he rejected me. I could have had immense wealth, power and status. Instead, I have nothing.”
“The blame for that is yours. This is of no consequence to me.” The Vulcan began to eat again, unheeding of T’Pring.
She wanted to shove the food along with the utensil down his throat but quelled her response, instead she reached across the table and touched his hand. His expression hardened, his eyes piercing, but he did not move his hand away.
“We can join forces to destroy the son of Sarek.”
Starok removed his hand. “Why should I do this?”
“Because,” she said, feeling thrilled and excited on the verge of her dream, “you are in my debt. I revived you. And,” she paused, “because you want to.”
A shadow crossed the Vulcan’s eyes momentarily. Then he smiled, his full lips drawn across perfect white teeth. “You are a clever woman.”
He pushed his plate aside and stood, looking down on her.
“I will help you. Not because I owe you anything. However, you are correct. I want to. I despise Sarek for what he did to me. I could kill him now, but perhaps this will be better than his own death. To torture and destroy his son.”
Then,” he said, his voice resonant and powerful. “I will kill Sarek himself.”
“I would be honored to assist you,” T’Pring said lowering her eyes as if in reverence. “I know of your superior telepathic powers.” She rose to face him. “Your abilities were renown.”
The Vulcan’s eyes turned black. “They called me a freak of nature---an aberration. I could have been the savior of all of Vulcan. Greater than Surak.”
His vision turned inward as he spoke. “Even as a child I knew of my talents. No one understood what I could do. Instead, the world feared me. Fools.”
He turned to her, his voice low and ominous. “I was marshaling my forces when they stopped me. And Sarek. That pathetic, self-righteous cretin convicted me to stasis. A living death to be hidden away in the bowels of the sanash-isram for an eternity.”
T’Pring touched his hand again. “But I have rescued you. Together we will seek revenge upon those who have robbed us of our lives.”
Starok did not move his hand. “And how do you propose to execute this revenge?”
“I propose sending a psychic attack together. Spock is a highly advanced telepath. Under ordinary circumstances, his mind might be strong enough to withstand even our combined force.” She paused. “But he has a weakness. A profound weakness.”
“What is this weakness?”
“A Human,” she said, the word tasting bitter in her mouth. “Spock serves on a starship. The Enterprise.”
“I have heard of this starship. It is under command of a Human--a Captain April.”
“That was a long time ago. Now it is piloted by Captain James Kirk.”
“And what of this James Kirk?”
“Spock is in love with him,” she said, her voice filled with disdain. “I know this to be true as I discovered it during the koon-ut-kalifee. Spock is so in love with this Human that he would do anything to keep him. He would die for him.”
T’Pring paused letting those words resonate.
Starok looked at her for a moment, a hardness in his eyes. Then a dazzling smile lit his handsome face.
“Ah…he would die for his love.”
“Yes,” T’Pring said proudly. “With this profound weakness of Spock’s and the vulnerability of the Human, you and I can, with our joined minds and our powerful psychic energy, change and distort their reality.”
Starok’s smile froze. “I will exact vengeance on the one who dared to imprison me. And you,” he said, his clear blue eyes turning to ice, “shall have your revenge.”
***
Spock watched as the captain rose from the command chair and walked toward him.
The golden Human leaned his arms on the railing and looked up at him.
The captain smiled.
Spock’s heart was captivated once again.
***
The two Vulcans lay on their backs, side by side.
Naked beneath sheer meditation robes, they began their journey.
Their eyes closed, their faces calm, their bodies perfectly relaxed.
Their chests slowly rose and fell in rhythm with each other.
Their hearts slowed to almost a stop.
Blood only crawled through their veins.
They did not move.
But they traveled.
Free of their bodies, their consciousness soared out into space and into the stars.
The combined powerful psychic energy, fueled by extreme hatred, blasted through space and time.
The destination was one infinitesimal point in the vast galaxy.
The Enterprise.
The Vulcan Spock. The Human Kirk.
That formidable energy would reach violently into those minds, twisting their reality forever.
Inexorably destroying them.
Revenge.
***
“I don’t have time to discuss it now, Mister Spock.”
The captain picked up the PADD from his desk and walked to the door.
Kirk turned and looked at the first officer. “Whatever you want to say can wait, can’t it?” His eyes appeared dull, without the unique brightness Spock had always seen.
“Certainly, Captain, he said, posture stiff, hands tightly clasped behind his back.
“Good. I’ve got to review the records with Mister Scott. We’ll talk later.”
Spock watched the captain walk quickly down the corridor without him.
***
“Come.”
The doors to the captain’s quarters slid apart and Spock entered.
“Mister Spock.” Kirk glanced up from a chess game, brandy snifter in hand. “What is it?”
“I wish to speak with you, Captain. However, I was not aware you had company.” Spock looked at the back of the man who sat opposite Kirk.
“Oh, Mister Spock, have you met Lieutenant Ryan of Engineering?”
The dark-haired man turned and set his deep brown eyes on Spock. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mister Spock,” the man said, his voice velvety smooth, his sincere smile filled with perfect white teeth.
Spock nodded once.
Kirk took a sip of the brandy. “This is excellent!” He looked at the lieutenant. “Where’d you get this? Not from the Klingons, I hope!” Kirk grinned and he and the handsome man laughed together.
The captain leaned to the lieutenant, his head lowered conspiratorially. “We have to find another bottle on our next shore leave.”
The lieutenant smiled broadly.
“So, Mister Spock,” Kirk said, and then looked away at the chessboard. “What did you want to talk about? Nothing that can’t be said in front of the lieutenant here, right?” He looked up.
“It is a…personal matter, Captain.” Spock saw the hazel eyes darken. “I shall return at a more opportune time,” he said. “Lieutenant. Captain.”
“Nice meeting you, Mister Spock,” he heard the handsome man with the velvet voice say as the doors closed.
***
“Yes, I know, Mister Spock. I had the door codes changed.”
Kirk’s voice came through the comm unit in Spock’s quarters.
“Captain, I…”
“It has been increasingly uncomfortable for me to have my first officer enter my quarters unannounced. You will still have command override, but for emergency purposes only.”
“Captain, I…”
“I hope you don’t mind the change. It will afford us both more privacy.”
“Captain…Jim…”
“Mister Spock. I know you are my second in command. But sometimes it is difficult for me to deal with such familiarity.”
“Familiarity?”
“Yes,” the cold voice said. “These changes are necessary for the proper functioning of the ship and of my command. It just makes it easier on me, that’s all.”
Spock swallowed hard. “Jim,” he said to the tiny speaker set in the comm unit, infinitely glad there was no visual. “What has happened? Why are you doing this?”
There was a terrible pause.
“I don’t feel I need to explain myself to my first officer. You will accept what I’ve ordered or file a formal complaint with Starfleet.”
