A/N: I freely admit that the KRI prophecies, the Sularane, and the psionic abilities were inspired by Star Wars, the Matrix, plus Buffy the Vampire Slayer.
I also apologize again for the intricacy of city names, terms, words, etc. Like I said before, I originally meant for this to be a novel-length affair, so I created a whole world and culture to go with it.
CHAPTER TWO: CAPTIVE
I.
Spock glanced around the dark wood furnishings of the Irideani Reformation-period ambassadorial apartments: maroon-padded chairs and settees, heavy maroon and gold curtains, and navy-flowered potted cactuses. The Irideani of the century before apparently preferred dark colors.
With his mother secreted away to a mud spa by the Kana Praxia, Spock was finally able to relax in solitude. The condition of being alone was one often forced upon him—physical aloneness, social aloneness, and even spiritual aloneness. Deep in the place he pushed all pain, he smarted from the rejections. Yet, beyond the simple requirement for meditation, he had come to not only desire an extra amount of alone-time, he had come to need it. He couldn't seem to function properly without it. It was a puzzle to him sometimes, how he could need both solitude and company in such ways.
A new thick tome, black and strangely ominous, waited on an end table for Spock's perusal. He picked it up and gazed at it, wondering that mere words could cause such evil. He settled into an over-stuffed chair and tried to focus on the copy of the fourteenth tome of the KRI. After some speed-reading, his attention stopped on chapter 202, section 51, verse eight: "And the Sularane shall be a gifted child. (9) She shall channel a level of divine power unparalleled. If she wishes a mountain to fall, it shall."
Spock raised an eyebrow, shifted in the chair. A truly amazing amount of telekinesis. He resisted the urge to shift again; restlessness was unseemly. Of course, no one was around to see it, but control was control.
Verse 10: "The Sularane shall, indeed, be able to appear and vanish at will."
Both eyebrows rose at this revelation. Inter-dimensionality? That fit with the theory Spock had been debating with his classmate.
Scrape. Spock looked up and listened carefully. The Kana had suggested he lock the doors when he was alone. Protection, she explained, against religious zealots. Spock had complied, but the doors were only wooden.
Scrape. Spock's hearing told him the sound was indeed coming from the hall. Glancing toward the doors, Spock saw a doorknob turning. He jumped from the chair, heading for the balcony doors, but the front doors burst open with a chorus of shouts. Five adult males ran into the room. One held a crude phaser-type weapon. The blast knocked Spock's breath from him. The numbness that quickly spread through his limbs was painful, and fighting the coming darkness was useless. Spock saw the room spin about him—a maroon smear—and felt his body hit the floor. Then he felt nothing.
II.
Amanda sat beside Sarek in the Sakura's briefing room and tried to keep her terror under control. She applied the disciplines she'd learned during her residence on Vulcan, but her hands shook and her palms sweated. Her child, her one and only child, had been abducted by lunatics. In her mind's eye, she saw him as he'd been this morning before she left: the young, somber face accented by black bangs and black robes. Those soft brown eyes, ever solemn. Almost grim, and she knew why. More insults, more prejudice. Could this child of hers ever go anywhere without meeting bigotry? She clenched her fist beneath the table and tried to fight off a wave of anger, although she preferred anger to terror.
Kana Praxia sat across from Amanda and her husband. The Kana appeared serene, but Amanda caught an occasional flash of anger or bleakness in her eyes. Amanda wondered at Praxia's reaction and didn't find the sereneness comforting.
Captain O'Malley, her eyes a furious molten sapphire, stood at the head of the table. Her hands gripped her chair back tightly. "If you're ready, we'll play the hostage footage." The lines about her eyes and mouth drew deeper, making her seem every bit of her fifty years.
"We are ready," Sarek said with a calm that didn't fool his bondmate.
The captain hit a button, and a handsome male face appeared on the table's central viewer. "I am General Cural, representing the LEN. We have taken the kudwitz child hostage in our ancient method of dealing with enemies who masquerade as friends. Despite his mixed heritage, we do not wish the child harm. We do, however, demand that the Federation immediately withdraw from Iridean and allow us to continue living as we always have. Despite the welcome some have extended you, not all of us desire your interference. You will withdraw your ambassador and ship immediately and never return. If your ship withdraws, we'll send a small two-person carrier with the child. If you return in range after procuring the child, both our space fleet and our planetary defense system will fire upon you.
