Chapter Two

Hellguard's pale suns slipped below the horizon, and darkness descended under a heavy blanket of clouds. The storm had begun. Icy rain pelted the sentries huddled by Charvon's house.

Inside the structure, Spock sat staring helplessly at the heater while Charvon readied a spray hypo. Though her paralysis field held him immobile, his heart was slamming wildly. In the corner of his vision, he saw her approaching, the hypo glittering like an evil stinger. There was no way to plead for mercy, even had it occurred to him. She would do as she pleased. She would use her paralysis field and his drug-induced lust to manipulate him. And Spock knew he would succumb…just as nobler Vulcans before him had succumbed, to their own disgrace and the disgrace of their families.

Charvon's filmy gown, blue as Earth's summer sky, fluttered gracefully with each step. Standing over him, she laid one soft, possessive hand upon his face. She ran her fingertips over his lips, warming them on his breath, and he could not help but shudder in disgust.

"My righteous Vulcan," she said gently. "It is senseless to resist."

Spock struggled to focus his mind. Soon the insidious drug would be scorching a path through his veins, burning him from the inside out. But for the moment he could still think logically, and his thoughts came in a rush.

Surely, at such a time as this, even a Romulan would desire complete privacy. No one among her crew would be watching. The revealing dress she wore could not possibly hide a signaling device. There might never be a better chance for escape.

He forced himself into a trancelike state. Then working upon her Romulan conceit, he projected a single idea. There was no need for drugs between them. Was she not a desirable woman? She had seen him shudder at her touch. Beneath his impassive exterior, his Vulcan blood already burned for her.

Bending low, she murmured, "You want me badly, don't you?"

As he let the thought linger in her mind, she slowly set the unused hypo on a table beside him. Yes, he encouraged her, it is much better this way. Willingly. He saw the benefit of cooperating fully. It was more logical to invite pleasure than to invite pain.

Now the stasis controller was in her hand. Suddenly the field shut down. A thrill of freedom made it difficult for Spock to maintain his hold on her mind, but it was not over yet. He must play out this degrading charade to the very end.

Rising from the chair, he turned and met the desire in her eyes. Working to conceal his distaste, he slowly closed the space between them. He could not risk the mental foreplay common to Vulcan and Romulan lovers. Instead, he embraced her gently and pressed his face into her hair.

"Di'an," he said, using her calling name, "thank-you for allowing me at least some dignity."

She trembled, yet kept her grip on the controller.

Spock caressed her smooth, bare shoulders and she clung to him, mouthing the skin at his throat. He tipped her head back and bent to meet her lips. The kiss was never realized. With a swipe of his arm, he batted the stasis control across the room. Her breath rushed out in a startled grunt.

Struggling impotently in his arms, she snarled, "Harm me and you will wish you were dead!"

For one terrible instant he considered silencing her permanently, then the undamaged fingers of his left hand chopped her nerve juncture as if that alone might send her packing to hell.

Her body slumped.

Spock lowered her to the floor and as he drew a deep breath, a creaking sound startled him. He whirled, but the room was empty. Yet for how long? He must find a weapon and attempt to take control of the Romulan ship.

A guard was dozing by the back entry. Spock felled him easily. Pleased with his success, he grabbed a rain cape off a hook and wrapped himself against the downpour. Then he seized the soldier's blaster and headed out into the storm. Avoiding a sentry stationed on the front porch, he cut a wide circle, then swung toward the Nightwing on its farthest side. There he crouched behind a boulder to reconnoiter. So far, no alarm had been raised. The soggy pair of soldiers lounging against the illuminated gangplank seemed more interested in talking than patrolling. Obviously the Romulans felt secure here. What had begun as an act of desperation, began to hold some hope of success.

Silently Spock crept forward and slipped into the shadows beneath the gangplank. Now he could hear snatches of conversation, quiet Romulan words interspersed with laughter. Like a prowling le-matya, he moved up behind the guards. Since their bulky coats would interfere with a nerve pinch, he swung the blaster's stock against a Romulan head. As the man collapsed, the second guard turned and took aim, but Spock kicked the weapon from his hands and quickly dispatched him in the same way.

Spock's heart thudded as he stood over his fallen enemies. The rain was loud on the metal skin of the Nightwing, but a telltale sound alerted him. Before he could react, the blaster's barrel was ripped from his hands. He turned to find Desus on the rain-slick gangplank, brandishing the weapon like a prize.

