Xxxxx Chapter 1 xxxxX
“I know your crew has been looking forward to shore leave, especially in light of recent events, Kirk,” Captain Pike of the USS Kelvin addressed the youngest Captain in the fleet, his eyes so tired they were lined with purple and blue, throbbing in the overhead light. “But you’re the closest ship to the Beta Quadrant. They’re headed right toward you and they’ve got my crew—my First Officer included. If they cross that line—“
“Chris,” Jim halted the desperate pleas of his former mentor, “you know you don’t have to ask twice—you don’t even have to ask. I’m not about to turn my back on you and your crew for the sake of a shore leave. How long until your warp engine is functional?”
“Twelve hours—if we push it. Of course, that’s assuming we actually have everything we need to repair it from here,” Chris sighed. “They really did a number on us. Stole our away team right from under our noses, blasted our nacelles while our shields were down. It’s a damn miracle they didn’t pop us on the spot.”
“Well, from what I hear you’ve got a damn fine Engineering Chief,” Kirk grinned, tawny eyes flashing with pride. Mr. DeSalle, the former Assistant Chief Engineer for the Enterprise and Lt. Scott’s most prized pupil was now serving happily on the Kelvin, enjoying running his own department and the up in salary that came with his promotion.
A faint smile graced Pike’s lips, “That we do. I owe you one for that referral, by the way. He’s the only reason we’re still afloat right now.” As quickly as the mirth had returned to his eyes, it disappeared, “Thank you for doing this.”
“Don’t worry, Chris,” Kirk assured. “We’re going to get your people back to you.”
“I owe you, Jim,” Chris replied, a small measure of hope beginning to take root within his gut. He knew Kirk, knew the type of determination and cunning the man possessed. If anyone could outfox the Orions, it was James T. Kirk.
Jim flashed his most reassuring smile, “You don’t owe me anything. Get some sleep, you look like Hell. Kirk out.” He opened a comm to gamma shift and ordered them to set an interception course with the Orion vessel holding the Kelvin’s men at coordinates just outside the next quadrant. Then, Kirk opened the file Pike had sent during their conversation. Attached to the report were the names, ranks and faces of the officers taken captive eight hours prior. Jim scrolled through the list…
Lieutenant Jamie Sullivan, Science Officer. Kirk browsed the man’s record. Jamie had blonde hair, blue eyes and not yet past twenty-seven. He was however, despite his young age, unsurpassed in his field—Biogenetic Engineering. Sullivan had already been awarded three commendations for his work on interspecies reproduction and fetus incubation during the span of his two years of service aboard the Kelvin.
Ensign Mariska Benton, Security. Benton was on the fast track to Fleet Black Ops, having specialized in field strategy and tactical analysis. This was her first tour of space. Jim studied the photo, taking in the hard lines of her jaw and sharp eyes that projected an air of confidence and determination. Mariska was thirty-seven and had joined Starfleet later than most, at the age of thirty-two. Regardless, she showed exceptional promise and would be a valuable asset to any Captain.
Lastly, Jim came upon a name he recognized. Commander S’chn T’gai Spock, First Officer, Assistant Science Officer. Jim scrolled to the bottom of the record, disappointed to discover a very old photo taken of the Commander when he was still a Graduate Assistant at the academy. Christ, were any of these photos up to date, then? There was nothing Kirk hated more than incomplete, out of date personnel files, especially when it came to planning a rescue mission. It was important to know as much about your charges as possible—their psychology, their skills, their weaknesses and strengths—so that when push came to shove—in situations less straight forward than this one—tasks were assigned efficiently and to the person best suited to carry them out.
With a sigh, Jim scrolled back to the top of Commander Spock’s record, reading over the impressive number of accomplishments and commendations, seeing a pattern of offered promotion and consistent refusal. No crave to command? Jim wondered internally. Hmph…it appeared Mr. Spock had been assisting Lt. Sullivan with his work on interspecies reproduction and fetus incubation as well. Yes…he had heard that the half-Vulcan was quite the brilliant mind and he was intrigued as to what the only known Vulcan/Human interspecies offspring must think of this particular project. What was it like, Jim wondered, to be a child of two so very different worlds?
