Okay, I'm getting closer to the end. Thanks to everyone who's still with this story!

Prolia Labour Camp - 6 hours to destruction

McCoy watched as Yaniah wiped the tears from a man's face who probably was about the same age as he was himself. The man trembled, making little, unarticulated noises, as he desperately wanted to express himself, but was lacking an adequate language.

"Don't fear!" Yaniah crooned, "You're fine. Shh. It's alright."

McCoy closed his eyes and hugged himself. This place was hell. When they'd accomplished sending Jim in that escape capsule to the surface, he'd tried to tend to the many haggard looking and distraught prisoners that were coming in. It had helped him to distract himself from the panic that lurked inside him, threatening to jump up and totally consume him any minute. Yaniah had soon imitated his behaviour. She hadn't gotten tired of calming these people, talking to them, drying tears, smiling at blank, confused faces and holding people's hands. Not long ago she had started to call some of them by names she had thought up for them. McCoy admired her energy.

He could function in emergency situations for hours, even days without rest if he needed to, and had done so on more occasions than he cared to think about. In his career, he'd seen many gory things, literally waded in human and alien blood at times and had operated until he'd collapsed. He'd seen and dealt with traumatized people before, but this here was different.

These slaves were the most pitiable creatures. Suddenly being able to think for yourself, gaining a consciousness for the first time ever, McCoy had no idea how that must feel. He remembered a report he'd once read, about a woman in the 20th century who had been born deaf and blind. Only when she had been in her teens, she had learned a language that used touch to express words. Later she had reported that she didn't remember anything from before that time. Language was essential to consciousness, to identity. How can a whole society bear such a cruelty - for thousands of years? Sure, there had been societies on earth that had exploited huge parts of the population. Kings and governments had let their people starve while they wallowed in abundance and glut. But this was gluttony to much greater degree.

When he, Kirk and Spock had first beamed down to Meriah Five, he'd thought that living within Meriah's society was paradisiacal: There was no material want, no violence. The highest goal for Meriah's people was self-fulfillment, and improvement on an intellectual basis. But now he saw at what cost: These slaves were deprived of everything slaves were usually deprived of: their freedom, their rights. But even more, these slaves had been deprived of the only thing that earth's slaves had always had: their consciousness, their thoughts, their personality.

And they were still being ignored by their fellow citizens. The only sign that spoke for the fact that someone out there was actually aware of what was going on down here, had been when the taps that provided the nutrient solution were turned off. They wanted to starve them out.

Every once in a while a prisoner would go to one of these taps with his dirty little cup and try to draw some of that awful pink stuff out of it. They couldn't understand that nothing came out of them anymore. The only thing that had provided them with some satisfaction, as basic as it had been, had been taken away from them. They stared with big eyes at the taps, thinking that something must be wrong, trying again and again. Their frustrated cries tore at McCoy's soul.

It was abominable. He suddenly came to realize just how abhorrent these Meriahn really were and slowly, he came to understand that Delihan who wanted to change all this was a kind of liberator, a hero. And this hero had violated him, McCoy, in a way that still made him suffer.

McCoy shuddered. No! Don't go there. He searched for Yaniah again. Even though he barely knew her, she'd become his anchor, ever since Jim had left them.

"I'm Yaniah," he heard her say to the huddled, frightened man. She took his hand to point at his chest. "you're Loriahn."

He looked at her, repeating, "Loriahn."

"Yes! Wonderful! Hello Loriahn!" she said.

"Yaniah?" he asked her.

"Yes?"

"I'm Loriahn." he beamed at her, the joy bringing tears to his eyes. Hearing someone call him by a name, was probably the happiest moment in his life, and although McCoy had found those moments touching and encouraging the first times he had witnessed them, he couldn't feel happy about them anymore. They frightened him, reminded him of what people were capable of doing to their fellow citizens. He hugged himself closer.

"Please, don't leave me here to die," he whispered to no one in particular. Then, when he realized what he'd done, clamped a hand over his mouth.

Some of the slaves, like Yaniah, had become slaves when they'd been older. They understood their situation now, and listened to Delihan, who tried to organize them, get them to fight their way out of the prison to claim back their lives, change Meriah's society and start a revolution.