“There is certainly no need for legal action, sir. I only mean to suggest that I might speak with you in private. At your convenience.”
“There’s really nothing to say. Either follow my orders or not. Kirk out.”
Spock looked down at his shaking hands.
***
With eyes that could not see, with ears that could not hear,
with hands that could not touch,
hopeless despairing thoughts and distorted memories streamed to their victims.
And it grew stronger.
***
Spock followed the two men at a discreet distance.
Late afternoon, this street in the city of Paradisus on Rigel V was very crowded. It was especially crowded for a Vulcan used to solitary ways, but the throng of people made it easier to remain unseen. This particular section of the city remained extremely popular with a multitude of races and genders, so a lone Vulcan would most likely not draw any attention.
“Hey there, tall, dark and handsome. Wanna have some fun?” A colorfully dressed woman of indeterminant parentage approached him. Decorative scarves fluttered around her neck like small birds.
Before Spock could protest, the woman’s soft bare arms wrapped around his neck, her full breasts pressed against him, her heavy floral perfume clung to his nostrils and her painted face loomed a centimeter from his.
“I do not require your…services, madam,” he said as he disengaged himself. He looked down the street, relieved that the two men were still in his sight.
“Well,” she said, her crimson lips pouting. “If you ever want me, I’m here.”
Spock did not bother to respond as he hurried away.
The crowd had thinned out a little and he saw the two men enter one of the establishments.
As Spock stood outside the door to one of the city’s many brothels, his acute Vulcan hearing picked up the sound of voices within.
Men talking.
Lieutenant Ryan’s voice.
Jim’s voice.
Jim’s laughter.
The sound echoed in his ears.
He could not move. He stood and stared at the door.
“Why don’t you go in?” A strange voice said from somewhere.
He fled.
***
“Captain, it is imperative that we talk.”
Spock stood firmly in front of Kirk while the stars in the observation deck view window streaked by with indifference.
“You mean you lured me up here, away from my duties, just to talk?” The captain scowled. An expression Spock had never seen on the handsome face.
“I had no other options. You have assiduously avoided any discussion.”
Kirk crossed his arms over his chest. “So discuss. Talk, mister, and it had better be good.”
Spock stared at this stranger. “Do you recall our conversation of one week ago?”
“Which conversation? How am I supposed to remember every conversation?”
“You and I had an…intimate conversation.”
Kirk glared. “What about?”
“You do not recall?”
“If I recalled, I wouldn’t be asking. Now what was this talk about?”
Spock hesitated, searching the face of the man with whom he was hopelessly in love. “I find it inconceivable that you do not remember.”
“Okay, Spock. I’m not playing games with you. I’m too busy for this shit. If you feel like telling me, just let me know sometime.” He turned to leave.
“Love, Jim,” Spock said. “Our love.”
Kirk froze.
He turned slowly and looked at Spock. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you, mister, but I don’t like it. I don’t know where you got this…idea. You are my second-in-command. You had better start acting more like it or consider transferring off my ship. Is that clear?”
“Yes, sir.”
“If I hear anything more about this insanity, I’ll order you to sickbay so fast it’ll make your Vulcan head spin. Is that clear?”
Spock nodded once.
The man with whom Spock was hopelessly in love, the man to whom he had opened his katra, turned on his heels and left.
For a very long time, Spock stood by the observation deck view window with the stars streaking by, while tears streamed down his face.
***
The transporter shimmered and hummed as the incoming passengers coalesced upon the platform.
Spock stood at attention behind the captain.
These people were the last of a large group to be taken to Starbase Seven.
Spock noticed only one.
The woman.
The captain noticed, too.
Long, shining blond hair. Sea-green eyes. Full lips. Large breasts. Narrow waist and long, slender legs.
Spock could not see Kirk’s face, but he knew the captain was giving the woman a devastating smile. The kind of smile that at one time--a very long time ago--had been for him.
The woman stepped off the transporter platform and extended her delicate hand. She and the captain exchanged greetings. When they passed by Spock, the floral scent of her perfume lingered in the air.
She and the captain walked through the doors together.
***
“Oh, fuck me, Captain! Oh god, you are so good! Oh yes! Touch me there. Ohhh, fuck me. Yes! Damn, you’re so fucking hard! Oh shove your cock up my cunt! Oh yes! Ohhh, I’m coming. Fuck me! Oh, Captain! Fuck me!
Only a Vulcan could hear the woman’s voice through the bulkhead. Only a Vulcan could hear the captain’s ecstatic cries.
He felt a terrible nausea rise up in his throat. The room spun in circles. Faster and faster. He clasped his hands over his ears to make the sound go away. To make it stop.
He pounded his fists on the bed. He got up. He pounded his fists on the side table. He pounded and pounded until the table was a mass of metal.
To make it stop. To make the sound go away. Pounded and pounded. Make it stop. Please make it stop.
He collapsed to the floor.
Oh. Jim, fuck me! Oh, Jim, shove your cock up my ass! Fuck me please. I want you! I need you! Jim, I love you! Jim…please! Jim, he silently cried.
***
Spock looked at the captain in the command chair.
The captain was sitting with legs crossed, one elbow propped on the chair arm, a hand under his chin, staring at the main viewscreen.
Spock wished he knew what the captain was thinking. He wished he could go over to the captain, turn the chair, touch his face, and look into the captain’s eyes and see love there.
Love like before. Before when Jim told him he was in love with him. Before when Jim wanted him. Wanted the universe from him. Wanted his love. Wanted him.
Pain shot through Spock’s heart as he remembered that night.
There was a connection between us--some kind of psychic link. I felt your desire. I think I’m in love with you, Mister Spock.
Perhaps the encounter had been a hallucination. Perhaps, somehow, Spock’s mind had been so convinced that Jim could love him that he had dreamt the entire scenario. If this were so, then he was losing touch with reality. He should consult Doctor McCoy.
But it could not be possible. He was a Vulcan, and Vulcans did not dream. However, Vulcans did suffer. And feel pain. And die.
The turbolift doors opened and Lieutenant Ryan walked onto the bridge. He stepped down to the command chair. Spock overheard the captain’s animated greeting. He heard the quiet excitement of future plans for something. He turned back to his station and pondered the formula of the intermix calculations of subatomic particles.
What had he done to make Jim turn away? He had wanted to ask that day on the observation deck. He had wanted to cry out, to demand that Jim tell him it was all some cruel fabrication---that Jim really did love him, that Jim was just having difficulty understanding how deep their love really was, but that he did love Spock and never meant to hurt him.
He must have misunderstood. Somehow, he had misinterpreted Jim’s intentions and feelings. I think I’m in love with you, Mister Spock. But how could he have misunderstood the kiss?