As far as Jim had heard through Fleet scuttlebutt, the Commander adhered entirely to his Vulcan heritage and kept almost entirely to himself. Over the past three years, since the beginning of his Captaincy on the Enterprise, Jim had overheard crewmembers from the Kelvin at various Fleet dinners and conventions accuse Mr. Spock of either being a recluse or a snooty know-it-all, who looked down on all things human. He could possibly see that, after all, the Vulcan had never deemed it necessary to join his crew at any of these functions. On the other hand, it also sounded a lot more like penis envy than truth and while Jim wasn’t sure what to make of the Vulcan from his record and outdated photo, he could certainly tell that there was definitely more to Mr. Spock than met the eye.
Kirk closed the file and opened the Enterprise personnel roster. He then began to put together a team of the best his crew had to offer. They would be within range of the Orion Slave Ship within ten short hours. He chose Giotto, his Security Chief, whose efficiency and cunning had managed to get them out of more than a couple of unsavory situations. He then chose the top three in Giotto’s department: Mason, Fields and Agarvee. They all held top tier belts in several different fighting forms, and they’d need to employ every one of them against the Orions, who were known for their adaptability in a fight. Hopefully, however, it wouldn’t come to that. With any luck, they’d be able to sneak aboard undetected, retrieve their men and warp out of there before the slavers caught wind and self destructed—a common practice among Orions when they believed defeat and/or capture were imminent. Having selected his crew, he sent them all an order to their inboxes to meet him in his ready room for a briefing at 0900, seven hours from now, and made his way back to his bunk. It was going to be one hell of an Alpha shift and he’d need his sleep tonight.
“I will not,” Spock told his captor, eyeing the distasteful garb clutched tightly in angry olive hands.
“You will wear it, Vulcan, or I will kill you where you stand,” the Orion Lieutenant, Stenen, sneered, tossing the male harem uniform across the room where Spock stood stoically, hands held firmly behind his back.
Spock eyed the Orion with contemplation, already having borne witness to Stenen’s brutality on the planet from which they were abducted, forced to watch helplessly as he had murdered two of their security personnel with little more than a smile and a wave of his hand. He knew Stanen would not hesitate to carry out his threat should Spock give him sufficient reason enough to do so. He moved his gaze to the garments at his feet, bile rising to the back of his throat. The mere thought of donning the outfit was physically sickening—a reaction he knew to be entirely human. As illogical as it was to be willing to die over a few pieces of clothing, up to this point in his captivity—fourteen point three hours—Spock had worn his uniform like a shield. He resisted the urge to scratch at his left arm which still ached from the removal of his transponder at the hands of an Orion surgeon; A surgeon that, by the way, had more in common with a Klingon butcher than an actual medical doctor. Still, until now, so long as he was remained encased by science blue and Starfleet’s ranks and insignia, the unVulcan concept of hope existed.
As if capable of reading his mind, Stenen spoke the Vulcan’s thoughts, “Come now, Commander. Is it not illogical to welcome death over such a trivial matter as attire?”
“Vulcans are not suited to the current temperature aboard this vessel. To wear something such as this,” he lifted the garment slightly in emphasis, “is the height of illogic especially if your orders are indeed to deliver your captives undamaged.”
Stenen smirked, “Yes, but you’re not the first Vulcan I’ve ever acquired, and she did not die of the cold aboard our fine vessel. I assure you, the chilly air will not kill you, half-breed. But I will,” Stanen pointed his disrupted at Spock’s heart, the false sweetness of his voice now absent completely, “if you continue to be a disobedient pain in the ass.”
Wordlessly, Spock lifted the garments and tilted his head at Stanen, curious as to what else the Orion knew about him, aside from his genetic composition, “Very well.”
“Good,” the Lieutenant smiled evilly, stepping forward to run licentious fingers across the Vulcan’s jaw. The contact was enough to make Spock’s stomach tighten with disgust at all the devious, ill-mannered thoughts that accompanied it. “I’d hate to damage that beautiful austerity of yours, Commander. You may live up to your value yet.” With that, he turned and crossed the room to the door, looking over his shoulder before exiting. “When I return, I expect to see you wearing something more…attractive,” he leered, eyes falling once more to the outfit in Spock’s hands before finally leaving the Vulcan in blessed silence.
Spock had not been lying—it was uncomfortably chilly onboard this particular ship—Vulcan’s do not lie. He had, however, prevaricated—the temperature onboard the Kelvin was, in truth, two point four degrees cooler—and it was with no small amount of restraint that Spock prevented himself from sighing most grievously at the fact that he’d been caught in his deception. With great reluctance, he began to remove his boots, trousers and shirts, folding them reverently and placing them on the bench that also served as his bed. He then pulled on the silky black harem pants and fastened them about his waist, again refraining from outward emotional reaction; Spock instead eyed the billowed legs and crotch of the trousers with marked, inward disdain.