"You will comply with all our demands within 48 of your standard hours, or we will execute the kudwitz in the proper ritual fashion."
The image froze, then disappeared. Sarek stared at the blank screen. Amanda could feel him struggling for control of his fear and anger.
"The LEN—Lison Elipsi Natcoon," the Kana intoned. "I suppose it would translate as Coalition for Proper State Control. By using the ancient child-hostage method they indicate a dire level of seriousness." Her hand curled into a fist; she punched the table. "Curral and his greed. He wants to be dictator next." She stopped and inhaled slowly. "What will your government do?"
Amanda felt her husband grow cold. "The Federation does not bargain for hostages." Sarek's voice came out completely toneless. "The Captain and I will have to discuss our options."
Amanda felt a twisting pain in her chest, a pain like a thousand concentrated, cold phaser blasts. "What is the 'proper ritual execution'?" Her voice was faint.
The Kana hesitated. "I don't think you really want to know."
"No, please." Amanda steeled herself. "I need to know."
Praxia trained her gaze on the table. "A ceremonial knife is heated so all wounds will cauterize. The victim's arms and legs are cut off one by one to make sure the soul is banished to the lowest level of hell. Then the eyes and tongue are removed to make sure the soul cannot harm, curse, or possess anyone as it departs. Finally, the heart is cut out, and the soul leaves." She lifted her gaze to meet first Amanda's, then Sarek's, almost as though she could absorb their reactions.
Sarek stared at the Kana in barely disguised horror. Amanda moaned and clutched at his arm, although she found her fingers were too cold to hold. "Sarek! We can't just sit here and do nothing."
Captain O'Malley stared at the Kana. "And you do that to babies?"
The Kana's gaze fell to the table again. "I haven't, and I wouldn't. Not ever. Others believe it is necessary, that both the soul and the physical body must die."
Silence pervaded the Sukara's briefing room.
"All the priestesses, whether members of the Senate or not, will help you," the Kana assured them. "Our Council of Elders doesn't care that your son is a hybrid. We priestesses will not allow Cural to kill one of your people or to be successful in his plans. We will make sure Spock is returned to you unharmed."
Amanda saw a glow of fury, like Irideani's hot blue primary, in Praxia's face that made her believe her. Yet, at the same time, Amanda sensed that Praxia knew something she wasn't telling.
"Do you . . .?" Amanda began, wanting to ask if Praxia knew where her son was being held.
However, Praxia had stood and bowed. "I must meet with the Council of Elders again immediately; we have contacts world-wide and may be able to offer our assistance.
Sarek and Captain O'Malley thanked the Kana, and Amanda frowned at the woman's back as she left. "Bring my son back safely," she said, aiming the comment at Praxia and knowing Captain O'Malley would assume the words were for Starfleet.
To Amanda, it didn't matter who rescued Spock as long as he returned alive and unharmed.
III.
Spock awoke to find himself bound to a cold stone slab. The men that surrounded him wore military uniforms. His translator was gone, and he couldn't understand them. Large banks of lights hung above their heads, revealing glittering blue stalactites, and Spock realized they were in a cave.
A man with hooded indigo eyes and a feral smile leaned over Spock. "Laas veneran locan, kudwitz? Op rune calan." The men laughed.
Spock suppressed the surge of fear that threatened his senses. An emotional reaction would not help; in fact, his early childhood had taught him that emotional reactions were exactly what tormentors wanted. He had to remain calm, logical. After all, his father and Captain O'Malley would be organizing a search by now.
One soldier pulled out a dagger with a saw-tooth blade. He leaned over Spock and pressed the cold blade against his cheek, grinning as the light glinted off the metal. "Soan man, kudwitz. Vec nock . . ." The man stroked the blade down Spock's neck and tapped his arm. "Vec nos . . ." He rubbed the blade down Spock's torso, snagging his robe as he went, and then tapped his legs. "Vec nodos."
Spock couldn't understand the words, but the menace and hate in the man's tone was unmistakable. He knew it was a threat, likely a promise that he would be cut to shreds. Spock ruthlessly bit back his fear, forcing it away with deep breathing techniques. What would be, would be. Panic would achieve nothing.