No. He had not misread or misjudged anything. Jim had merely had time to think and had come to the quite logical conclusion that he did not love Spock and could never love him. And Jim was most likely too embarrassed to tell him.
But something was wrong.
A link.
A link between them had been developing since before the koon-ut-kalifee.
And now, Spock sensed nothing through the link. Finding another whom he would consider as a bondmate was out of the question.
He had two options.
One was to face a life of emptiness. A life of constant torture while he watched his only love from a distance, day in and day out, until such time as his next pon farr. Then he would die a painful, lonely death, sending his katra out to oblivion---unmated, unbonded, unloved.
Spock glanced at Jim and felt the gnawing, hollow loneliness that would only get worse with time. And the time would come. The time of his inevitable pon farr would come and Jim would not be there. Jim would not assuage the burning need. And Spock would burn from the terrible fires until he went insane and died. Alone.
The second option was to end his life honorably before the pon farr destroyed him.
M’al shya.
Steeped in Vulcan tradition, dating back countless thousands of years since Vulcan prehistory, the act of ritual suicide was intertwined with legend and folklore. The very secretive ritual had been practiced by pre-reform warriors when their eternally bonded mates had fallen on the battlefield. Post-Surak saw it practiced less and less, falling out of favor in light of logic and suppression of emotion.
But an undeniable biological basis remained true. For when one bondmate died before the other, sometimes the mental link was so tightly interwoven that death could result. Spock remembered telling this to Jim. On that one night when Jim loved him.
He watched the captain push back the unruly lock of hair that fell over his forehead. Spock wanted to do that--to hold the captain gently in his arms and push back the recalcitrant lock of hair and kiss him.
M’al shya.
Vulcans stayed notoriously private about such emotional events, no matter how ancient or unpracticed. As a child, Spock learned details of the actual ceremony from a mystic who had visited his family’s estate. In hushed tones before the great stone fireplace, the mystic had recounted a tale of a Vulcan who had performed m’al shya. The firelight had flickered eerily on the wizened face as Spock watched and listened, hidden behind the large banister of the staircase.
He vividly remembered that night, including having fallen asleep on the stairs and being carried dreamily upstairs in his mother’s arms. She had gently laid him on the bed and covered him with a blanket, brushed back his hair and kissed his forehead. But he had stayed awake for the rest of the night.
M’al shya. The story had entranced him--filled his mind with images of strength and heroism, longing and romance, self-sacrifice and honor. The next day he asked his mother if she had ever known anyone who had done such a thing. She said no, that it was just a fable, a myth, and to simply put it out of his mind.
But now he remembered.
And now the idea seemed so right, so perfect.
He would find peace in death.
Kirk was looking at him with a quizzical expression. The handsome face did not have love or even concern on it. Only a mild curiosity as if Spock might have spoken to him. The captain turned away to tend to more important matters.
M’al’shya.
The logical solution to his situation.
Relief from the agony of life.
***
The two ethereal beings with the ability to manipulate reality,
luxuriated in their pending success.
Revenge.
***
On the Enterprise, in his quarters, Spock removed his blue tunic and after folding it carefully, lay it on the bed.
Then he pulled the black undershirt over his head and after also folding it carefully, placed it on top of the tunic. He sat on the edge of the bed and took off his boots, arranged them side by side on the floor. He removed his socks and lay them on the floor beside the boots.
He stood up and unfastened his trousers, slid the pants over his hips and down his legs, and then stepped out of them. The black uniform trousers were then carefully folded and placed on the bed beside the other articles of clothing.
He removed the black briefs, allowing them to fall onto the floor. He picked the briefs up, carefully folded them before placing them on the bed.
The pleasantly warm air felt too cool on his naked body, so he instructed the computer to raise the thermostat to accommodate.
He walked to the bathroom, turned on the water shower and adjusted the temperature to hot. He stepped inside the stall.
The liquid warmth spread over him, soothing and relaxing his body. He leaned against the tile, let the water shower pour over him as he visualized all the toxins washing away. He reached for soap--the scent of Jim--and lathered his entire body in aromatic foam. He rinsed under a strong hot spray, and lather slid silkily down his body and swirled into the drain.
He turned the water off, stepped out of the stall and reached for a towel hanging on a rack. He rubbed his body, face and hair vigorously with the warm, thick towel until his skin felt smooth and dry.
He walked back into the sleeping area, went to the closet and took out a long black meditation robe. He slipped it on over his nakedness.
The thick black robe felt strangely heavy and cumbersome. He would take it off, to feel the freedom of his naked body, but the traditional robe was part of the ceremony. From the closet, he took out a rolled woven straw mat which he carried into the anteroom.
He unrolled the mat and positioned it in front of the viewport. Even though this window was a recreation, the stars were so beautiful as they sparkled and streamed by. Like tears.
He looked away and returned to the sleeping area. On the red draped wall above the bed, a jeweled sheathed dagger hung from two ornate chains.
He unhooked the chains and released the knife. His fingers traced the gleaming stones set in the platinum sheath, reading the elegant jade Vulcan letters embossed on its side.
Honor. Wisdom. Clarity. Peace.
The sheath felt warm and the weight was substantial as he held the dagger in both open palms away from his body. His hands were steady as he walked back to the anteroom.
He placed the sheathed knife precisely at the end of the mat that fronted the view window. He kneeled down facing the stars.
He arranged the length of black robe around his thighs and covered his feet with the hem.
He folded his hands in his lap and looked down at the sheathed knife that lay at his knees. The jewels and stones gleamed brightly even in the dim light. He could even see a reflection of himself on the smooth surface of one of the largest stones.
It was time.
He sat back on his heels and inhaled deeply. Time to clear his mind so completely, to focus so totally that all the outside world would fade. All he would know would be himself and the dagger.
This was his time now.
He would take all the time required to complete the ceremony. No one would miss him until the morning shift. And by then, his pain would be assuaged and his katra set free.
Besides, it was fitting that he release his katra out here in the stars.
He closed his eyes and focused on the last images he would ever physically see.
The ship. The stars.
But the image he saw now, the image that would be forever emblazoned in his mind and his heart, the image that he would hold onto until the end of all things, until his katra was scattered on the winds of time, that image was James Kirk.
Jim with the hazel eyes and beautiful smile. Jim. The one of his heart. Eternal.
Spock allowed the love to open before him as a shining light. The light bathed him in incandescent splendor, and he felt the glowing warmth on his face. Like a glorious sun, it warmed him. All cold pain and cold fear and cold hurt melted away before its warmth.
Jim. The light and the sun that was Jim. And the light loved Spock. It loved him with the brightness of golden warmth of its touch.
He was not alone now. He was with Jim. James Kirk, who was the beautiful golden light and who loved him.
