Walton Dude Ranch, Wyoming, UNA, Earth

Summer Camp, Session I I

Trail Riding For Beginners (2 Weeks)

Human and Non-human adolescent males are invited to participate in a physically demanding traditional north American rural summer camp, featuring a variety of sports and equine oriented activities.

I glance out the ranch house office and see a knot of kids not quite obscured by the barn. It hasn't been five minutes. Not five minutes. Sonofabitch. I'm out the door and running down the hill as fast as I can go. I know a dog pile when I see one, and I lay into this one fast before someone gets hurt. Christ, they were even kicking at the poor kid on the ground.

"Get off! Now!"

After tossing two or three of the attackers out of the way-including the enthusiastic Andorian kicker-I work my way down to the kid on the ground who just lays there, still, his arms over his head.

Ah, hell. Not this kid, again. "What is this, the G.D. Lord of the Flies? I know he didn't do anything to you."

Addam wipes sweat from his mouth and forehead with his arm, his knuckles red and green with blood. "That stupid Vulcan has a problem. He never talks to anyone. He thinks he's so superior."

"Yeah!" The Andorian kid with the unpronounceable name chimes in.

"Didn't know you were a telepath, Mervick."

"He made us lose the swimming competition!" Bradford whines.

Jesus, couldn't they appreciate that the desert bred Vulcan kid had even tried to swim? Yeah, he was slow, but his buoyancy was crap and he still made four laps-!

"All of you, back to the bunkhouse, NOW."

I kneel beside the still figure, face down in the deep dust. "Kid…you okay?"

I'm still wearing work gloves so I figure I can at least touch him to roll him over. "Kid?"

His face is going to be a mess for a bit: I can see a nasty black eye starting up, and it was probably that big hulk of a kid Addam that left that dark purple mark on his jaw.

Finally the kid gasps, bringing his hands down to his stomach. He gasps again raggedly, and it's clear someone managed to knock the wind out of him. Suddenly he's up in a single move, limping past me into the barn.

Well, if he can move like that he can't be too bad hurt. I let the kid go while I run after that gang of delinquents to administer a load more what-for. I won't be cleaning the stable myself for some time, that's for sure.

Later:

I find Spock in the barn brushing down Rosebud, the little black gelding he'd been assigned for Ranch Camp.

"Hey, kid. That was a nasty fight. Six to one and all."

He says nothing, just continues to methodically brush down the little horse. As my eyes adjust to the half-light inside the stable, I see that his shirt is pretty torn up this time. There are holes now where his beat up elbows stick out.

"I know you could give as well as you get. Why don't you?"

After a moment he turns his face to me, and a sunbeam refracts around his disheveled dark hair, backlighting him with a halo of light. I squint at his obscured face.

"My father requires that I not fight." He murmurs.

"Yeah, but there's self-defense. Surely that's, you know, acceptable?"

"Not for me." He turns his face away, but the hand with the brush slows and falls to his side. The horse tries to nuzzle the kid but can't quite reach.

Even in the dimness I can see anger flicker then die on the kid's face. I hate to see resignation in a horse or a kid. I watch the dust motes swirl through the beam of light and have a sudden realization.

"Jesus, kid, they beat you up on Vulcan, too?"

Those intense dark eyes meet mine.

"But for being human, not Vulcan. Perhaps you can appreciate the irony."

I swallow and study the kid's expressionless face, the dirty smudges near his eyes. I'd bet money he has no idea tears can track into mud on a dusty face. After a long moment, I squeeze his shoulder roughly. "I've got some carrots in a cooler. Rosebud might like a few."

He moves to the gelding's head and strokes its velvety muzzle. "Yes, I believe he would." He looks up hopefully.

I nod and walk away, pulling a clean bandana out of my pocket. I wet it with the wash rack hose and squeeze it out.

"Hey, Spock."

He looks up from his eye lock with the little horse.

"Catch." With one hand, he easily catches the wet bandana I toss to him. "You might want to wash the dust off your face."