"How touching."
Kes sat up, awakened by the voice, and the scrape of boots on the cave floor. She glanced over her shoulder to Paris, and her throat tightened with concern. He remained frozen in place, head tilted backward and eyes closed. She knew he had not rested. His face had gone from pale to ashen, the color drained from his lips, leaving them a drawn, gray line. Despite his lecture to her, he had apparently not slept and when he looked at her his eyes, darkened by pain, smoldered in fatigue sunken hollows.
He nodded at her. The slightest ghost of a genuine smile touched his face and brought a brief light into his eyes. The smile was meant only for her, to remind her of her promise, and was gone as quickly as it had appeared, replaced by a deadly calm she found disturbing. He intended on accepting whatever fate, and Melchor, served him, in the hopes that she would escape unscathed. But she would not.
Coming slowly to her feet she stood an arms length from Melchor. "I've thought about what you proposed..." she began.
"Kes, NO."
"I'm sorry, Tom."
****
Kes rose with the fluid graze of a hunting cat, not of someone who had alternately, in the last three days, nearly frozen to death, and spent two nights sleeping in cold caves on stone floors. She was tousled, and her clothing smudged, but she exuded an air of feline vigor he found unexpected and which Melchor, obviously found exciting.
"Kes." Paris called her name a second time, knowing full when what she had in mind, knowing he couldn't stop her if Melchor took her up on her offer, and yet he struggled against the bonds that held him helpless. But she did not, or more likely would not, listen and he could do nothing to stop her.
Kes moved slightly closer to Melchor, close but not quite touching, "I need to go outside," she stated simply.
"You will. We all will."
"No," Kes said more firmly, "I need to go outside. Please. It's been a long night, and I need a minute."
Paris shook his head, and despite the gravity of their situation, had to stifle his laughter. When he realized what Kes was actually requesting, the crestfallen look on Melchor's face, though brief, was worth every ounce of discomfort. Melchor was certain he had won, so self assured, convinced Kes was willing to do whatever he wanted. Paris had to admit, he had been convinced himself, and chagrined to admit, he had jumped to the wrong conclusion. Of course, Melchor might still prove to be right. Kes might be planning to go along with his proposal, but for one glorious moment, Melchor lost control of the situation.
Of course the moment was brief and short lived. He nodded to one of his Kazon companions, who roughly took Kes by the arm and led her toward the mouth of the cave.
"Is it dawn already?" Paris asked nonchalantly, covering his momentary urge to laugh with a smart remark.
Melchor's face darkened. "You think you are so superior. Even now." With a nod towards the second Kazon warrior, Melchor said, "Cut him loose."
The young Kazon drew a long knife from his belt, stepped behind Paris and quickly severed the cords that held him bound and immobile. With no gentleness, he grabbed the young Human firmly by the arm and jerked him to his feet. Though he had thought his arms numb from lack of circulation, the sudden sharp movement elicited a tidal wave of pain that left Paris battling to maintain his balance. His stomach churned, and despite his best effort, a cry had escaped him. He quickly clamped his lips shut, his long, in drawn, shuddering breaths the only sound in the cavern, until the silence was broken by Melchor's self satisfied chuckle.
"Not so tough," Melchor said. "Not so tough."
"So what happens now, Melchor?" Paris asked when he could trust his voice again. The Kazon stood close, hand still clamped around Paris' upper arm. The subtle pressure was sufficient to send jolts of pain through arms that hung uselessly at his sides.
"As soon as your lady friend returns, you'll know."
"But it isn't dawn yet. You said dawn."
"Quiet." Melchor snapped. "This is my game. I make the rules." Melchor's hand moved to the phaser at his side, fingers curling around the weapon. His demeanor seemed less boastful. Last night's swagger had been replaced by a nervous urgency.
Something had changed, Paris thought. Something had altered his plans and Melchor was worried. "She's back," Paris said simply, nodding to the darkness behind Melchor. Then with no warning, he launched himself into the Kazon warrior that held him, driving with all the force of his legs, slamming his guard hard into the side wall of the cave. The Kazon grunted as his head struck a rocky protrusion with a sickening crunch, then the momentum of his body carried Paris sideways and down, the Kazon, stunned, falling atop him. Paris' arms where pinned, and useless, so he pushed with his legs, struggling to break free and capitalize on his advantage, when he heard Melchor's outraged curse. Twisting his head, Paris found himself staring down the length of Melchor's arm. Behind the phaser he held in a viselike grip, was a face twisted with demented rage. Foam flecked his lips and Paris saw his finger twitch reflexively on the firing mechanism.
That's it, I'm dead, Paris thought.
Then a ghostly apparition exploded from the darkened entrance, landing on Melchor's back like a feral cat. Paris felt the heat of a phaser discharge burn past his cheek, and the body on top of him went limp amidst the odor of charred flesh, then a barely audible hissing sound dropped Melchor and his attacker to the floor of the cave in a jumbled heap. Paris pushed again, rolling the Kazon's weight off himself, just as the heap that was Melchor, began to stir.