Jim stood before him, gloriously naked. The sunlight played on the bronze hair and the golden skin. The muscular body gleamed, polished by the sun. Jim reached for Spock in full yearning desire. Jim opened his arms, asking Spock to come to him.
T’hy’la.
Spock rose from his kneeling position and walked toward the Human. As he got closer, he could see the sparkling hazel eyes that danced with joyous desire. He could see the full lips slightly parted and moist, waiting to be kissed.
He could see love. Jim loved him.
And I love you, Jim. I shall free my katra from my body and send it out into the stars where I shall await you.
Jim smiled that radiant smile meant only for Spock.
Then the Human beckoned him to follow and disappeared out the viewport window into the stars.
Spock opened his eyes. He was still on his knees. The room was still empty, the stars in the viewport still streaking by.
He opened the front of his robe and allowed it to slip from his shoulders as he removed his arms from the sleeves. The black material lay like a shroud over his thighs.
He looked down. The jeweled sheath lay in front of him on the mat. He picked it up and slowly drew out the dagger. The reflection in the ebony blade stared back at him.
The fine l’matya leather warmed in his hands as he held the handle. The dagger seemed incredibly heavy as he pointed the blade toward his heart. He touched the tip of the blade with infinite precision just below the second rib in his left side. He pushed lightly, just enough to break the skin.
He felt no pain. In fact, little sensation at all as he moved the sharp tip in a circle, drawing a pattern on his skin with his blood.
He drew a smaller circle within the circle and extended an offset triangle from its center.
An IDIC.
Connecting Vulcan to Human. Spock to James Kirk.
He lifted the knife away, distantly noting the green wetness that dripped off the end and fell to the mat. As he held the dagger with both hands out in front of him, he stiffened, preparing for the final thrust.
This final physical act would set him free from pain and sadness forever. And how perfect for the wound to be in his heart.
He closed his eyes, pictured Jim, and inhaled what would be his last breath.
***
He was hit from behind.
He fell over and the knife flew out of his hands.
Hands were gripping his shoulders, and he was being violently shaken.
He opened his eyes.
Jim’s face loomed in his hazy vision. The face blazed red with fury and rage.
The room spun madly out of control.
The screaming of his name rang in his ears.
He was falling into a black hole, but strong hands kept gripping his shoulders and shaking him.
“Spock! You fucking bastard! Wake up!”
The grip tightened painfully on his arms. His head would not stay still.
“Wake the fuck up!”
Darkness. He wanted darkness.
“No, you motherfucker! Wake up!”
“Jim?” he murmured. The shaking stopped. “Jim?”
“Yes, you Vulcan bastard, it’s me!”
Spock forced his eyes to focus. “Jim. You are here.”
“Yes, I’m here! And I don’t know why!”
Spock tried to stand up, but his legs only collapsed beneath him.
He looked up. “You came to me.”
“I don’t know why I came here, but I’m glad I did. I wouldn’t have missed this for anything. What were you trying to do anyway? Kill yourself?”
“Yes, Jim,” Spock said, his words slurred. “I was engaged in m’al shya. But that is not necessary any longer. For you are here. And you want to bond with me.”
“Bond? With you? Where the fuck did you get that idea?”
“You told me so,” Spock said. “A long time ago.”
“I don’t care what I told you! I don’t want to fucking marry you, you Vulcan half-breed! You want to kill yourself? Go ahead. I’ll watch.” Jim stared down at him.
“Here,” he said and picked up the dagger, the tip still green with blood. “I’ll help you.”
Spock looked into the gleaming blade. The reflection showed a Vulcan with tears welling in his huge eyes. “Jim, why are you doing this?”
“Because I despise you, you fucking Vulcan bastard. You threw me away. And now you will die.”
Jim lifted the knife high over his head. Grunting with effort, he tried to push the knife down toward Spock’s heart.
The blade inched downward in short halting jabs. Spock opened himself to accept the offer. An offering from the one he would always love. A final gift.
But the final thrust did not come.
Sweat formed on the Human’s forehead and his eyes grew large and pain-filled.
Suddenly, Jim flung the knife away as if it had turned red hot.
Jim cried out and stumbled away. His body shook as he breathed in heaving gasps. He clutched both arms, holding himself and staring unseeing at Spock.
“You worthless betrayer,” Jim said. “You left me to rot on Vulcan.”
Spock froze.
The tone and pitch of Jim’s voice sounded high and clear.
In perfectly accented Vulcan.
The coldest ice water flowed through Spock’s veins, shocking his mind to clarity.
He could think now, he could feel, as though a heavy veil had been lifted away.
He rose from his knees and placed a trembling hand on the Human’s shoulder.
Jim whirled, his face a grotesque mask of pain and hatred. “How dare you?” he cried, still speaking in Vulcan. “How dare you leave me?” Saliva bubbled at the corners of his mouth. “You dare choose a worthless Human over me? You will pay for your choice, Spock, son of Sarek. You will pay.”
“T’Pring.”
“Yes. It is I. You will die along with your Human concubine.”
“No. You will not harm him.”
“Your show of emotion is disgusting. Your Human slut will die as horribly as you. Only then will justice be served for your offense.”
Spock looked directly into Jim’s eyes, seeing only T’Pring there. “There has been no offense,” he said. “You made the choice of Stonn over me. It was your own doing.”
“Stonn!” Jim’s lips curled. “He was a pathetic fool and I killed him. He deserved to die as you shall die---with no place for your katra. Your soul will spread out upon the wind and be lost for all eternity.”
“What you seek is unattainable.”
Jim laughed the high-pitched sound of madness. “I am being aided by the greatest telepath ever born to Vulcan. He….”
Suddenly, Jim’s eyes rolled back. His head fell back and he gasped for breath.
“T’Pring!” Spock grabbed Jim’s shoulders.
In that instant, Spock knew what had to be done. It was the only way. He could not ask permission. He spread his fingers over Jim’s ashen face.
Closer and closer. Deeper and deeper he fell. Fog shrouded his sight. The hum of a thousand voices filled his mind. Light burst within his vision.
Faster and faster. He fell. Tumbling into the vortex of an infinite void.
He was weightless. He kept falling. Stars streaked past. Down, down into a swirling tunnel.
He landed, rather he had ceased to fall.
He stood in a vast, undulating field of purple flowers. Their perfume overwhelmed his senses.
From a distance, she looked beautiful. Her diaphanous gown flowed behind her in the scented breeze. Her long black hair was loose and free around her shoulders. As she walked closer, he saw her almond shaped eyes were ringed with black kohl, her fine cheekbones tinged with olive blush and her lips stained dark.
T’Pring stood before him and lifted her sculpted face, her eyes luminous. “Spock.” Her breath wafted perfume like the field of flowers. “This is what you could have had.”
