Black Fire (8 page)

IIsa entered the room followed by an entourage of armed soldiers. She went directly to Spock, running a hand up his right arm, fondling the gold armband she had given him earlier. Then she drew her hand down his back, feeling the lack of flesh near his ribs. He bit his lip, restraining the pain caused by her probing.

"I do wish you would have put on more heft, Spock. You will need all of your strength in the coming battle. You will not disappoint me, will you?"

The Vulcan turned toward IIsa, gripping the spear tightly. His expression of barely restrained rage—and dignity—was enough to prevent her from bothering him further.

They dropped out of orbit with an abrupt jolt, as before. It was a small force, yet certainly one of the most savage Spock had ever seen. He looked as primitive as his comrades-in-arms; the sleek fur of the skin he wore glistened in the sun. The jewelry he had been made to wear was carefully chosen, even to the earring in his right ear. He recalled the placement of the earring by IIsa; it was then that he first experienced the full force
of
the restraining beam, which had held him immobile as she pierced his ear with a large awl and set the shining stone in place. He recalled her avid interest when she examined the unfamiliar green blood. She had become even more intrigued with him after that.

A touch on the arm brought Spock out of his thoughts. "It's time for us to leave the ship;" Julina alerted him. "Spock, before we go into battle, I must say something to you. I must tell you how I feel. You have the ability to mask your feelings with logic. My people are of your strain. I know you have emotions, masked, but they
are
definitely present. I have not been as restrained as you have been. I care deeply for you. You must realize how I feel—the bond between us has gone beyond my sharing your pain."

"True," Spock replied, "the mental link has gone further. There was no need for words, Julina."

"There is one more thing, Spock. If you should survive me, I want to be sure the Romulan Empire is warned of the Tomariian threat. Will you contact the Empire for me if our escape attempt fails and I should die? I know I am asking you to help an enemy of the Federation …"

"We have formed an alliance for these special circumstances, Julina. You have my word. If I am able, I will inform your empire of the danger. I feel obligated to inform the Klingons as well. We did pledge to ally ourselves during this period of mutual danger."

After a long glance between them, cementing what had just been expressed verbally, Spock took up his spear and they prepared to go into battle.

IIob and Scott achieved a relationship which was much closer to friendship than could be imagined between a prisoner and his captor. The Tomariian general in charge of the launch complex found a kidndred spirit in the engineer. Under other circumstances, Scott might have called him friend. Even so, their relationship was amicable and Scott's life was not entirely unpleasant.

For Scott, the main inconvenience, once he became accustomed to the discomfort of the Tomariian cold, was the lack of alcoholic beverages. Liquor, a plant product, was unknown. The enterprising Scotsman salvaged a number of metal parts from the launch complex and in record time had distilled a dandelionlike brew with a formidable kick. He made a flask for his concoction out of an animal bladder which he attached to his waist on a leather thong. IIob thought his prisoner's diversion interesting, but not dangerous, and continued to permit Scott the opportunity to collect plants and run his still.

It wasn't long before the Tomariian, with his race's penchant for imitation, was sharing Scott's moonshine. Since he had become Scott's drinking companion, it was increasingly difficult for IIob to think of Scott as his prisoner.

Scott had even assisted in the launch of the attack force before he was required to board the last craft. Unlike Spock, Scott was not only allowed in the control room but he helped in directing operations as well. Once again he marveled at the lack of advanced technology used in the takeoff but was impressed with the sophistication of the ship's mechanics once airborne.

He had independently come to the same conclusion as Spock: The technology was borrowed. It was clear that the Tomariians didn't completely understand the principles which ran their ships. He concluded they must have more knowledgeable support crews elsewhere, and he was in part correct. When the ships needed repair, the resourceful Tomariians would bring the true inventors of their machines to maintain them. It wasn't efficient, but that seemed not to concern them. As long as things worked, they weren't concerned with procedural detail.

IIob, in addition to his duties as head of the launch complex, was assigned a battle mission. He was to capture the small planet of Paxas on the border of the quadrant nearest the Klingon domain. The planet was strategically important but held no other interest to the Tomariians. With the command ship
IIlan
, named for the Tomariian sun, IIob had a fleet of two other large ships. One Romulan captive was placed on each of the ships in IIob's convoy with the Tomariians who had been responsible for his training.

