Nyota stared after Jim as long as she could see him, realizing that it was the last time she'd lay eyes on her Captain alive. She'd done plenty of research on Vulcan practices and knew Jim was a dead man walking. If they found him to be an honorable, brave, opponent they'd let him pick the style of execution. Otherwise, it was off with his head. Why hadn't she been granted the same choice? Probably because she was a woman and it would be bad publicity to send Starfleet pictures of her corpse.
She fumed inwardly as she sat sullenly in the hovercar between her guards as she was driven into the mountains. After all this time, they still were treated differently, despite the fact they'd more than proven themselves to be worthy foes. She thought about going after the guards and hijacking the thing, but between the Shackles and the huge rifles, there wasn't much hope of succeeding. Instead, Nyota spent the time muttering curses in every language she knew.
"The human has quite a colorful vocabulary," muttered one of the guards in Vulcan.
"She's not looking forward to spending the rest of her existence with the half-breed creature," the other one said.
Half-breed? So their reputation for being elitist and racist wasn't for nothing, Nyota thought, drawing herself together to avoid contact with with one of the brutes.
The car was climbing now and getting quite high in the mountains. She stared out at the rugged scenery and wondered why this "creature" had been forced to live here. Insanity? She hoped not. It was more likely due to his "impure" status. Before she could ponder more. The car stopped.
Strong arms gripped her and hauled her out of the car. She grimaced as her injured ankle throbbed from sudden contact with the hard ground.
"Where are we going?"
"You will soon find out," replied the guard coolly. "To the caves." And they marched forward into the dark mouth of the cave. Nyota's desperate last minute struggle to avoid being given to some nameless... thing... ended with a swift nerve pinch.
Jim spent the night in a dingy cell, looking back on his life and career. He'd hoped to last longer than his dad had, but nope. He was going to kick the bucket at 27. How he was sick of this war-stretching on for nearly a decade now and costing him many friends. He was offered some kind of soup earlier, but could only eat a few bites. Impending death didn't tend to make one really hungry. When he thought of his mom being informed of his demise, Jim's heart ached. Winona Kirk had raised Jim on her own after George was murdered by Romulans and they had developed a very close relationship as a result. He couldn't imagine what this would do to her if she saw the confirmation photos, which he knew she would insist on.
"I'd better pick the least bloody option available," he muttered. "Beheading's definitely out. Can't do that to mom or Chris or Bones."
Bones. Another wave of regret washed over him thinking of his best friend and Starfleet doctor Leonard McCoy, whom he'd met when he'd first joined up. They were practically inseparable even though Bones was continually griping at him for his recklessness and frequent injuries.
"Dammit, Jim! Why can't you take care of yourself like a normal human?" He'd complain when Jim went to him with an infected wound he'd ignored too long.
When the guards came to get him, Jim was firmly resigned to his fate, but was determined to face it with dignity and make his friends proud.
"Captain," General Selek announced. "Given your illustrious career and brave conduct, we will give you three choices as to your warrior's death. One, Our highly trained expert firing squad."
He motioned to a group of three Vulcans standing stiffly at attention with lethal phaser rifles.
"They never require a second shot. Two, the unspeakably sharp blade of Stolak, which will offer an equally swift end with one blow to the neck."
Another Vulcan appeared holding a fearsome looking axe and Jim gulped.
"Three, the poison of Lehirya, which will stop the heart in less than thirty seconds. You have one hour to decide if you are unsure of your preferred execution method."
Jim took a deep breath.
"Thank you, General, but my mind is made up. Much as the firing squad would be my preferred way to go, for the sake of my friends and family who will see the photos tomorrow, I choose the poison."
"I see. A noble choice, Captain." Something strange lurked in the general's eyes. Was that sorrow?
Maybe he just had some compassion deep down inside.
"Very well. Bring him to the execution plaza in one hour. I will send word to have the mixture prepared."
The guards nodded and Jim was taken back to his cell, trying to avoid thinking about the finality of it. *********
"He has chosen the poison," a messenger informed the elderly Vulcan woman tasked with mixing the deadly concoction.
"I will see to it." She answered briefly. When the messenger left, T'Pol drew a deep breath and began gathering the ingredients. She was sick of the war, hated executions and had a memory of humans that made her rage inside at the brutality of prisoner treatment. All the tales she'd heard of Captain Kirk reminded her of her long dead lover-brash, cocky, and self-assured, but brave and brilliant as well.
Because of his choice, she had a chance to save him by slightly altering the concoction a bit. It would mimic death, but not permanently kill him and by the time his pulse came back, she would have "disposed of the body" with general Selek's help. Of course, it might also paralyze him for a while, but she'd worry about that later.
Jim spent that long hour pacing, wishing it was over already. He was downright terrified at times and wondered what was waiting for him on the other side. He scolded himself and reminded himself he was a Starfleet captain and maintaining composure in the face of certain death was his duty. Maybe his dad would be there to tell him he'd made him proud. Goodness knows he'd wanted to.
So when they came for him, he marched out with his head high. The plaza was located on the outskirts of Shikhar and was arranged for multiple means of capital punishment, though thankfully, Vulcans were tidy and didn't leave bloodstains on the blocks or walls. Nevertheless, Jim felt nausea looking around the place and imagining Gary and Kai and Gaila walking in here when they'd faced their warrior's deaths.
A sort of bed cushion was set up in one corner with a small table beside it holding a gold cup which Jim assumed was the poison.
"You are to lie on the cushion and drink the contents of the cup when the gong is rung. It will not take long," directed General Selek.
Jim arranged himself on the deathbed, (pretty comfortable), and waited while the Vulcans discoursed in their language.
"Do you wish any final words, Captain?"
"Only that I'm tired of war and senseless violence and I would die a thousand times over if I could stop it," Jim answered. "I wish we could be at peace." He looked sadly at the Vulcans as he said it and they lowered their heads in respect.
The gong rang and the golden cup was lifted to his lips.
The stuff tasted as nasty as it looked, but he drank every drop under the watchful eye of the armed Vulcan holding it, looking them in the eyes and practically daring them to call him a coward now.
"Be at peace in the honored halls of your forefathers," he heard Selek say.
The seconds ticked past and Jim counted to see if their boast of the toxin's quick results would be true as he waited for death.
One..two..three, there was a painful tingling in his chest.
Four..five..six, he shivered violently.
Seven..eight..nine, his nerves were on fire. No, he refused to groan. He wasn't giving them any satisfaction.
Ten..eleven..twelve, he felt really sluggish, But the pain decreased slightly.
Thirteen..fourteen, he thought of his dad to distract himself from the rising fear, cuffed hands digging into his back uncomfortably.
Fifteen..sixteen, he couldn't feel his limbs anymore. His head dropped to the cot, neck unwilling to support it.
Seventeen...eighteen, he was having trouble breathing.
Nineteen...twenty...His eyes were too heavy to open.
Twenty one, twenty two...Jim's lungs just couldn't get any air.
Twenty three...Jim stopped breathing.
iI'm sorry, Mom. G'bye, Bones./i
Twenty four. "His heart has stopped."