Next, he pulled on the deep blue jacket, noting the complicated design of swirling black lace and threaded gold patterns with begrudged admiration. The artwork was quite ornate and the material fine and not easy to work with. It was obvious, and Spock thought quite illogical, that quite a bit of time and effort had been expelled upon this apparel—something created with a purpose so…carnal in nature. Being that the entire point of the Orion sex slave industry was to provide low-cost consorts to seedy individuals, he could not understand the fuss over the packaging of such a commodity. Might they all just as well be delivered to the patrons of these slavers nude and bound? Would that not cut down on time between turnovers and tradeoffs, he thought with no small amount of disgust.
Spock studied his reflection in the full length mirror that hung from the wall at the opposite end of his cell. The silken pants clung too closely to his muscular lower abdomen and his narrow hips, casting his quiescent genitals in a just visible peak between his thighs. Above his hips, the dark fur of his chest was a valley between the parted lapels of the half-length jacket, his dusky, green areoles and nipples plainly visible and peaked from the cold air—a condition usually mitigated by the thermal undershirt he wore under his discarded uniform. The lithe muscles of his stomach were on open display, from where the jacket ended just beneath his pectorals all the way down to his belly button under which the pants clung indecently about his waist.
Illogically, he hoped for a quick rescue by Captain Pike, that their ship had not been too damaged to pursue their captors. Spock wondered what his fellow crewmembers and subordinates were being forced to endure in their cells, hoping that they exercised more passivity with their captives that he had thus far as they did not have Vulcan strength to aid them against any physical abuse the Orions might inflict. Momentarily, his mind wandered into darker territory. Having not yet experienced his first Pon Farr, and not at all familiar yet with the various aspects of sex—Spock refused to ponder his possible fate as a sex slave.
It was not that he was incapable or unstudied on the subject of copulation, but as a Vulcan he had simply not seen the logic in promiscuity when such urges were easily controlled. However, Spock thought with shameful regret, should there fail to be a successful attempt at rescue, he understood that his physical education of sex—if it came at the hands of Stanen, as the Orion was clearly desirous—would be cold and empty and full of pain. No, it was best not to contemplate such outcomes prematurely. Instead, the Vulcan settled himself upon the floor and entered into a light meditative state, considering that perhaps he should have at least tried to participate in an act of coitus, realizing now that he’d taken for granted the simple freedom of choice.
So far, the mission was going according to plan. The Enterprise had concealed itself within a nebula between two planets bordering the Beta Quadrant. Scotty had covered their warp signature using an experimental magnetic polarity reversal theory, which would—theoretically—trick the Orion sensors into believing they were scanning meteoric debris surrounding the two planets instead of a Constitution Class Starship. When they were within 10,000 kilometers of the Orion ship’s projected path, they began running through the preliminary checks and procedures.
Kirk stood on the transporter pad, awaiting the bridge to acknowledge a positive scan on the approaching slave ship, as he ran through the details with his team one last time. “All phasers set to stun,” he ordered, checking his as well to ascertain it was at the appropriate setting. “Remember, stealth is the objective here: we need to recover the personnel belonging to the Kelvin and beam back without being detected otherwise the Orions will self-destruct their ship along with everyone on it. That’s their way of maintaining their world’s neutrality.”
Normally, they would first attempt to beam the individuals directly aboard without boarding the enemy vessel, however, the transponders implanted in the captives had gone off line shortly after their abduction and just prior to the attack on the Kelvin. They’d have to affix an exterior transponder to each captive before they could get a lock and beam them over to the Enterprise. Jim turned his attention to Scotty, “After you beam us over, you’ve got the conn.”
“Aye, Capt’n,” Scotty nodded gravely at the reminder of their loss. Lieutenant Commander Gary Mitchell, their recently deceased First Officer, had yet to be replaced. Kirk had offered the job to Scotty, unofficially, and as much as he wanted to help his Captain, he could not deny that he was already exactly where he wanted to be: Chief Engineer onboard the Fleet’s flagship. As far as he knew, the Captain was still going through applications, trying to find a replacement all the while grieving the loss of his comrade and friend. Gary had been a decent man, if a bit impulsive and rough around the edges…but once he’d descended into madness, possessed with an all-consuming, corrupting power…well, Kirk had done what he had to do to save himself and the crew of the Enterprise. Still, everyone could tell that Commander Mitchell’s death remained a raw and open wound for the Captain.