Desus smiled with wry pleasure. "Well, well. One half-drowned Vulcan clawing his way aboard ship. How did you evade your doting mistress? Was this not to be a night of ecstasy?"

Spock uttered a Vulcan curse, but quickly realized there might be some benefit in letting Desus believe he had been drugged. The damp cold made it easy to feign a shiver. He lowered his gaze, as if ashamed.

Desus said, "She will be on the hunt for your miserable skin…that is, if you have not killed her."

Spock shook his head. "She will revive."

"A pity. I was on my way to snatch you from her playful claws and deliver you to a noble, fitting justice—a man's justice." He studied Spock's face. "Your little escapade has made matters that much easier, though by the look of you, it did not come soon enough." Sighing, he said, "What a prodigious waste, old friend. I saved your ass once before, and now again, only to throw you to the Praetor's overfed dogs. The bounty on your devious head will buy Nightwing a good many repairs." Sadly he added, "There was a time when…when I dared dream a far different fate for you…for us. Piracy suited you."

Chilly rainwater trickled down Spock's neck and he let himself shiver harder. The Romulan's words reminded him of better days, when a friendship between them had indeed seemed possible. "I…was not without a dream or two of my own," he admitted. "We did work well together."

The Romulan's eyebrow lifted and his mouth stirred. "When Charvon revealed her plans for you, I reacted with anger. I never thought of you as a lapdog. It was the bounty I was after…and revenge." A sharp gust of rain showered his face. Wiping at the wetness, he blinked. "Let's go aboard ship before we both freeze."

Spock preceded him up the gangplank.

Inside, Desus stopped to speak with the shipboard sentries. "Our guards seem to have fallen asleep. Haul them in, quickly, and secure for liftoff. Co-commander Charvon will remain on Hellguard for now."

The soldiers hurriedly obeyed. Desus contacted his flight crew by intercom before guiding Spock along a narrow corridor, into the warm depths of the ship. The Romulan stopped beside a door, holding the blaster between them as he studied Spock's face again. Then he ushered Spock into a private cabin.

As the door closed behind them, Desus confronted his prisoner, weapon firmly in hand. "Now that you have tasted Charvon's bitter ale, I am inclined to offer you drink of another sort. As you said, we once worked well together. Why not turn from the Federation and cast your lot with me?" His smile held a note of sympathy. "Your comrades have abandoned you. Think of all that a pirate's life can offer. Just now, you are badly in need of a woman. Just say the word—renounce your precious oath to Starfleet—and I will summon one for you."

"T'Sel?" Spock said, feigning interest.

Desus laughed. "So you have eyes for the little Vulcan. Renounce your oath and she is yours."

Spock pretended to consider. "Such a renunciation would demand a clear mind. Desus, I am hardly in any condition to…"

Relenting, Desus reached for the intercom. "Very well. I will have her brought here to my cabin, so you can enjoy her in comfort. Perhaps she will serve to stir up your pirating blood."

Spock paced the room until Ensign T'Sel arrived. Her dark eyes widened as he moved inappropriately near and actually touched a lock of her hair with his bandaged fingers. But the process also brought him closer to Desus.

Amused, Desus told her, "Your friend has business with you. If you will excuse me…"

Spock hurled himself at the blaster. The unexpected move knocked Desus off-balance, then the heel of Spock's hand struck his chin, stunning him. T'Sel seized the fallen blaster, and Desus lay blinking up the barrel of his own weapon. His face contorted with rage.

"I am taking command of the Nightwing," Spock declared. "Order your crew to surrender peacefully."

Desus snorted. "You command nothing! In your state, my soldiers will take one look at you and burst out laughing."

"I urge you to cooperate," Spock said levelly.

The Romulan answered with contemptuous silence.

"Please yourself." Spock glanced at T'Sel and ordered, "Stun him."