She held out her hand to him. “You still can. I love you.” Her voice sounded like delicate chimes in the breeze.
He stared at her flawless skin, her raven-wing hair. “No, T’Pring,” he said. “You do not love me.”
Her deep brown eyes cast down for a moment, then lifted to meet his. “Oh, but I do love you, Spock.”
The alluring sound echoed in his mind. He started to reach for her.
“No,” he said with effort, pulling his hand back. “You love my position, my status and what I can bring to you. You have never loved me.”
“My heart is filled with love for you. Why can you not see that?”
“Your heart is filled with hatred and revenge. You would destroy what I love to obtain that revenge,” Spock said.
“I only want what I deserve, then I will be fulfilled.” she said in a sweet and beguiling tone.
“You will never achieve that state of being.”
T’Pring came closer. “I know about your grotesque love. You could not conceal it at the kalifee,” she said sweetly. “I will destroy your foul connection to him through our bond.”
“Not possible. The link between us has been broken.”
T’Pring smiled a chilling, cruel smile. “There are still remnants. I can enhance the link. I can do it. I can force the bond on you and then you will be mine forever. Her smile widened. “Your precious Human will die.”
“I will not allow you to touch him. I know now that his aberrant behavior was your doing, as I know that my own mind was infected. But it is over now.”
He watched her face change from soft to a twisted grimace.
“No,” she said. “It has just begun. I am powerful, Spock. More powerful than you can imagine.”
“I acknowledge your telepathic abilities are formidable. I am impressed, T’Pring. I would not have credited you with the ability to not only invade my mind but distort its perception of reality.”
“I am honored.” She lowered her eyes.
When she looked up, her eyes became huge black holes that filled his vision. He was being drawn into their depths. Inexorably.
The darkness disappeared. He saw her. So beautiful. So perfect.
The sight aroused such a hunger, such a need as if pon farr must be upon him.
His body radiated heat. His erection strained forward, craving her touch.
He reached for her. But suddenly, he was on his back.
T’Pring was above.
Riding him.
Intense pleasure flowed through his mind as he penetrated T’Pring’s grasping, enveloping wet heat.
Her cries of delight only heightened his arousal as she moved up and down driving his hardened shaft deep within her.
Suddenly, T’Pring leaned forward and placed her fingers on his face.
Meld points.
He cried out in agony as sharp pain burst in his mind.
“I will bond with thee. You will be mine forever,” she said as she pressed her fingers harder on his face, intensifying the pain.
“No!” he cried, desperately trying to move his body. He was paralyzed. But his erection still felt hard and strong, craving release.
Then he heard it.
The pure tone like the vibrating string of a Vulcan lyre.
His link with Jim.
The sweet resonance enveloped his mind as if a physical being. Embracing. Soothing. Captivating.
The music flowed into him like the purest crystal waters, bathing him in its song.
And then the sensual music began to fade away.
“Come back!” he cried out. “Do not leave me!”
T’Pring laughed. “You are mine. Do not struggle, my love. Pour your life seed into me.”
“Aaahh!” he cried as he felt the urgency but did not want to obey.
Suddenly, the pressure on his face ceased.
His once terrible need ended abruptly. He no longer felt T’Pring’s grasping, cloying hold.
He opened his eyes. His mind and body were freed. He could move.
Jim.
The beautiful sound of their nascent link now echoed in his mind.
He saw his beloved Human grasp T’Pring by her hair, force her down, straddle her, and strike her repeatedly.
T’Pring moaned loudly when Jim released her. He looked down on her with contempt.
Spock rose to his feet and embraced Jim tightly in his arms. “Jim. You are here.”
“Yes,” Jim said. “I was desperate to find you. Then I heard a sound. I’ve never heard anything so beautiful in my life. It led me to you.”
Together they turned to T’Pring. She was kneeling down, bent over. She looked up. Dark green bruises marred her face. She rose, appearing haggard and worn as though she had aged years in a few moments. Her face bore deep lines and her once sleek hair was coarse and hung in tangled strings.
“You will not win,” she said. “I am aided by someone greater than you or I.”
“Who aids you in this endeavor?”
“I do.”
Spock looked in the direction of the voice. A dense fog had suddenly risen and the flowers vanished.
The fog swirled in smoky ribbons around a dark figure.
“I am Starok.”
Spock stared at the vision of the tall regal Vulcan. “I know of you,” he said. “You were banished from Vulcan.”
“Not banished, Spock. Left for dead is a more appropriate term.” The smooth voice came through the fog, clear and cold. “But I have returned.”
“To what purpose?” Spock stared into the piercing blue astral eyes.
“Vindication.”
“I desire clarification.”
Starok laughed a deep chilling sound. “Oh, you will get clarification. Perhaps all will be made clear to you when I force your brain to expand within your skull until it explodes. Or maybe let you watch while I execute a similar torture on your pitiful Human. I have not yet decided. I wish to prolong the anticipation, hence the pleasure.”
“Why are you doing this?”
“Are you unaware of your family history, Spock? Are you so ignorant? Are you unaware of who perpetrated my downfall?” He came closer and Spock could see the eyes were now black.
“Sarek.”
Starok’s lips curled back revealing white, gleaming teeth in a bitter grimace. “Sarek. Sarek imprisoned me. Sarek put me in that coffin. Sarek. And you,” he said, his deep voice resonating, “are the son of Sarek.”
“The decision of my father was just and fair.”
“Just and fair?” Starok’s eyes gleamed like phaser fire. “I could have saved Vulcan. I could have been the most extraordinary leader in all of Vulcan history!”
His voice echoed from all directions.
“Sarek was afraid of my immense powers like all the rest of them. I, Starok, could have ruled the universe!”
His astral body rippled, distorting his image. He raised an arm and pointed a finger at Spock. “I will destroy you.”
“No, you won’t.”
Jim came forward and stood defiantly next to Spock.
Fear coursed through Spock. He stepped in front of Jim.
“So! Your Human is here,” Starok said with a wide smile. “So much the better.”
“Yes,” T’Pring said. “Now you can both die simultaneously.”
“Sorry,” Jim said as he moved beside Spock. “This is my mind and you’ll both have to leave.”
Starok laughed again and Spock felt the vibrations touch him like icy fingers.
“You insignificant Human,” Starok sneered. “Do you imagine having power over me? I am the greatest of all Vulcans. I am the most powerful telepath the world has ever known. You would dare to command me?”
“Actually, yes,” Jim said. “I would.”
Spock faced the two Vulcans. “Your battles are with me. The captain is not your concern.”
“You cannot protect him, Spock,” T’Pring said. “We shall destroy all that you love. You will die alone.”
“Spock will never be alone,” Jim said. “Because I will always be with him.”