Another soldier stepped up and restrained Spock's tormentor. "Onne rent con," he snapped, apparently barking an order. He gestured to a third man behind him. "Dos ren."
The third soldier pulled out his phaser-type weapon and pointed it at Spock. Despite himself, Spock's whole body tensed waiting for the blast.
Once again, blackness.
IV.
Praxia hunkered in a recess of the second main cave, turned off her light, and listened. Voices echoed as soldiers approached; Praxia held her breath as she shoved her carryall out of sight. She felt grateful that she had changed out of her robes and into a simple jumpsuit; she couldn't afford to alert anyone to her presence, much less be caught. If they even suspected a rescue mission was taking place, they would execute Spock.
And the Council of Elders would likely only get one chance at a rescue before the Federation took action. Praxia had enlisted, with Amolla Dania's permission, eight other priestesses to sweep the caverns running under Radona, the planet's highest mountain. Radona had always been the traditional hostage-holding place. Strange as it would no doubt seem to the formidable Captain O'Malley and the sizable Federation delegation, Praxia knew a small rescue force was best, so she had organized them in groups of two, herself excepted. She preferred to work alone.
A light brightened the bend of the ageless water-worn path as the soldiers approached, and Praxia was horrified to see that it illuminated the corner of her hiding spot. She drew back further as the two men rounded the bend.
" . . . and she told me that she wouldn't date me for all the jewels in Acasa's treasure," the first was saying.
The second man laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. "I'm sorry, Ven."
Praxia channeled all her telepathy into a single thought: Look away.
"So I said, 'You stupid rika. I have more money, more honor, and more looks than Jek,'" the first continued, looking everywhere but at Praxia's hiding place. "Why would you prefer him over me?"
The second man shook his head. "Jek? She wants Jek? What's wrong with her?" The two men rounded the next bend and disappeared, still bemoaning the reluctant woman.
Praxia sighed in relief. She waited an extra few minutes and listened for further sounds, then turned back on her light and headed deeper into the caves. She wished she didn't have so far to go to reach the boy.
V.
The loosening of his restraints awakened Spock the second time. He opened his eyes as Praxia placed her hand over his mouth and peered into his face. Spock squinted as the light from a device attached to her shoulder glared into his eyes.
"Quickly. Quietly," she whispered, pulling him to his feet. "We must find my people before the soldiers find us." Spock staggered, his body weak and his mind groggy from the effects of the two blasts so close together.
The Kana took his arm and led him through a confusing series of tunnels. Too many twists, turns, and forks for Spock to memorize in his current state of mind, which he found disquieting. Praxia did not speak or look back. Spock tried to concentrate on easing the shaking of his legs and clearing his mind, but Praxia was touching him. The disconcerting comfort of her warm concern distracted him.
After an hour of silent walking and climbing, the Kana stopped in a small cave and gestured to a low boulder. "Let's stop and rest here."
With hesitance, Spock sat on the rock. He had been weakened by his mistreatment and was having difficulty using his biofeedback to control his body temperature. As a result, he was miserably cold, and the cool boulder made him colder. Praxia pulled a carryall out from behind the boulder and extracted two cloaks and a second light. After setting up the light on the floor, she wrapped the cloak tightly around Spock's shoulders. The material was quite heavy, and Spock buried his numb hands in it.
"Are you injured?" she asked.
"No, just groggy." Spock unconsciously sniffed, belatedly realizing that his nose, like his hands, was numb. He focused his mind and worked to recover his biofeedback.
Praxia stepped forward and in the dim light examined his head, arms, and legs. Spock kept still and quiet, allowing her a healer's rights. Seeming satisfied, she shrugged into her cloak, then sat down beside him.
Silence prevailed for several minutes as Spock regained a sense of warmth, then he spoke. "How did you know how to find me?"
"It was easy to guess that they would bring you to the Radonan Caverns. Not to generalize, but many people still cling to tradition too much. Some people, such as General Cural, even worship tradition. The Caverns are where they've always brought hostages."
Spock quirked an eyebrow. "I see. What shall we do now?"