They dropped to the surface of the planet in an isolated region and disembarked. Scott was handed a spear with a flag attached; in addition IIob placed a belt around Scott containing a sheathed knife and a weapon resembling a phaser.

"Montgomery," the general boomed, "I like you. These weapons were not to be given to you, but I will give you a fighting chance. I do not wish you killed. We are very much alike, you and I."

"Aye," Scott acknowledged, "verra much. We dinna have ta be enemies, IIob. The Federation would be willin' ta discuss a treaty wi' Tomarii."

"That may be true, Montgomery," the general conceded. "I understand that, but I know my people. There is no chance of a treaty. We are dedicated to conquer and fight. It is our way."

"Even though there may be another way?" The Scotsman leaned on the spear, not really expecting a reply from IIob. But as a Starfleet officer, he was honor-bound to try to reach the Tomariian, in spite of the evident futility of bridging the gap in cultural values.

Scott observed the approach of the advance parties from the other ships. Each was preceded by a Romulan, dressed in skins as he was and carrying a spear with a battle flag attached. A brief last-minute war council was held and the troops were deployed.

The first surge of battle caught the people of Paxas by surprise. The small settlement directly in the path of the oncoming Tomariian force was completely devastated. To Scott, the enemy seemed unprepared for the attack. The residents of the planet seemed to be simple farmers with crude weapon potential. It was all too easy a victory for the violence-loving Tomariian warriors. With success easily in their grasp, IIob's soldiers enjoyed the pillage immensely. The next day they planned to attack a major city on the continent on which they had landed. They caroused all night in Tomariian fashion, eating and gambling.

Carrying the battle flag put Scott in the forefront of the next day's battle. He was disgusted by the blood-lust displayed by the Tomariian soldiers. More unnerving still was the realization that the wounded Tomariians were not being treated, nor did they seem to have any medical personnel in their company. The badly wounded were dispatched much like their enemies, with hardly a second glance.

Suddenly, the tide of the battle turned. The Paxans advanced in great numbers with weapons much like phasers. The Tomariian force was stopped, then turned back in full retreat.

Scott dropped the spear he was carrying and prepared to defend himself with the phaserlike weapon at his belt. The two Romulans were behind him, preparing to do battle with their spears. Sub-Commander Placus was nearest Scott when the Paxan defense force caught up with the retreating invaders. The Tomariians dropped their useless spears and knives and began using the more sophisticated backup weapons.

Scott pushed Placus, who was inadequately armed, behind him. Both watched helplessly as Delus fell. IIob led the final surge to the gantry, leading his men back to the safety of the ship. Scott felt a stab of pain in his right shoulder just as he went through the hatch. He regained consciousness in the ship with a concerned Placus at his side.

"Wha' happened?" the dazed Scotsman asked, trying to rise.

"You were hit by one of the Paxan's darts."

"Wha' did they use? I feel groggy." He gave up trying to sit as a wave of nausea took hold.

Placus shook his head. "I can't see anything but a small wound in your shoulder. The dart is still embedded."

"Aye," Scott moaned, "an' makin' me feel like the mornin' after a binge. We've got ta get it out. Can ye manage it?"

The Romulan looked incredulous. "Surely the Tomariians have a physician who can remove the object."

"I doubt it," Scott replied. "Haven't ye noticed? They dinna treat their own wounded. Those who can, make it on their own. They permit the others ta die, or kill 'em …" Then he lost consciousness again.

The Romulan had never had to treat a fallen comrade. He stared down at the wounded human, the unfamiliar splotch of red on Scott's shoulder unnerving him. When Scott regained consciousness, he encouraged Placus to take the risk of removing the dart.

"Well, laddie, I'm in as much trouble if ye dinna get the thing out as if ye do. It's makin' me feel verra odd. I dinna know how long I can keep alert enough ta assist ye."

Finally convinced of the necessity, Placus drew the knife he carried on his belt. "It seems our captors feel we can do them no harm. They permitted me to keep this knife."

