Riley led Christine Chapel from the war bird out into the heat of the night, then down into the coolness of an opening of one of the dig sites. The drug in her system had mostly worn off, but the bruises and cuts were conspicuous against her light skin, even in the dim lighting.
Riley helped her down onto a blanket that been previously used by one of the students, where she leaned against an ancient retaining wall.
"Stay here. Try not to draw any attention to yourself. I'll be back as soon as I can."
Christine looked up at him, anger and betrayal in her face. "I don't need anything from you."
Riley said nothing else; he simply turned away and disappeared into the darkness. He's going to find his succubus, she thought, disgusted.
She leaned her head back against the packed dirt, thinking she was alone, so when the light footsteps on the sand came from the darkness, Christine jerked slightly. She didn't bother to turn her head, but she tensed ready to move if need be to protect herself.
An elderly Vulcan female dressed in a work coveralls came silently toward her. Christine noticed a medical kit in her hands when she sat down.
"You look in need of medical treatment; may I assist you?" The Vulcan was tiny compared to Christine, probably not over 5'4" and under a hundred pounds.
"Thank you, but you may earn ill will from my captors."
"I care not for their "will," ill or otherwise." Reaching into her case, she removed a hypo and injected Christine with it. "Tri-ox. I have noticed that humans have difficulty breathing here on Vulcan, especially here in the mountains. Are you in pain? There is evidence that you have been mistreated."
"I may have some broken ribs. Do you have a medical tricorder?" Christine asked.
Her answer was to remove one and scan the human with it. "No ribs broken, but severely bruised. May I?" She held up the hypo again.
Christine nodded, and then whispered, "Thank you." Her head began to clear immediately as the pain subsided. "May I ask your name?"
"T'Lar. I am the lead archaeologist here. My students have been imprisoned inside one of the other ruins. I was not, but I was warned they would be harmed if I attempted to leave or communicate with anyone outside here. How did you come to be imprisoned by these people?" she asked, slightly tilting her head forward. "They are indeed a motley crew, and I recognize the traitor, Valeris."
Christine laughed low and without humor, "I was sent to help capture them. Obviously I failed to complete my mission."
"Yet you are still alive. What does the need from you? She must have a reason to keep you alive, is this not so?"
"I have someone that she wants, or so she says. I probably would have begged to differ if asked," Christine said sarcastically. The doctor turned her face away, "I am sure you recognize that it's not appropriate to speak of my time with my….." Christine trailed off, unsure of how to finish the sentence or to explain to this peculiar Vulcan female the problems of human/Vulcan relationships.
"You are the mate of a Vulcan male. Are you bonded?" T'Lar's dark eyes narrowed.
Christine's fighting spirit returned, "Are you in agreement with Valeris that race mixing is appalling and worthy of espionage, betrayal, and murder? Are you're willing to kill for it?"
"Your anger is misdirected and not productive. I am not in agreement with her views; they violate the principle of IDIC and the tenets of the teachings of Surak. Do not attack the person who offers to pull you from the den of the sehlat."
T'Lar's calm and unassuming tone and demeanor shamed Christine. "I am sorry. I was—I am ashamed to tell you of my arrangement, I suppose. Spock, of the House of Sarek...we are partially bonded. We never completed the bond. Valeris has strong emotions regarding Spock, and as you can see," indicating her injuries, "She has no problem expressing them."
"If my observations are correct, Valeris is late in the first stage of Pon Farr. If she has had a strong meld also with Spock then she could be drawn to him, as she does not appear to be bonded. If not, she knows that he will not be drawn here to her; you are her "lure," as you humans would say. Spock will come for you. I do not think that he will bond to her willingly. If your life is in jeopardy because he refuses, it is not logical to agree, for she will surely kill you after the ceremony. I understand now why I have been allowed my freedom. She wishes me to bond her with an unwilling partner."
"T'Lar, is that even possible? Could Spock not shield his mind to prevent that from happening?" Christine asked, aghast.
"Spock has studied with the Masters at Gol. Yes, he could prevent this bonding and she would not know until I was finished with the ceremony, but she would know. In her current state, it is highly probable that she will kill you both, and take one of her crew temporarily to save her life, but not complete the bond."
T'Lar peered at her in the dim light. "May I ask you, have you felt Spock was nearby?"
Christine shook her head. "I've been so drugged that I wouldn't have known if he was on the cot with me, however, I have felt strongly that he would come. I don't know how, but I knew he would come if—when—I disappeared." She dropped her head, unable to explain more.
T'Lar said, "I may be able to help you find him if he is near for you surely need his help. Will you allow it?" The elderly Vulcan woman believed there was more to the bond between the two than the human woman realized.
Christine looked at her, and asked, "Is it dangerous? How would you accomplish this?"
"I may do so in less time than an explanation." She hesitated until the human woman nodded her head reluctantly. T'Lar placed her hand, wrinkled from age and hard labor, against Christine's psi points.
It was as if the elderly Vulcan was an amplifier and Christine's mind opened like a flower with tendrils that reached out farther than she had ever imagined.
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Waiting in the shuttle had not been easy, but it had given him time to meditate and try to search for some trace of Christine in his mind. As time and experiences with her poured through his mind like sand through a screen, something akin to guilt began to surface. He had not made an effort to see her in many years. She knew he would return in time, but to treat her in such a way was disgraceful and cheated her of a reliable and fulfilling relationship in her life.
Surprisingly, Spock also realized that he had missed her. He had burrowed into work, anything that took him away from Earth and his intense loss. He realized now the futility of his behavior. It did not ease his pain or make it go away faster. In fact, Spock was realizing that his behavior may have been cowardly in nature. This was not easy an easy thought to entertain, especially if you were a proud Vulcan.
Now that Valeris' stolen ship had landed, Spock at last could act. Spartacus was a much smaller vessel and harder to track cloaked. He estimated he had between two and three hours until planetary security reached his location.
Spock set the shuttle down ½ kilometer from the ruins and set out immediately on foot.
In the distance he could see a faint light emanating from the direction of the ruins.
Suddenly, he sensed more than saw movement to his right.
Dropping down behind a cluster of large boulders, he waited. It didn't take long. A large Klingon male walked past him carrying a phaser rifle. On patrol, Spock imagined, most likely for him.
Once the Klingon had walked by, silently he continued his trek toward the ruins. Spock hadn't traversed twenty feet when a tremendous impact struck him from behind knocking him face down into the dirt. The Klingon's arm around his neck was cutting off his air and forcing his face further down into the sand.
Rolling to the side, he managed to throw his attacker onto his back. Snapping his head backwards into the Klingon's face, he inflicted enough pain to spring free. Tearing something loose from his attacker's belt that had felt pressed into his back, Spock swung around brandishing a massive knife.
The Vulcan pressed the blade into the Klingon's throat. "Where are the Starfleet captains, Chapel and Riley?"
Tak grunted obscenities in Klingon about Spock's parentage.
Spock pressed the blade deeper into his throat, "Where is—"
A blinding flash of Christine in agony on the floor of their Grecian home surrounded by blood ripped through his mind like an ice pick into his ear. He lost his balance, falling off the Klingon, as if stunned. Images assailed him. Crimson blood. Screaming. McCoy. Christine begging for him to return to save—a baby!
His stomach was sick and he began to retch as the Klingon struck him in the side of his head, and kicked him in the side time and again. No amount of physical pain could wipe the anguish he experienced through Christine's eyes. What had he done? By not choosing he had chosen, and he had chosen badly. Finally, darkness quieted his mind and his conscience.