“Doctor McCoy,” Jim addressed his best friend and CMO, “I trust you’re ready to receive any injured crew?”
“That’s what I’m here for,” McCoy assured, hands resting on one of the three prepared biobeds. The Captain nodded his approval and the doctor turned his attention to Nurse Chapel, issuing a few instructions of his own regarding procedure for receiving the away team as well as the Kelvin’s crew.
The room was immediately silent when the comm panel buzzed, “Bridge to Captain Kirk,” Uhura’s voice sounded over the speaker. “The Orion ship has entered sensor range and dropped out of warp.”
“Understood,” Kirk sounded from the transporter pad. “We’ll have a window of forty-two minutes between now and the time the Orion ship gains permission to enter the their space on the other side of the Quadrant.”
“Aye, aye,” his team responded in unison.
“I’ll be beaming you to the main cargo hold, hopefully behind some crates that will obstruct ye from any unwanted notice,” Scotty reported. “Ready on your orders, sir.”
Kirk nodded, “Energize,” and in seconds, the team found themselves aboard the Orion ship, safely sequestered behind a row of tightly packed containers. For a moment, they all stood back to back, eyes and ears straining for any evidence of the Orion crew’s presence. Once they confirmed a successful undetected boarding, Kirk motioned for the team to follow him to the door that would lead to what would, with any luck, be an empty corridor. From there, they would proceed 300 meters to the right until they came to a covered escape ladder. The team would take it two decks up, to the brig deck where the prisoners were believed to be held.
If they were wrong, the mission would be an immediate failure. They’d be out of time before they managed to locate Pike’s crew. Pushing that kernel of doubt aside, Kirk waited for Agarvee to hack the door panel so it wouldn’t send a signal to the ship’s main computer when it opened. Task accomplished, Agarvee nodded the go ahead and they activated the door. Giotto and Fields peered into the corridor from their positions on opposite sides of the opening, having insisted that the Captain’s not be the first face on display should there be any members of the small Orion crew lurking about in the hallway. “Clear,” Giotto and Agarvee mouthed silently before Kirk waved them forward and they made their way to the escape ladder.
As they ascended the steps to the brig deck, they began to hear voices. Kirk felt his blood begin to boil once he was close enough to understand what the Orions were saying.
“Lieutenant Stenen,” a deep, stern voice echoed through the corridor, “the Vulcan has finished dressing. He is prepared for your…perusal.”
“Good,” was the overly-satisfied chuckle emitted from whom, Kirk assumed, must be this Stenen character. “I have to say, I am eager to teach this particular slave the laws of submissive obedience. Have the necessary supplies delivered to my quarters. I will alert you when I am ready to receive him.”
“Yes, sir,” the subordinate’s voice replied, his heavy footsteps thudding down the corridor before finally diappearing. They waited for several long minutes until they heard Stinen leave as well, whistling as he went, before the proceeded.
Kirk peered over the cover and into the corridor, pleased to find it deserted. From there, the team flew into action, splitting up to search the various cells the doors of which were labeled in Orion by gender and species. Good thing his team was fluent in Orion, Klingon and Romulan—another skill set he had considered when choosing them for this mission. He looked down the hall some minutes later to see Agarvee and Fields attaching a transponder to what appeared to Security Ensign Benton, who was immediately gone in a swirl of golden light. Turning back to his own search, he paused when he came to a door labeled: Vulcan—Male.
Jim flipped the panel and hacked the door, bolting inside and out of the corridor at the sound of heavy footsteps approaching. Pressing himself against the wall, his eyes met with a vision he had not been expecting. Commander Spock, in all his half-naked glory stood proudly before him, eyes openly inquisitive rather than the blank orbs that had stared back at him from the outdated photo in that file. To add to Jim’s befuddlement, the Vulcan was dressed in a harem outfit of black and blue silk, the cut of which left just as much to the imagination as it concealed—which wasn’t much. Kirk thought he had never seen anyone quite as beautiful.
The body before him was cut like granite, not bulky but covered in usable muscle. Kirk could clearly see two taught, verdant nipples peeking out from beneath a dusting of fine onyx chest hair. But the most attractive feature by far…the most exotic…even more so than the Commander’s ears, were his eyes—chocolate brown and swimming with a mix of relief, trepidation and recognition. Kirk had met Vulcans before but never had he managed to glean any emotion under the surface of that ever-present indifference, seemingly inherent to their species. And Spock, for all outward appearances was undeniably and wholly Vulcan, but if ever there was a physical indicator of his human heritage it was in those eyes.