"After a rest, we'll finish our trip out of the Caverns, and we'll hopefully meet up with my people at the predetermined point. Rissen is about five kilometers from here. We'll have to walk—we didn't dare bring a vehicle; they would've detected it. After we reach the Temple, we'll contact the Sukara. The Council of Elders is likely explaining to them now that the priestesses have undertaken the rescue. We had to. Anything else would result in blood shed and possibly instant war."
Spock frowned. "Why did they abduct me? Is it because I am a . . . kudwitz?" Even though he and Praxia were not touching, he easily felt a surge of anger from her at the mention of the word.
"No. It's a tradition from our past to kidnap an enemy leader's child. General Cural and his allies wish the Federation delegation to leave."
"Why?"
"Cural wants to be dictator. He wants to return to the old ways—I think he has a golden view of the past, believing it to be better that it was. And he apparently sees no problem with reinstating the slavery of the quie and having the nobility not having to share their power with anyone. Since the Federation doesn't condone slavery, he sees our desire for membership as an obstacle to his plans." Praxia sighed. "In addition, he fears that we liberal senators and our liberal President might ask the Federation for help against him. Which they might, although I don't think the Federation would necessarily give it."
Spock nodded and watched Praxia silently for several moments, thinking through everything she had said on the subject during his entire visit. Then he was struck by a thought. "The other day you said something most fascinating about my soul. It would imply that you can telepathically 'see' it."
Praxia smiled. "Yes, I suppose you can say that. Your soul shows me that you are a hybrid—in a sense. There are certain 'crooks' and 'fissures' as well as a certain potential that implies one torn between two cultures. But it's beautiful."
Spock found his gaze had shifted three centimeters above Praxia's right shoulder. "Ah . . .. I give you thanks."
From the corner of his gaze, Spock could see Praxia gazing at him with intensity. An intensity almost like the beginning of a mind meld. "I sense that my world is not the only one to take issue with your hybridity."
Spock remained silent.
"Since your father is an ambassador, does it not make sense that he would try to create bridges between worlds? Even bridges made through marriage and children?"
"Precisely the difficulty." Spock found he could not shift his gaze away from the wall. The sense came again: a telepathic flow between them. He watched the flow carefully in case she meant to mentally infringe upon him. "Not a bridge. I have chosen the Vulcan way, although not everyone is sure of my commitment, I suppose you could say." He nearly cringed at his open admission. Why did he confess such a thing to this stranger? Was it the telepathic flow?
Praxia raised her slanted eyebrow in the mannerism their species shared. "But you are not Vulcan. Or human. You're both. And neither."
Spock gave her an expression bordering on pained.
"Is your individuality and uniqueness not cherished?" Her brow furrowed. "Surely it is! If not, that would be most illogical, if you'll forgive my use of the word. You are who your are, and your dual heritage is part of that."
Spock snorted—an emotional outburst he instantly regretted. The telepathetic flow between them surged, a kind of recognition, empathy without pity. It unsettled him, brought the pain too close to the surface. He stood, stalking several steps away, and his cloak slid halfway off his shoulders at the movement. But what if who I am—what I am—is not good enough? he wanted to say.
"What, is who you are not good enough?" she asked, as though she'd read his mind. Spock had not felt any touch on his mind, however.
"I barely know you," she continued, "and I can already see you are intelligent and talented."
Spock's gaze fell to the floor. "That is not so unusual on Vulcan."
"Then you mean to say that who you are is not good enough?" She stood and walked up to him. "I cannot accept that. You will mature and grow; you'll learn new lessons and change. But the core of who you are will remain, and there's nothing wrong with it." She pulled the cloak back upon his shoulders.
Spock wished he could believe her, but in his mind he saw only an endless procession of lectures from this father and teachers and teasing and insults from his peers.
Praxia smiled. "I hope one day you'll remember what I've said and accept it."
Spock gazed at her, struck by an odd sense that she, unlike everyone else, really did understand. Not entirely, maybe, but more than most. But how did she understand, unless she, too, were a hybrid?
"I wish I could meet you a few decades from now and see what kind of man you've become." She smiled a maternal smile much like his mother gave him.
Running footsteps faintly reached Spock's ears—an echo rushing to meet them. Praxia glanced around, but Spock already saw that there was no place to hide.