T'Sel checked the weapon's setting. Pressing the trigger, a bolt of light whipped across the room and settled Desus into sleep. There was no time to waste—not with a ship full of hostile soldiers. Spock took the blaster, opened the cabin door, and found the corridor empty. With preparations for departure underway, the crew would likely be at their posts. Together with T'Sel, he stepped out and moved silently in search of the brig. They encountered no one. Near the cellblock, he surprised a solitary Romulan with a nerve pinch, which yielded a second blaster. Hurriedly Spock released Seven from a cell. Reunited, the three Vulcans stole over the ship's length, taking prisoners along the way. When at last Spock re-entered Desus' cabin, he found the sub-commander stirring like a sleepy, disgruntled sehlat.

Spock informed him, "Your crew is now housed in the brig…and they are not laughing."

Rising unsteadily from the deck, Desus glowered. "Well done, Spock. Will you kill us now? Or return your prizes to the Federation and advance your career?"

The words stung. "You know me better than that, Desus."

The Romulan looked at him long and hard. "Does anyone really know you?"

oooo

They were fourteen in all—ominously silent, glaring bitterly at the three lone Vulcans who had bested them. Even as Charvon and Desus had kept their grudges fresh, so too would these others. They had become more than enemies.

As the last Romulan to file down the gangplank, Desus looked up at Spock and darkly promised, "Tomorrow, brother, you will kneel at my feet and learn the Romulan meaning of wrath." His words seemed to echo as Spock raised the gangplank and secured it.

Seven said, "You have done it."

Spock cast him a glance, then briskly strode toward the bridge with the Vulcans trailing. "Before you congratulate me, consider this. We must now operate an alien craft normally manned by eighteen while navigating through hostile space, evading enemy attack for unknown hours. I would say that at this point we have only begun."

As she walked, T'Sel eyed Spock's Romulan clothing and slave collar. "We are free, sir. And I, for one, prefer an honorable death to captivity."

Spock slowed and looked at her. T'Sel's large eyes and finely chiseled features made a livid bruise on her cheekbone particularly despicable. Whose brutish hand had struck her? What else might the Romulans have done? Gently he said, "With luck…we may yet escape both death and captivity."

"Luck?" T'Sel questioned, but he gave no reply.

In the control cabin, Spock quickly surveyed the broad panels of alien instruments. He settled into the helm chair and studied a barrage of data fed to him by the ship's computer—Romulan script with which he was less than fluent. By trial and error, he managed to initiate liftoff. The Nightwing blazed upward through the storm, and still higher, escaping Hellguard's atmosphere with a final bone-rattling vibration. He then set the ship on course for Federation space and engaged warp drive before instructing T'Sel on the alien readouts. Relinquishing the seat to her, he began to consolidate the ship's primary functions into a more manageable package. When necessary, Seven became his hands, breaking and splicing delicate circuits.

"That will suffice," Spock finally told him. "Now, for Communications." He remembered Desus informing Charvon of a problem in that area—most likely a delaying tactic giving Desus time to actuate his own plans for Spock.

The Communications board had been partially dismantled. They were hard at work when T'Sel's voice drew Spock and Seven out of the tangle. "Mister Spock, ships are approaching."

On the scanner panel, two blips showed yellow. As Spock reached T'Sel's side, a third blip appeared.

"Another vessel," she said. A hint of a frown drew her slanted brows together. "All Romulan."

"Well beyond weapons range," Spock observed, "but they are gaining." Grimly he set the Nightwing on maximum warp.

oooo

They were eating from Romulan ration packs when the acrid scent of overheated circuitry spread through the bridge. Spock tore open panels and inspected his grafts. Peering into the smoke, he concluded, "We must disengage the warp drive."

"What?" Seven exclaimed at his side.

T'Sel swiveled her chair. "But sir…"

Spock addressed his civilian crew. "We must drop to impulse power in order to make repairs, or risk losing warp at a less convenient moment. We will meet the enemy with shields and weapons at full power. With clear thinking, we have a chance of success."

There was silence.

"At your command," replied Seven, and T'Sel turned wordlessly to her station.

The stratagem took the Romulans by surprise. Hours of tedious pursuit had dulled them—constant speed, distance, course—every reading unvaried. Then, sudden chaos as the Nightwing dropped out of warp. Weapons ripped into unprotected Romulan hulls—devastating strikes from a craft that had been far ahead of them one instant earlier. With scarcely time to curse, crippled shields flew up. Two ships swung back to hunt their attacker in normal space. The third ship exploded.

Aboard Nightwing, the Vulcans concentrated on their individual tasks. T'Sel's attention darted from viewscreen to instruments as she maneuvered to fire once again on the disoriented Romulans. Wedged at her feet, Spock and Seven worked deep in the alien circuitry.