“Commander Spock?” He finally questioned.
“I am,” and that deep, baritone voice sent chills straight to the back of Jim’s neck. He pushed it aside when his earpiece beeped three times in quick succession and Kirk immediately responded with the appropriate pre-planned reply.
“I’m Captain Kirk,” he returned with what he hoped was a comforting smile. “The other members of your crew have already been transported to the Enterprise.” Crossing the distance between them, Jim tossed the Commander a transponder, knowing enough about Vulcans to understand that his touch wouldn’t be welcome, especially now he figured.
He watched as Spock picked up his folded uniform, “Is there perhaps time for me to—“
“I’m afraid not,” Jim turned a sympathetic gaze on the scantily clad Vulcan. “We need to be quick. We’re about to be discovered.” Kirk then punched his communicator, “Kirk to transporter room one,” he paused, hit with a sudden solution to the Commander’s unease about beaming aboard in his current attire, “two to beam directly to my quarters.”
“Ay—“ Scotty hesitated for a fraction of a second at the strange command before punching in the receiving coordinates. “Aye, Capt’n.”
“Energize,” Kirk ordered just as one of the Orion slavers entered Spock’s cell, his expression shocked as he reported to his Captain while the captive and his rescuer dematerialized. The moment they arrived in Kirk’s quarters, the Captain comm’d the bridge, “Sulu, raise shields and take us out of here. Maximum warp.” Behind them, the Orion slave vessel exploded in an immediate act of self-destruction, effectively destroying any evidence or witnesses to acts committed against the Federation and any of its personnel.
Kirk breathed a sigh of relief; they had managed to pull off their mission without any complications, despite remaining undetected. Still, they weren’t being followed and there hadn’t been any additional prisoners aside from Pike’s personnel—which was curious—unless of course one considered precisely who they had captured: The galaxy’s only Vulcan/Human hybrid. Still, that left a lot of questions…for instance, how had they known where the Kelvin would be and better yet, that Spock would be on the planet and not aboard the ship…
Speaking of the Commander, Jim whirled around to meet the patient gaze of Pike’s First Officer, “So, I’m guessing you probably want to get changed out of the get up?”
“Indeed,” the Vulcan intoned, but his eyes were dancing with…was that amusement?
Kirk couldn’t keep a smile from slowly spreading across his face, “The head’s thataway,” he pointed.
Spock quirked an eyebrow, “Thank you, Captain Kirk.” With that, the Commander made his way to the bathroom, oblivious to the tawny eyes following his backside as he progressed across the room.
Coming back to himself, Jim took a seat behind his desk and sent a missive to Pike, currently onboard the Excalibur while it towed the Kelvin, which he had learned at the start of Alpha shift was beyond repair without the aid of a starbase and its labor and materials resources. He informed Pike that all of his crew had been retrieved and the Orion crew had subsequently destroyed their ship in an act of suicide. It didn’t take long for him to type and send the memo and was unsurprised to hear the sonics engaged when he crossed the room to check on Mr. Spock. At the sound, however, visions of what the Vulcan must look like naked flooded his imagination, unbidden, and Kirk was shocked to discover himself half-hard at the thought. It had been a long time since Jim had found himself attracted to a male not to mention with this kind of intensity. The sight of that lean, dark body in those pants that clung in all the right places…
Guiltily, Kirk silently chastised himself for being such a lech. They’d just barely managed to rescue the Commander and fellow crewman from a life of forced sexual slavery—a life for which those clothes only served as symbol—and here he was objectifying the man as if he were a mere commodity. It was shameful, and he was immediately pushed his shameful lust aside. Jim still believed, as he had earlier while he reviewing the First Officer’s file, that there was more to the Vulcan than met the eye. He determined then and there—rumors to Spock’s reclusiveness and Jim’s inappropriate attraction aside—that he would get to know the Commander while he had the opportunity to do so. He would go out of his way to befriend Spock and make him feel comfortable during his stay.
With that thought, Jim returned to his desk and began his official report to Starfleet, awaiting the Commander’s emergence from the head. He’d then arrange for Spock to reunite and debrief with his crew…maybe see if he could find something for them to do while they were onboard. He had a feeling that none of those rescued today would be able to sit idle for the three weeks it would take them to rendezvous with the Kelvin at Starbase eighteen.