She grabbed his wrist. "Run!"
He followed her into a low branch of the cave; shouts erupted behind them. They scrambled over bumps and ridges in the dimness of Praxia's light, but the soldiers were gaining on them.
"Lo ken!" a man shouted. "Lo ken un lacard!"
Praxia halted and grabbed Spock by both arms. She whirled them around, shielding Spock with her body. Spock could both hear and feel phaser blasts thudding against her back, but she was neither killed nor knocked unconscious. She pushed him forward, and they both cleared the next bend into another cavern. They sprinted toward the far end, but phaser shots followed them.
Praxia stopped in the middle of the craven and turned to hold up her hand. Spock halted, confused, and watched as phaser beams seemed to bounce off of the air before her. She drew back her arm and made an outward-swishing movement before her. The soldiers flew off their feet and landed, unconscious, on the floor.
Suspicion hit Spock with the force of an antimatter explosion. Telekinesis, and apparently a great deal of it. Plus that personal empathy he'd sensed. The Sularane, then. She was the hybrid child of the prophecy.
She whirled back around. "Keep running."
He did, but with a certain odd comfort.
VI.
Cural reclined in the well-padded chair in his senate office and took a draw from his lalene cigar. He was being bold, he knew, to come to his office when everyone knew he was holding the kudwitz captive. President Syralla had been to visit him. She'd exuded an aggression that suggested he'd underestimated her, but no matter. Most of the troops were on his side, and Senator Ritiz now led the political faction who supported him. He was in no danger. And if he'd judged the Federation correctly—and he was confident he had—they wouldn't attack. This was going to be simple.
"Just a few more days, and the Golden Age will return," Cural murmured to himself, smiling at the thought of a return of the traditional ways. He could almost see the finely-dressed nobles entering the royal court and lively balls filled with beautiful women and handsome young soldiers dancing through the night. He closed his eyes and imagined the return of the Jungle Hunt rite of passage for all ten-year-old children and sprawling mansions staffed by servants who didn't talk back or complain about their orders.
The door chime buzzed, and the Captain of the Guard entered without permission. Cural glowered at him, irritated by the interruption of his reverie, but the captain didn't seem to notice.
"General, forgive me, but I bring news. Your troop reports that the kudwitz escaped. They spotted several infiltrators and pursued them all, but to no avail. The team who came closest to recapturing the kudwitz was stunned senseless and couldn't identify the rescuer."
They'll be a lot more than stunned when I'm finished with them, Cural thought. "Well? Have they continued pursuit?"
"They tried, sir, but lost their trail." The Captain of the Guard cowered near the door, apparently afraid of the general's reaction.
The resulting string of obscenities could be heard well down the hall.
VII.
"If I may ask, are you the Sularane?"
Spock had whispered the question to Praxia, not wanting anyone to overhear. He and Praxia, with a flank of priestesses in front and behind them, labored up the last steep slope at the edge of the capitol city. They had all traveled in silence, Praxia looking grim. Spock had discovered he sported a few bruises, and Praxia's dark purple hair was escaping her knotted braid. However, neither the priestesses nor Spock had been seriously hurt during their flight from the caverns.
Praxia flinched at Spock's question and didn't reply.
"I will not tell anyone, including my parents, unless you permit otherwise," Spock assured her.
Praxia finally gave him a small smile. "I know. And you mustn't. Not only because I'm a hybrid, but because I don't believe I'm the Sularane." She sighed. "You are the only one who has figured out my hybridity, so otherwise, no one knows. My tiny village was destroyed in a massive earthquake when I was seven. There were few survivors, and none knew that my mother had taken a quie as a lover. They didn't know because my parents were quite careful and because I took after my mother physically. Without the green spots, I was safe."
Spock nodded.
"But I knew who my father was, and I knew about the penalty. When help arrived to assist the survivors of the earthquake, I told them I didn't know who my father was. Since I was orphaned, I was taken to the Temple, where I still live. As all healers are, I was trained to use my telepathy. In the privacy of my room, I applied the same principles to my telekinsis, with some variations. Fortunately, I only had a few accidents outside of my room, and none so great as to arouse suspicion."
Spock was silent for a moment. "Has it been difficult?"