A strike grazed Nightwing to starboard. The ship lurched. Sparks showered Spock's arms as he jerked clear of a power surge.

"Injuries?" T'Sel asked, eyes on her readouts.

"None," Spock reported, and delved back into the repairs.

T'Sel locked onto a vessel and fired another torpedo from their dwindling supply. A second fighter came into range. A plasma barrage streaked toward Nightwing and impacted with a blast that slammed T'Sel against the instrument panel. With a patch in place, Spock scrambled up, lowered the dazed Vulcan to the deck, and took over at helm. The ship was tumbling, but he managed to right her just as the Romulans cut across Nightwing's bow, filling the viewscreen. Spock fired into the target. The well-placed torpedo struck hard, and the enemy ship spun off, dead in space.

Spock reengaged warp drive at full power, then rose from the helm to find Seven bending over T'Sel. Her eyes fluttered open. Seven gently helped his bondmate to her feet and she stood at his side, looking shaken but functional. The couple returned to their duties.

They were nearing Federation space when T'Sel reported, "The Enterprise! She is keeping station just outside the Neutral Zone, but..." Her tone changed. "Scanners reveal two Romulan ships attempting to intercept us."

Spock rose from the Communications console where Seven was still helping trace the damage. His bandaged hand throbbed from overuse.

"Time to our destination," he requested.

"Twelve minutes, fourteen seconds." T'Sel stopped to calculate. "The Romulans will not be able to overtake us. Surely they will not enter Federation space?"

Spock suspected that the determined Romulans would pursue them to the end of the galaxy. Grimly he surveyed the unresponsive com board. Desus had disabled the system so thoroughly that even Nyota would be challenged to repair it. Thinking of her, Spock repressed a sigh. "We will be leading an attack directly to the Enterprise. Without communications, we will be mistaken as the spearhead of an invasion force." There remained only one hope, but it was not beyond the ability of a quick-thinking human like Kirk.

oooo

The door to the captain's quarters slid open without courtesies. Kirk did not even bother to glance up from his bunk, where he lay brooding. There was only one person who ever entered that way.

"Bones," he said.

Leonard McCoy came over and stood beside him. "It's the not knowing, isn't it? Whether they're dead or alive or…"

"And not being able to do a damn thing about it." Due to the vast distances involved, communications with Starfleet Command was slow, and the ongoing dialogue frustrating. Keep your position, they said. Uphold the treaty. Do not enter the Neutral Zone for any reason whatsoever.

McCoy's shoulders slumped as he admitted, "I never thought I'd miss him so much."

A surge of frustration sent Kirk to his feet. "Missing Spock won't save him…or the others. You can spend your time writing eulogies, but I…" His voice failed.

"Jim." The doctor spoke quietly. "There really is nothing you can do."

Kirk was ramming a fist into his palm when the intercom whistled. Hurrying over, he pressed the switch and said, "Kirk here."

It was Sulu. "Captain, long range scanners detect concentrated activity in the Neutral Zone. Three vessels, all bearing this direction at warp speed."

Kirk looked at McCoy. "Red alert. I'm on my way."

Amid the clamor of battle stations, Kirk strode onto the bridge. "Report, Mister Sulu!"

Sulu rose from the command chair and headed back toward the helm. "They're about to breech Federation space. One vessel well in the lead."

Kirk frowned at the field of stars on the main view screen. "Poor battle tactics…or some devilishly clever trap." He hardly dared to acknowledge a third possibility, even to himself.

A distant Romulan ship appeared on the screen.

Chekov said, "Deflector shields at full power, Keptin. Torpedoes ready. Phaser banks charged."

"Penetrating Federation space in sixty seconds," Sulu informed him.

"Uhura." Kirk half-turned to the communications officer. "Open all hailing frequencies."

Uhura's slender fingers danced over her console. "Ready, sir."

Focusing on the screen, Kirk announced, "This is Captain James T. Kirk of the Federation starship Enterprise…"

"They've breeched," Sulu reported. "Ship still heading this way, warp five."

Kirk continued. "You are in treaty violation."

Uhura cast him a worried look. "Nothing, sir."

"Keep transmitting, Lieutenant. Warn them off."