"Tom" came a muffled voice, then a grunt and Kes pulled herself free from under Melchor.
"Are you all right?" Paris and Kes spoke in unison.
Paris had managed to lever himself to his feet, adrenaline giving him the extra strength to stand upright, but the motion caused his head to spin, and he leaned back against the wall. Kes was at his side immediately.
"We've got to get out of here," she said in an urgent whisper.
"I know," he nodded agreement. "But Melchor..."
"I don't think we will need to worry about him for a couple of hours."
"We can't leave him."
Kes shook her head negatively. "We can't take him with us if we're going to escape ourselves. If we can, we'll come back for him. Once we contact Voyager."
Paris didn't miss the tone of doubt in her voice, or the anger just below the surface of her words, and for a moment it took him by surprise. Kes, gentle Kes, who would harm no one, hated Melchor, or perhaps hated only what he had done. But Paris didn't miss the sympathy behind the tough determination on her face either. Melchor was insane. Driven there, perhaps, by the stress of their separation from all that was familiar in the Alpha quadrant. He deserved their help if not their pity, but there was no time for that now.
Without further word, Kes gently laid her hand on his arm and urged him toward the cave's entrance. He could tell from the depth of the darkness in the narrow passage that it was not yet daylight, but the soft stirring of animal sounds as they approached the mouth signaled dawn was near. They had to put as much distance between themselves and the encampment as possible while they still had the cover of darkness. They slipped through the edges of the strangely subdued and silent Kazon camp. He did not protest as Kes unerringly led them into the woods, remembering how well she navigated the brushy terrain, and he followed mindlessly, focusing all his remaining strength on placing one foot in front of the other and following her back. His hands and arms throbbed and each step jolted through him amplifying the pain, until simple walking became an excruciating challenge. It wasn't until she stopped that he realized he had been moving in a haze, and was shocked to know that he was completely disoriented. Swaying with the effort to remain standing, he finally leaned his back against a tree for support, cradling his broken hands in his midsection, he leaned forward, waiting for his head to clear.
Kes turned to face him, the cold light of morning filtering through the dense canopy of trees overhead. Her expression went from determined to grim, then she stooped, and when she stood again, he felt metal press against his throat and heard the soft hiss of a hypospray.
"What..." he started to protest. "No, Kes, no drugs. I need to think..."
"You're not thinking now," she said sternly. "You're barely walking. This will help with the pain and contains a mild stimulant." She looked down, then when she faced him again, she wore a guilty expression. "I should have done that last night," she confessed, "but I was afraid I might need it for morning."
"Last night?" Paris sounded dull and stupid, even to himself.
"Last night." Kes said again. "I had the hypo with me the whole time."
"Where?"
Kes smiled. "Trick a good friend taught me. In the top of my boot. Melchor never looked. I wanted to use it last night. You were in pain. But after what Melchor said," Kes looked away again, her expression distressed, "after what he threatened to do to you, I saved it. I was going to use it this morning. I wasn't going to let him or the Kazon, hurt you again."
Slowly, the meaning of her words sunk in. She had planned on loading him with enough pain killer to obliterate anything Melchor might have done to him physically. "Melchor's no fool. He would have known something was wrong and waited until the drug wore off." Paris had caught his breath, the throbbing in his hands was subsiding to a dull ache.
Kes said nothing.
"You weren't going to let him wait that long were you?" Paris wasn't sure if he felt anger, or a surge of gratitude, that she would go to such lengths for him. "You promised," he said simply.
"And I kept my promise. Nothing happened, Tom." Kes answered firmly, taking him by the arm and urging him to move again. "And nothing will if we get to that shuttle before he wakes up or the Kazon realize we're missing."
They were moving again, through the brush. The gray morning light had crept as far as the forest floor, lifting the gloom from the shadowed depths. They could see where they were going now and moved more quickly, and silently.
"There is one catch." Paris spoke to Kes' back. "If he's moved the shuttle."
"Lets hope he was either too confident or too paranoid for that. I think only he and I knew where the shuttle was. I believe he deliberately kept the information from the Kazon. With luck, he didn't move it, either because he never thought we would be a threat, or because he didn't want the Kazon following him to its location."
There was little more to say on the subject, and Paris strained his ears to detect any sounds that would indicate they were followed. When Melchor regained consciousness, he would go straight to the shuttle, there was no doubt of that. The remaining distance was covered in silence, and as they approached a small clearing the sun had peaked far enough above the horizon to brightly light the small meadow. Paris felt a rush of relief. Roughly covered with broken limbs for camouflage, the shuttle stood. Kes stopped him at the edge of the clearing, and they crouched for a few minutes to make certain there was no movement in the shuttle, then she edged cautiously toward the silent vehicle. Laying her hand on the locking mechanism, Paris heard both the hiss of the lock and the release of her breath at the same time. Then, he realized, he'd been holding his own breath as well.
Quickly, they clambered aboard, moving to the forward section. Then, a foot from the pilot's seat, Paris stopped, looked helplessly at his hands. "You'll have to fly us out, Kes."
"I know."
"Then let's get to it."
****