“Touching words,” Starok said. “Prepare to make them your last.”
He raised his hand in the air. Wind rose suddenly. A bolt of lightning flashed beyond the fog and thunder shook the air.
Spock reached for his beloved and they held each other tightly. The wind increased to gale force. He struggled to see into the hurricane winds. A terrible sensation of thousands of needles stabbed his mind. He wanted to clutch his head. But he would not let go of Jim.
“You cannot hurt us,” Spock called out over the thunder and wind. “Nothing you do can hurt us. I love this Human. You can never destroy this love. I will love him unto eternity.”
Laughter pealed, echoing over and over around them.
“You lose,” Jim called out. “You can’t touch us. We have a love that you can never take from us.”
Spock’s heart soared like a desert wind out to the stars. He drew Jim deeper into his arm’s embrace.
“I don’t fear death, Spock,” Jim said above the terrible sound of wind. “Not as long as I’m with you.”
“Nor I. I love you, James Kirk, keeper of my katra, flame of my spirit.”
“And I love you, my Vulcan. I will spend eternity with you.”
Spock crushed Jim’s lips to his. The wind roared around them, swirling and circling them in the center of a hurricane.
Louder and louder. The sound deafening.
But the kiss became all Spock felt.
The kiss was warm and tasted sweet. The kiss was all his world. He would welcome forever if forever were as perfect as this kiss.
Suddenly, from what seemed a great distance, came a cry. A cry like that of a great bird dying on the wind, an arrow pierced through its heart.
The pain-filled cry echoed, the sound of agony swirling around them in a vortex.
Spock was unable to hold on. He struggled with all his strength, but Jim’s body seemed to melt away in his arms.
He cried out in abject terror. He reached out blindly into the enveloping darkness.
The fog, the wind, the world faded away.
***
He lay on a floor. He heard the soft, distant hum of a starship as it warped through space.
“Spock.”
The sound of his name.
“I am here,” he said. Tears filled his eyes. Tears of joy.
***
The pain in T’Pring’s mind stabbed with unrelenting fury.
She clutched and clawed at her head in an effort to stop the hundred knives’ ceaseless plunging.
She screamed.
The sound seemed odd, but then she had never heard herself scream.
But then before she could scream again, the stabbing pain ceased.
Her eyes opened.
Starok stood above her. His eyes were a dull black, reflecting no light.
“You failed.”
T’Pring came to her feet in the room where they had lain together. She faced him. “Any failure remains your fault,” she said. “I assumed you had vast power. Obviously not vast enough. I rescued you, you arrogant, pretentious fool. Do not forget that.”
She watched his face turn to stone. But the words rushed out of her. All the wasted time spent planning her revenge. All the trouble and pain. She saw Stonn coming into the house with sand covering his clothes. The countless hours sitting at the computer researching stasis. She remembered closing her eyes and mind while Stonn touched her. She felt the sand drowning her. She saw Stonn’s astonished face as he died. She saw Spock in the arms of the Human. They were laughing. They were laughing at her.
“You think you could have ruled all of Vulcan,” she shrieked. “You could not even rule one Vulcan and his dirt-eating Human! You are a fraud. You are nothing. I should never have freed you!”
Heat filled her vision. Brilliant green roiling waves of heat. She reached for Starok’s unconcerned face. She would claw his eyes out. She would pluck out those lifeless black orbs from their sockets.
Her fingernails found the soft, fleshy skin. She dug hard with her long, painted nails and felt a satisfying wet warmth seeping beneath her fingers.
Hot wetness streamed down her face. Her skin burned. Her face blazed with fire.
But T’Pring could not stop her hands from gouging out her own eyes.
***
Spock gazed out the picture window to the canopy of glittering night stars. These were the stars where he and his captain belonged.
The rustic cabin he and Jim had chosen for their well-deserved shore leave was situated in a beautiful Earth-like forest on Kallos, a planet renowned for its exclusive resorts.
But they were less interested in any resort luxuries than being somewhere private.
Safely secluded, as Jim had expressed it.
The cabin, though deemed rustic, was actually furnished and stocked with everything they would need for their stay.
A large fireplace in the great room blazed warmly, for which Spock was grateful, considering the chill of the evenings in this forest.
Also, Spock was especially grateful for the cabin’s pristine cleanliness, maintained by an expert staff.
A full moon had risen, lighting the tops of the trees and pouring silvery light into the room. Spock turned away from the window that looked out into the night’s landscape and watched Jim at the bar. He was perusing the varied bottles of wines, alcoholic beverages from around the galaxy, and crystal decanters filled with exotic liquids. A bartender had been offered, but Jim had eschewed that offer in favor of their privacy.
And their privacy was paramount.
His captain looked so utterly beautiful by the firelight. He was dressed in a soft gray sweater over pale denim jeans that accentuated his masculine form. Spock’s heart quickened at the sight.
Jim finally chose a beautifully designed crystal bottle of cognac.
He poured the liqueur into two glasses and handed one to Spock.
They stood in silence and faced each other as they sipped the cognac. Spock tasted and felt the warm liquid as it flowed into him, and even though Vulcans do not normally respond to the effects of alcohol as strongly as many other beings, they definitely enjoy it.
Spock watched Jim’s mouth touch the rim of the glass and remembered the moment when he had longed to kiss those lips.
A Mozart concerto played softly while Spock fell into the depths of his captain’s eyes. He wished to be lost in those eyes for an eternity. Illogical, but very, very true.
“I need to reveal to you my emotions surrounding the recent events,” he said, his glass gently trembling in his hand. “But I am experiencing trepidation.”
Jim smiled that captivating smile that, against all reason, could melt his heart. “Then I’ll go first,” he said.
Spock nodded, glad for the moment to compose himself.
Jim looked away into the fireplace, the glowing light bathing his face and hair in gold.
“I can only remember small parts of what I said or did. It was like walking through a dream. Or a nightmare. I had no control over my mind or my body. I felt…” He paused. “I felt disconnected. Like out of my body. Watching myself while I did terrible things to you.” He rushed on. “I couldn’t stop any of it. I was a puppet. A robot. I don’t know.”
Spock did not want to move or breathe.
Jim turned to him. “Then I woke up. I woke up holding a dagger, ready to kill you.” Tears flooded his eyes.
“But at that moment I was free.”
He lifted his glittering eyes to Spock.
“I was free of the mind control, but not of the pain,” he said quietly. “The intense pain I felt for what I did to you. I know, I know, it was not my fault. I was under the mind control of those Vulcans. But I can’t stop my guilt. My guilt at not being strong enough to withstand the power they had over me. I can’t forgive myself for the pain I caused to you.”
“Jim,” Spock said, touching a finger to the Human’s wet cheek. “Starok is considered one of the, if not the most powerful telepaths in recent Vulcan history. No amount of your strength could have overcome it. And especially not when he combined forces with T’Pring.”