McCoy doubted they had a chance. It had been over a day now, and they were still here in the prison, and not a single official had tried to contact them. They'd all die from hunger and thirst - if they were lucky. If they weren't lucky, they'd start to kill each other and ...

"Stop it!" he suddenly shouted at himself, not caring anymore that he was showing signs of beginning insanity, "Spock! Please, if you can't get me out in the next couple of hours, please ... just destroy this camp, before these people start killing and eating each other!" he whispered to his friend, hoping he could hear him, and also, to the same degree, hoping he couldn't.

There was commotion at the door and McCoy could see Delihan, spotting the hat he was wearing. He was searching the room, finding him, and coming towards him. McCoy scrambled back, only to find he couldn't, for there was the wall behind him.

"Yaniah," he shouted at her, reaching out for her.

She saw him, took his outstretched hand the minute Delihan arrived and knelt beside him.

"Doctor McCoy!" he said, searching the frightened blue eyes before him.

McCoy grabbed Yaniah's hand even tighter and she drew in a breath harshly. "What?" he ground out. My god, I am, I really am becoming insane.

"Do not fear me!" he said, after having studied the trembling doctor, "I'm here to keep my promise."

"What promise?" McCoy succeeded in keeping his voice steady.

"My comrades and I will climb up the shaft and run an attack on the guards on the surface. We'll fight our way out of here," he said.

McCoy knew that was impossible. Even if they made it to the surface, they wouldn't make it out of the prison. But he didn't really care. "And?" he just said.

"We will die in the process. but we'll set a sign," he said matter-of-factly.

"Oh yeah?"

"I promised you, to tell you what I know about Tamulok's whereabouts. You must stop him, or he'll turn his planet into another Meriah."

McCoy felt anger well up inside him. "As if that would help us any. Who am I gonna tell? I'll die in here, thanks to you!"

Delihan smiled, which made McCoy want to punch him. "No, doctor, I strongly believe your Enterprise is still up there, monitoring all this. The Federation won't let one of their citizens die in here. They'll get you out. Captain Kirk once told Coltan, they were willing to start a war with Meriah, only to do justice and get the person who assaulted you: me."

McCoy snorted. "You believed that? The Federation will never start a war with your planet only for revenge, or to save my life! I'm not important enough."

Delihan's face fell. "But now they know what my government is doing to its own people. Captain Kirk will tell them what he found out, when he was here. Surely they'll find that that's morally intolerable. They will attack Meriah, and change our society."

"They won't. Believe me," McCoy said bitterly.

Delihan deflated. "But, your Federation. I thought they were ..."

"What? God? They won't interfere with the affairs of a sovereign planet, as long as they're not attacking a member of the Federation."

Delihan frowned. "Maybe not. But Captain Kirk will not let you die in here."

"Captain Kirk may be dying himself this very moment," McCoy spit at Delihan angrily, and seconds later realized with panic, that he may be right.

"Your Commander Spock ...," Delihan tried, now desperate. Why did this human insist on seeing everything so pessimistic?

"If Spock's in command, he'll do what Starfleet Command tells him to do. He won't risk his career on my behalf. And he shouldn't."

Again, McCoy realized he was probably right, and it suddenly dawned on him, that he was really and truely about to die in the next days, maybe hours. No one had had anything to eat or drink in the last hours. They couldn't go on much longer. If he was lucky, he'd be one of the first to die. If these Meriahn really were of Vulcan descent that would even be quite likely, since Vulcans were able to go without food and drink for much longer than humans.

Yaniah edged closer, her eyes wide with fear. "Bones, are we all going to die?"

"For nothing?" Delihan added.

McCoy felt to pairs of eyes on him, as they waited desperately for him to answer that question.

"Why, ...?" McCoy could understand why Yaniah turned to him with questioning eyes, trusting him to comfort her, and keep her safe. He had been the first person to talk to her after her long sleep, a whole life of being controlled by other minds, other people who only cared for her as they would for a tool. But Delihan? Why did he bother? What did McCoy's opinion mean to that Meriahn?

