LINK IN THE CHAIN
DISCLAIMER: I do not own 'Star Trek' or its characters. I'm just borrowing them for a while. No copyright infringement is intended.
Chapter One
Wiry bonds around his wrists dug deep into raw flesh – firm, metallic shackles pressing hard into enraged skin. With his arms pinned tight behind his back, his shoulders throbbed violently, and he flexed them in a failed attempt to ease the blood flow and stifle the spreading pain. His bare feet had lost all feeling hours ago, the cold restraints cutting hard, until at last he couldn't even feel the restraints. Immobile and secured, he had been painfully aware that increasing numbness was slowly consuming his body. It was with a drained resignation that he'd realised only the heavy, burning fire in his chest prevented him from slipping into unconsciousness altogether.
Peering into the oppressive gloom, he wondered for what seemed like the millionth time how long he had been there. There seemed to be little clue to go on as to how much time had elapsed since his arrival. Even his usually to-the-second accurate First Officer had been unable to inform him of the length of his imprisonment. Kept inside of what looked like a small cave, or chamber, even the tortuous visits of his captors had been unnervingly irregular. It was all part of the routine, he realised, a further way to unsteady him into cooperation. The rocky walls stretched uncompromising overhead, no windows or natural sources of light allowing insight into the passing of days or nightfalls. There was no furniture here, no equipment of any kind – there was only the hard dirt floor, the rock walls, and the landing party.
Despite the apparent harshness of the rock, the walls were remarkably smooth. With extreme care, he eased his torn back against the rigidity, grateful for the brief respite in his discomfort. He could only assume that the entire chamber had been hollowed from an area of solid rock with a strong focused phaser beam, or that of an alien disruptor. The cavern certainly hadn't occurred naturally. Only one area of open wall allowed entry or exit, and this had been blocked with a forcefield. It was hard to make out what lay in the shadowed spaces beyond – the dim lighting and curvature of an artificially constructed corridor hindered his view – but there seemed to be a small control complex area nearby from which his captors would gather and observe.
His eyes glazed over to an opposite wall, where two people in matching red Starfleet uniforms sat sprawled on the floor facing him. Leaning back against solid wall, their arms were tucked behind their torsos with their legs stretched out stiffly before them. They had been secured as he had, and slept silently now as he watched, their heads drooping. Before beaming down, he had recognised them vaguely as Lieutenants Redding and de Bois from security division. As Captain of four hundred and thirty crewmembers, he could afford little more than a name-to-a-face recognition with most of his crew.
The two Lieutenants had initially been assigned to the landing party by his over-protective First Officer as precautionary back-up. He'd seen the precaution as an unnecessary one. The mission, after all, had been a simple collection of scientific research from a long-established colony. After the hard few months they'd seen lately, he'd been glad for the opportunity of rest that a mundane mission such as this would normally have provided. His Chief Medical Officer had shared his relief, announcing to the entire Bridge crew that had the mission had been anything more strenuous he'd have immediately relieved them all from duty on medical grounds and then shorted out the communications console.
Tossing his First Officer a sarcastic smirk upon beam down, he'd pointedly told the two security men to sweep the area. It had been in accordance with standard protocol, but had seemed entirely redundant as he glanced around at the empty barren wasteland. There had been no sign of trouble, no indication of a threat. In fact, the ship's sensors hadn't picked up any sentient life outside the science station whatsoever. If only he'd known then the dangers that faced them on the planet's surface, he'd have taken the entire security staff. Or better yet, he'd not have beamed anyone down at all.
A quick pain in his side brought him back to the dark chamber, the two security guards still dozing and oblivious to all around them. It seemed wrong to see them so helpless, so vulnerable, and he fought down a renewed pang of guilt at having brought them to a trap. He was thankful for their restfulness, slightly envious of their ability to sleep, but ultimately grateful for their moments of measured peace. The hours since their arrival here had been long and unpleasant, and if his own experience so far was anything to go by, they'd need all the energy they could muster.
Nearby, partially concealed within shadow, two officers sat mutely watching him.
He forced his eyes to focus, and offered them a reassuring smile, darkly aware that it wasn't much of an offering.
'How do you feel, Jim?' one of the men asked.
Kirk recognised the gruff voice of Doctor McCoy, his Chief Medical Officer. Something in that familiar question, the gentle concern in his voice, filled him with a momentary sense of security, and he felt calmed, relaxed. Lifting his head to the Doctor, he noticed that the shadows playing across his face seemed to have aged him considerably. No longer the young country medic, he looked gaunt, wan, worn. The once healthy face scanned Kirk's own features, the warm blue eyes finding and cataloguing each injury as they worked their way down his body.
Kirk sighed, tired. 'I'm fine, Bones,' he said.
'Of course you are,' came the irascible drawl, 'and those loose, broken ribs are just decorative'.
Kirk opened his mouth to respond, but before he could say anything a small cough escaped him and he winced uncomfortably as a series of sharp pains knifed through his chest. Inhaling shortly, he focused his energies on relaxing, ignoring the painful movement of his splintered ribs, until he was able to breathe uninterrupted. He turned back to McCoy, aware of the ill-fated timing of his discomfort, and shot him a boyish grin. 'See, peachy,' he said, noting with concern that his voice had now acquired a slight rasp.
McCoy seemed to notice it too, and quickly exchanged a worried glance with the man seated next to him.
First Officer Spock wore the same distress and worry on his face that McCoy did, though he bore it differently. To a casual stranger the vague expression and inflexible carriage of his form appeared blank and emotionally detached, somewhat wanting of the situation, but to Kirk's trained eye he could make out the acute anxiety and concerned distress concealed beneath the angled features. Neglectful of his unsettling apprehensions, Spock himself looked somewhat tatty and maltreated. His Vulcan features seemed pale and pinched in the harsh inadequate lighting. His gaze, too, had been focused on Kirk, the blue shirt of his uniform unusually wrinkled and begrimed. 'If I correctly understand the meaning of that term, Captain, you do not sound peachy,' he said flatly.
Too tired to respond, Kirk ignored both of them, shifting his attention to a rustling movement on the other side of the forcefield. Somebody was coming.