"Very." The pain in her voice was unmistakable. "Although my nature has remained concealed, I've been surrounded with bigots, some of whom have called me friend, and yet I knew they would kill me in an instant if they knew the truth. I've not met many people who wouldn't be completely disgusted by my existence and immediately turn me in to be executed."
"I would not," Spock said gently, although he knew what she meant.
She smiled at him again, and to Spock, the expression didn't look quite as odd on a vulcanoid face as he would have thought. "Why do you believe so easily in our prophecy?" she asked.
"Your people believe in it; that is enough for me to respect it. And not all myths are fiction. Some are based on real events; others are entirely true. Who am I to say that your prophecy is or is not real? You have formed religious beliefs to mediate your part in and relationship to the All—the universe, the creative force, or whatever you wish to call it. Most every species does in some way or another. If you have discovered your true path—and a specific piece of it, too—then no one else has the right to criticize you."
Praxia's forehead crinkled with confusion, and she paused in their climb. "Then your logic and mastery of emotions are like a religion?"
"No." Spock halted beside her and tried to explain. "They are based on a philosophy that Surak gave us so we could save ourselves from self-destruction. It is a way of life, of thinking and behaving, of—"
Praxia nodded. "I understand. It's your species' salvation. An understanding of the self and control of the self in order to avoid a descent into madness and violence, which most cultures would call evil. It's also the method by which you approach your understanding and relationship with 'the All.'"
Spock cocked an eyebrow at her. "You have a strange way of recasting things into a religious light."
"Differences and similarities have a way of both departing and meeting. Just like time isn't linear, and the concepts of good and evil are not always simple binaries. While there may be a path to a species' salvation, not all choices and actions are simple black and white issues. But people have a way of oversimplifying issues and refusing to see what they don't want to confront."
Spock's eyebrow had steadily ascended his forehead. "Like your not wishing to see that you may be the Sularane?" Praxia gave him a sharp look, but he continued. "Why not? You are a racial hybrid, and I saw myself that you are a powerful telekinetic. Why are you so sure you cannot be the child of the prophecy?"
"Because I'm not special. I'm not good enough. They made me Kana because I'm such a good healer, but there have been many people much more spiritually intune and morally upright than I. Sometimes when I pray, I don't listen. I stay wrapped up in my own worries. And sometimes I lie, or I hate the people who are bigots. Or I get selfish or jealous or . . ."
Spock gave her the very faintest of smiles. "If you are the Sularane, then you are supposed to help your people achieve equality, not be perfect. You try to continally improve yourself. But you are a mortal like the rest of us, not a god."
"That sounds like something I would say to someone." Praxia began ascending the slope again.
"You did give me a talk. Did you think I did not listen, or that I could not do the same for you? At times, young people can see situations clearly despite their youth."
They reached the top of the slope and gazed out over Rissen. Praxia gasped, and Spock suppressed shock. Plumes of smoke capped several of the tallest buildings, and troopers filled every street they could see.
"That bastard," Praxia said with a faint voice. The other priestesses began yelling angrily amongst themselves and broke into a run toward the city.
Spock turned to her. "Apparently it is time for you to fulfill your destiny."
Praxia turned to him in exasperation. "I acknowledge your point, but I'm not the Sularane. I may have telekinsis, but I'm no savior."
"You cannot know that—you have not had the chance to prove it either way. And what if you are, but you do not act? Then, perhaps, the general takes over your world and re-imposes dictatorship and slavery."
"And if I am not and I fail, I will be brutally executed."
Spock looked at her steadily. She stared back.
"Fine. It's worth one life." She turned away. "But there's still no hard evidence that I'm the Sularane, that I'm powerful enough to topple mountains and teleport."
Spock thought for a moment, and an idea occurred to him. "Maybe you do not have to be that powerful."
He had a plan.
A/N: Please don't bring out the Mary Sue baseball bat. I've already explained my Matrix/Star Wars/Buffy inspiration for the story and its prophecy. All I wanted was a prophecy that centered on a powerful woman for a change instead of Neo or Anakin Skywalker or some other male. There is no romance or authorial insertion here.
Thank you to Karen and isadax for the reviews and to Gun Mage for the fav!