As he searched for an answer, the sound of the people in the background was becoming louder. There were no words, just sounds, but distinctive sounds of frustration and aggression. Loriahn, the Meriahn slave that Yaniah had named, was hitting his empty cup on the floor, repeatedly. The others, wanting to stop the annoying noise pushed him around which made him even more agressive. Yaniah tore herslef loose and went to the ball of bodies that was now rolling on the floor. The cup came flying and hit her squarely on the nose, which started bleeding instantly.

McCoy got up, reaching for her, but was pushed aside by Deliahn's body when the massive body of a Meriahn slave fell backwards from out of the crowd, burying Delihan under him.

McCoy heard a sickening crack, and before he even caught a glimpse of the former Secretary of Defense's body, he knew that he was dead. He'd broken his neck.

The man who'd fallen on Delihan turned around, appalled by the sight of the odd angle at which Delihan's head was lying, and the surprised but definetly dead eyes staring up at him.

Enterprise - 5.8 hours to destruction

It was silent on the bridge, not peaceful, but silent. All personnel stared at the screen, at the scene before them, where their own Doctor McCoy now hugged a middle-aged Meriahni slave girl, calming her, telling her, that he was sure they'd be saved.

She cried, while he tried to stop the bleeding from her nose with another piece of his already torn uniform.

"Shh, it's alright. Listen to me, Yaniah. They didn't do that on purpose. It was an accident. It's okay. Things like that happen. Don't cry!"

The crowd had gathered around them, listening, watching them.

"Go away!" she shrieked at one of them.

"Now, come one, Yaniah, they're not evil. They're just scared," he said in a soothing voice.

"They're dangerous. They're like animals. They'll start fighting again, and then you and me are going to get between them and they'll kill us, like they killed him," she said.

Uhura again spared a glance at Spock who was sitting in the captain's chair, staring at the screen, spellbound, like the rest of the bridge crew. When she saw him nod at the slave girl's statement in agreement, she clamped her mouth shut, in order not to scream.

How could he just sit there? When McCoy had pleaded to not leave him to die in that godforsaken prison, it had twisted everyone's soul. She'd heard the reactions of her comrades, Chekov's, Sulu's, and Scotty's pained moans. But Spock had been silent, and had kept staring at the screen stoically. Even when McCoy had specifically addressed Spock only seconds later - no reaction.

"They don't understand us. They don't speak a language! We can't keep them calm!" Yaniah, the Meriahn slave girl, sobbed, burying herself into McCoy's shoulder to hide from the crowd that was edging closer, menacingly.

"Mr Spock, we need to do something!" It was Scotty, coming out of his stupor, addressing Spock.

"Yes! We can't just watch!" Sulu agreed.

"Starfleet Command can't seriously expect us to only stand by," Chekov chimed in.

"Please, Mr Spock! Doctor McCoy doesn't deserve this!" Uhura almost shouted at him.

"Agreed," Spock answered calmly, slightly turning towards her, but never taking his gaze off the screen. "Do you have any suggestions?"

He does care. I know it, Uhura thought. She suddenly felt for him. She knew about Starfleet's orders. She had received them and forwarded them to Spock. Admiral Nogura had not been elaborate. There'd just been a simple: "Don't interfere with Meriahni affairs."

Asshole. What did he expect them to do? Watch? It was torture for them, too. She silently thanked God that Kirk wasn't here to watch this, he'd go insane.

"I don't know. We should just take a shuttle and ...," Scotty stopped when there was a new noise coming from the screen.

"... mem'ries of a song, a song that ... sings of ... Geor-gia, back ...back where ... I ... be-long."

Uhura closed her eyes. This was becoming too much to bear. McCoy was haltingly singing Georgia on my mind into Yaniah's ear, stopping frequently, catching his breath in between the words, swallowing back tears. It was calming Yaniah and the crowd, but it certainly did nothing to comfort anyone on the bridge.

With a sudden movement, Spock came standing beside her, turning his back to the screen for the first time in what felt like hours.

"Lieutenant, I'll be in my quarters. Be ready to meet me in fifteen minutes."

She nodded, and before she had finished moving her head, Spock had fled the bridge.