"Aye, that restrainin' beam is verra effective, but …" Scott paused, his stomach churning. "Ye better get ta that dart, laddie."

"I have never had to do this before, Scott. Not even on a Romulan. I have no idea how a human may react. We have no antiseptic or anything to deaden the pain. I'm a good soldier, but I'm not a butcher."

"I've a remedy for both, Placus. In the canteen on ma belt. 'Tis a waste o' good liquor ta pour it on the outside, but it's necessary. Gi' me a swig o' it before ye use the rest. That's a good lad."

Placus took the flask from Scott's belt and lifted it to him; the Scotsman took a large swallow. The alcohol in combination with the dart's effect made him reel.

"All right, laddie, now the shoulder," Scott slurred bravely, bracing himself for the removal of the dart.

Placus cut into Scott's shoulder, wincing as he pierced the sensitive area. Scott caught his breath, trying to keep from moving. The Romulan probed the area, searching for the foreign object with no initial success. He gritted his teeth as he probed deeper; mercifully, Scott blacked out.

The small dart was embedded deep in the flesh below the shoulder blade. As Placus removed it, he noticed its peculiar crystalline structure. It seemed to have a life of its own, vibrating in his hand, giving him the same sensation Scott had experienced when it was embedded in his flesh. Placus wrapped the unusual crystal in a piece of cloth and tucked it into his belt. He then set about bandaging the gaping wound caused by his unskillful incision, using a piece of hide he had cut from his garment and soaked in alcohol.

It was hours before Scott regained consciousness. He smiled wearily at the Romulan, who had not moved from his side, and whispered a simple thanks. Placus, satisfied that Scott would recover, lay down beside the now-sleeping Scotsman to share his warmth in the cold of the Tomariian ship.

4

Spock and Julina were quickly drawn into the fight between the Tomariians. The conflict was, by far, the bloodiest Spock had ever witnessed. The Tomariians felt no need for backup devices between evenly matched forces. Their lust for blood manifested itself vividly as they hacked away at each other, much too gleefully for Spock's taste.

Carrying IIsa's battle flag put him in the forefront of the fray, and he found himself, in mere self-defense, attacking the enemy force with as much savagery as his captors. Occasionally he caught a glimpse of Julina, wielding her spear and knife as expertly as anyone on the field. She remained within his sight, sometimes close enough to touch.

Julina had purposely placed herself near Spock. She was acting as a buffer for him, subtly protecting him as much as possible. She marveled at how well he was performing, knowing how excruciating the pain in his back was. She mowed her way through two Tomariians bent on killing the strange warrior, and arrived just in time to catch Spock as he fell, doubled over with pain.

"Are you hurt?" Julina murmured.

"No, it's my back. It just gave out—I'll be on my feet quickly."

"Stay down, Spock. You can't keep up this pace. It'll kill you."

"So will the Tomariians if I don't." He raised his hand to her and she helped him to his feet.

IIsa shouted over her shoulder to Spock. "Are you injured?"

"No," Spock called back. "I am all right." Unsteadily, he had just regained his balance when another Tomariian charged. He took the brunt of the blow in his midsection, he went down again, this time losing consciousness.

He awoke in the confines of IIsa's ship. Julina was lying beside him, asleep.

Why did they rescue me? The Tomariians destroy their wounded. What further use can IIsa have for me?

Julina awoke with a start when she sensed Spock's movement beside her. "Are you all right?" she asked, passing him a cup of water. "I could find no wounds."

"I seem to be in one piece," he reassured her, "except for my old injury. How did I get here?"

"IIsa ordered you carried to the ship. Her comrades wanted to leave you with the other wounded, but she wouldn't give in. You've been unconscious for a long time. I think there is a guard outside the door just waiting to finish you off."

"I wonder what IIsa's motive was in preserving my life?"

"You must be blind, Spock. She's obviously in love with you."

"Don't be absurd, Julina. She's of an entirely different species. It wouldn't be possible … it's not logical …"

Julina laughed. "Since when did logic have anything to do with our situation? I'd say that's the last thing a Tomariian could be accused of."