"Captain." Sulu's voice was tense. "The lead ship has dropped from warp. Its shields are down, its weapons not armed. At…thirty-nine thousand kilometers, slowly approaching. Trailing ships now entering Federation space at warp speed."

Uhura spoke again. "Still no response, Captain."

Kirk watched the lead vessel move in slowly. Acting on the slimmest of hopes, he ordered, "Scan for Vulcan life signs."

At Spock's science station, a junior officer leaned over the sensor hood and fine-tuned its settings. She peered excitedly at the energy patterns. "Captain! Only three life forms—all Vulcan!"

Kirk's heart leaped. "Lower shields! Lock on and transport!"

Looking appalled, Sulu swiveled to face him. "But the Romulans…"

"Now!" Kirk's eyes were hard on the screen, and the shields were dropping.

The trailing Romulan ships dropped from warp and popped into view. Seconds later, their weapons streaked toward the Vulcans' ship and destroyed it.

Kirk instantly called, "Shields, Sulu!"

Uhura fingered her ear receptor. Her eyes lit and she flashed a bright smile. "Transporter room reports three onboard, sir—all safe. T'Sel, Seven…and Mister Spock."

There was no time for Kirk to savor his relief. In a shower of debris, the enemy dumped speed and surrounded the Enterprise. Kirk sank into his command chair and thinking fast, punched the intercom button. "Transporter room, beam our Vulcans back into the matrix and hold them there—quickly."

"…Sir?" came the confused response. Then, "Yes, sir!"

"Uhura, see if you can get the Romulans onscreen."

A larger-than-life alien male appeared. The darkly clad officer bellowed, "Starship commander! Think well before you fire on us. Your thieving first officer met the fate he deserved for his crimes against the Empire."

Kirk narrowed his eyes. "I ought to blast you out of existence!"

The Romulan seemed to enjoy Kirk's show of anger, but suddenly his cruel smile faded. "When we arrived, your shields momentarily dropped. Could it be that you transported Spock and his companions to the safety of your ship?"

Kirk stood. "Spock was more than my first officer; he was my friend. Are you trying to weasel out of a murder charge? See for yourself if they're here; go ahead, scan us."

Romulan sensors swept the ship and found nothing. Dark, triumphant eyes flamed from the forward screen. "My condolences, Captain. For now, our ships withdraw. Let it be known that Romulans always choose the path of peace."

Kirk's muttered farewell was not language fit for the bridge.

oooo

Sickbay was dead quiet when Kirk arrived with Uhura at his side. McCoy intercepted them and spoke in a guarded tone. "Jim, it's Spock. I'm going to need a little help removing his…uh…jewelry."

"Jewelry?" Kirk said in disbelief. "Spock?"

McCoy led them to an examination room where all three Vulcans were gathered. Uhura went to Spock's side as he rose from a diagnostic table. Dressed in his captor's clothing, he could almost pass for a Romulan. Kirk noted the facial bruise and a bandage on Spock's right hand. Then a glitter at the Vulcan's neck caught his attention. Until now he had only heard of Romulan slave collars.

With an effort, he forced himself to meet the eyes of his dignified second-in-command and smile as he said, "Spock. Out of uniform?"

"Not by choice," Spock replied before drawing a slow breath. "Captain. I…had the opportunity to take prisoners, but chose not to."

"Wise move," Kirk replied. "It would only have complicated matters."

Stone-faced, Spock declared, "Sub-commanders Charvon and Desus were among them. We were taken to Hellguard."

Kirk nodded with fresh understanding. Those two Romulans had personal vendettas against Spock.

"Captain," Seven interjected, "you should know that Mister Spock singlehandedly engineered our escape."

"Singlehandedly?" Kirk glanced at Spock's bandage and smiled at the unintended pun.

"Yes sir," T'Sel added in all seriousness, "under most trying circumstances. He surely deserves a commendation."

As Spock's slanted brow rose, Uhura slipped her arm through his, and their eyes met in a brief but intimate gaze.

Kirk studied each Vulcan in turn, suspecting that he would never know all the private details of their adventure, however thorough the debriefing. Meanwhile, the links of enslavement glimmered at Spock's throat like shards of ice.

Thumbing the wall intercom, Kirk said, "Scotty, we're going to need a fine cutting tool…"

oooOOooo