He paused, knowing what he had to say next.
“If there is any blame, if there is any guilt, it is mine. For I was T’Pring’s target. It was I from whom T’Pring sought vengeance. It is because of me that she sought to affect you. For she knew how I felt. She knew at the koon-ut-kalifee.”
“I knew, too,” Jim said.
Without another word, they both put their glasses down.
Spock slid his hand around the back of Jim’s neck, drawing him closer.
The warmth of their breath mingled delicately.
Their lips touched.
Spock held Jim and crushed his mouth fully with his own. He savored the taste of warm sweet cognac on Jim’s lips. He inhaled the scent of the Human’s freshly bathed body. He felt the smooth silk of his skin beneath the thin fabric of the sweater.
Jim pulled him closer until their bodies pressed together and Spock felt the hardness that throbbed between the man’s strong legs.
Heat spread like a roaring fire directly into Spock’s body---into his penis like a firebrand, into his testicles like a firestorm. Heat poured molten through his veins.
He felt so alive. He had never felt so alive.
Alive with this glorious Human in his arms.
Jim,” he said when they parted. He did not look away. Spock knew his control was ashes.
The beautiful man with the shining eyes, the softly tousled hair, the upturned face beckoning to kiss him again said “Yes.”
Jim tore off his sweater, his hazel eyes flashing with gold. Spock’s eyes raked the handsome masculine form---down the smooth bare chest, to the strong arms to the bulge beneath the jeans.
His gaze returned to the open, wanting expression on Jim’s face, his cheeks flushed with desire.
Spock memorized the moment seeing the baby-fine errant lock that fell over the strong forehead; the delicate nose and full lips parted; the deep fluid eyes framed by long sweeping lashes. Eyes that could make a stoic Vulcan melt. Eyes that a proper Vulcan could get lost in.
“I want you, Spock,” Jim said breathlessly. “I need you. Help me to forget.”
Spock took Jim’s face in his hands and kissed him deeply and thoroughly.
Spock’s heart thundered as his hands unfastened the jeans and eased them over Jim’s rounded buttocks and muscular thighs.
Jim was not wearing briefs and his flushed rose erection revealed its desire. The skin over its head stretched tight and slick. The veins along its length throbbed. The shaft had grown thick and heavy.
Spock went to his knees before this glorious organ.
When his tongue tasted the pearl of fluid that seeped out like a dewdrop, and when Spock spread his lips over the dome, Jim cried out.
“Spock! Oh, my god, Spock!”
Spock’s mouth descended Jim’s beautiful penis. And it was beautiful. A dream of beauty so unrealized until this moment. He held it firmly in his mouth, massaging with his tongue and lips.
Spock drew his mouth back up the shaft and over the head until the penis was released. But he only paused a moment until he plunged on it again, devouring, consuming, wanting.
Jim’s hands tightened on his shoulders and Spock felt Jim’s body shudder. He grasped the naked buttocks and pulled Jim toward him. The flesh was cool and firm to his touch. His fingers sought the crevice and the small, puckered opening hidden there.
He found what he searched for and moved his finger, gently demanding entrance. The tight warm muscle enveloped his finger as he delved deeper inside. He pressed against the tender, moist sides and felt the orifice yield to him like the opening of a soft, ripe fruit.
“Oh god, Spock. I can’t hold back,” Jim cried breathlessly. “Oh god, it’s too good.”
Jim tightly clutched his shoulders as Spock swallowed and swallowed the golden Human’s semen.
Wishing to never let go, Spock released the ambrosial organ. Jim’s body went limp as he collapsed gently to his knees.
Wrapped in each other’s arms, they lay on the thick, soft rug beside the fireplace, their breathing fast and their hearts beating in rhythm together.
“Let me,” Jim said as he slid his hand into the waistband of Spock’s soft pants, feeling the strong erection.
But Spock put a hand on Jim’s to stop him.
“We must wait,” he said with effort. The touch sent heat throughout his body, and he forced himself to draw Jim’s hand away.
“Why?” Jim asked with one of those beguiling smiles that Spock adored.
“Do you recall our conversation before…”
“Before the madness?” Jim said. “Before all the hatred and insanity?”
Spock searched the beautiful face. “We spoke of t’hy’la. Do you remember?”
“Yes. And bonding.”
Spock leaned in and touched his lips to Jim’s.
“If we make love, then I would mind link with you. We would bond. We would be t’hy’la.” Spock could not breathe waiting for Jim to respond.
Jim looked into Spock’s eyes but said nothing for a moment. The moment seemed forever.
Jim smiled.
“How do you say it? I would bond with thee.”
If there was one moment in his life of sheer happiness, it was now. If Spock were not Vulcan, he would have cried. If Spock were not Vulcan, he would have shouted in exhilarated joy.
Instead, the Vulcan embraced the Human, crushing their lips together in an all-consuming kiss.
The fire in the fireplace burned warm and the fire in Spock’s heart burned hot as they lay together on the soft rug. Now naked. Now in each other’s arms. Now.
I want you to fuck me, Spock.” Jim said, his voice filled with desire. “I want you to fuck me to the stars.”
Spock caressed Jim’s strong, smooth back. Here was this man, this Human, whose playground was the stars. But Jim was here with him. And Spock would give or do anything. Even lose control. Even lose himself. Spock knew he was lost. Lost in the stars with this man.
“Yes, my captain.”
Spock stroked himself while Jim watched. The organ grew incredibly hot beneath his touch, and he coated it with the viscous fluid that had seeped generously from the slit. The twin ridges flared from the stimulation.
Jim’s eyes grew wide. “You’re huge,” he said. “You’ll hurt me.”
“I would never hurt you. I will protect you from any pain.”
Spock kneeled beside Jim and lightly touched the fingers of one hand to Jim’s temples. In a moment, the eyes brightened and he smiled that heart-melting smile.
“I want you inside me,” he said. “I want to feel your cock inside me.”
Jim turned, went to his knees and presented himself to Spock who felt the hardness of his erection in the soft flesh, the subtle coarseness of his hair against the tender skin, and fullness of his swollen, sensitive testicles.
He undulated against the Human’s body, savoring the moment and the anticipation.
Soon he would penetrate Jim’s body and fuck him to the stars.
Spock held his engorged penis in his hand and positioned the tip in the divinely soft crevice of Jim’s buttocks. He slid the wet, hard organ slowly down until it touched the secreted velvet hole. Then he pushed gently, but firmly, into this willing body.
He watched as the head disappeared, then the first ridge, then the second.
Jim moaned lustfully. Waves and waves of pleasure, of deep pleasure, of rich desire poured over Spock. An unrealized dream was now a reality.
He, Spock of Vulcan, was making love to James Kirk, captain of the Enterprise. A dream of untenable desire. And yet, here he was, penetrating the golden body and waiting to penetrate the dynamic mind.
Spock of Vulcan experienced wonderment.
His entire organ had now slid completely into Jim’s body. His own dark thatch of hair rested against the crevice. He smoothed his hands over the silken buttocks, taut and quivering beneath his touch.
Jim moaned his pleasure again and set Spock’s heart aflame once more.
“Touch me, Spock,” Jim said in a voice deep and rough---a voice filled with need. “Come into my mind. Feel my thoughts. Know all that I am.”
Spock leaned forward and placed one hand upon the meld points of Jim’s face. He felt tears there.
“Tears of happiness,” Jim said to the unasked question.
This time Spock knew the journey would be wonderful. This time the mind link was for love. Two beings in love who would bond for eternity.
Suddenly, the past welled up from deep in his memories.
He saw the desolate, windswept Melkotian landscape. All illusion, all shadows except the vibrant mind of his captain. “Be with me,” he had whispered as his fingers touched the captain’s face. “My heart to your heart. This I promise you.”
“I had forgotten,” Jim said, his voice within Spock’s mind. “But I remember now.”
Then Spock saw the gleaming obelisk rise darkly into the storm-filled sky. His captain dressed in soft deerskin, lying on the cold marble, and Spock’s fingers pressed against his face.
“You are James Kirk and I am Spock. I love you.”
He had been unable to shield.
“I heard it,” Jim spoke without words. “But after, I couldn’t remember.”
“I hid the memory from you,” Spock said. “I could not bear to let you know.”
He saw the woman whose petite body had trapped the captain’s powerful self.
“I believe you,” he had said while staring into someone else’s eyes. He had wanted to say, “I am in love with you.”
“Oh, Spock,” Jim said, his words echoing within Spock’s mind. “Tell me now. Say it. Say the words.”
Spock went deeper into the Human’s mind. The midnight sky spread overhead in an infinite sparkling canopy of stars.
On the mental landscape of clouds, they stood naked, erect, and unashamed.
They faced each other, their hands and fingers meeting---palm to palm, finger to finger.
“I love thee,” Spock said in his native language. “I would bond with thee.”
The vibrant hazel eyes looked into his. The golden bronze hair shone in the light of the diamond stars. The firm muscular body stood naked and open before him.
“Yes,” the beautiful captain of his heart said. “Yes.”
And as they kissed, and as they held each other, the glowing landscape of the meld faded away.
They lay beside the fire; Spock still embedded within Jim’s lush body beneath him. Still touching and holding and fucking his captain to the stars.
Spock knew he could control himself no longer.
He felt rising pressure in his testicles and the extreme sense of urgency that throbbed throughout his body.
He moved his hips slowly and rhythmically, tension building, penetrating and withdrawing, slowly, carefully, feeling every nuance of every sensation as he slid wetly in and out of the tight, hot tunnel.
He reached beneath Jim and firmly milked the straining erection, his hand sliding up and down the entire length of the shaft.
The Human’s penis seemed to grow impossibly larger, hotter, stronger as it thrust into Spock’s fist, back and forth as it pulsed and throbbed in his grasp.
Jim cried out and came forcefully as copious creamy fluid flowed out around Spock’s hand.
At that moment, Spock’s control gave way and hot, wet tears coursed down his face as he ejaculated all of his seed, all of his life-force into James Kirk---the Human he loved, the man he adored.
Spock withdrew, heart beating wildly, and collapsed next to Jim’s sweat-slicked back.
***
When Spock opened his eyes, he saw Jim had turned and was holding him and was looking at him through half-closed lids framed by long fringes of lashes.
Jim smiled softly. “I can feel you in my mind,” he said. “We’re bonded, aren’t we?”
“Yes. We are bonded. We are t’hy’la.”
“Forever?”
“Forever.”
“I will always love you, Spock.”
“Yes, my t’hy’la. Now sleep. We have forever ahead of us.”
***
The black shroud of darkness was suffocating her.
Her hands flew to her face and felt sticky wet warmth.
“Ah, T’Pring," said the voice she knew well. “Without your eyes, you are not so beautiful.” And Starok laughed.
“What have you done?” Curious. She felt no pain.
“Nothing that you would not have done to me.”
Suddenly she heard a banging noise.
A crash.
The air blew around her. Movement.
Loud footsteps on the hard floor.
Many voices. Shouting.
She sank to her knees, wildly reaching out with her hands into the darkness.
“Help me!” She screamed, not caring who they were, whether friend or foe.
“He tried to kill me! I am here! Help me!” She cried out, frantically waving her arms.
“Starok!” A deep and resounding voice that she did not recognize. “We are here for you. Surrender your will to us!”
Terrible cries sundered the air and reverberated in her ears.
“You cannot resist us. Open your mind to us or we enter by force.”
“I will destroy you!” Starok screamed.
“No, we are many. Accept your sentence. Open your mind, Starok of Vulcan.”
Sounds of humming, rising to such a deafening high pitch that T’Pring had to cover her ears.
Then silence.
A large strong hand grasped hers.
Relief flooded through her. Saved.
“T’Pring.”
She froze. The voice.
“Stonn.”
“Yes, my wife. It is I.”
“How can this be? I saw you die!” She flayed her arms at him.
“I know. But I survived. I survived for a reason.”
His arms embraced her. He cradled her head. The coarse tunic he wore scratched against her cheek. She moaned.
He caressed her head, brushing back her hair. “I shall be your eyes. I shall take care of you for the rest of your life.”
“No, no!” T’Pring shook with her sobs, but no tears fell from the wounds. Her wailing cry reverberated out into the stars and she imagined the gentle whispering of falling sand.
Sand began to rain down on her, pouring in an unrelenting torrent. She couldn’t breathe. She was blind and all the sounds were muffled. All her dreams were buried deep within the sand.
The last thing she remembered was being lifted into Stonn’s arms.
***
The black ocean of space was warm and inviting, glittering with stars and planets.
Alone on the observation deck, Spock stood beside his captain, looking out the view window.
“Somewhere out there,” his captain said watching the beautiful simulation of stars as they streamed by. “Those two tried to destroy us. But they couldn’t. Their psychic strength meant nothing.”
“Hatred and desire for revenge filled them and destroyed them,” Spock said.
“And we have love,” Jim said as he drew Spock to his lips in a gentle warm kiss.
“I’d love to fuck you right here,” Jim whispered when they parted. His eyes were shining a light that Spock adored.
“I believe that particular activity would be inauspicious in this relatively public area. However, I would not be averse to retiring to our quarters.”
“Take me to bed, Spock.”
“Yes, my captain. Yes.”
***End***