DEGUELLO - Chapter 7
by Trish Bennett
Kor eventually returned to call off his guards. Martina Girard watched with utter contempt as he circled the battered Captain, inspecting their brutal work. Kirk appeared only vaguely aware of the Commander's presence.
"Lesson Number Three, Captain," the Klingon said melodiously. "Dispense brief, intense punishment at periodic intervals. You must not allow your victim to become insensitive to the pain."
He watched the Captain in silence a moment as Kirk sagged against the restraints that held him upright. After several failed attempts, Kirk was finally able to regain his footing, though it was an unsteady footing at best.
When the Commander spoke again, he seemed enormously pleased with himself.
"Still, you must forgive their exuberance," he taunted. "They have so few opportunities for recreation."
Kirk did his best to steady himself. Try as he might, though, he could not mask the pain in his face, or his voice.
"Everyone...needs a hobby," he said hoarsely. Suddenly his eyes closed against the pain, and he was unable to suppress a moan.
"Tenacious to the last," Kor said with a nod of approval. He studied the Captain briefly before reaching up to release the shackles from the overhead niche. "You would have made an excellent Klingon, Captain. What a pity it is you persist in being so...human." He spat the last word distastefully.
The manacles snapped abruptly, and Kirk hit the floor with a grunting wheeze. He landed face down on the damp cavern floor, his wrists still bound securely together, gasping desperately for air.
Kor watched him writhe at his feet for several emotionless seconds before nudging Kirk's shoulder with the toe of his boot. The pressure rolled the Captain to his side, and he forced himself to look at his tormentor. His glare was filled with contempt.
The Klingon gazed back at him with mock remorse. "What a pity, indeed."
Without further comment, he stepped over Kirk and moved to the frightened Lieutenant. He slid his arm around her waist and pulled her tightly to him as he released her restraints with his free hand. Girard quivered at his touch, but with Kirk as an example, she did not look away.
"I would suggest," Kor said smoothly, "that you keep him awake. Otherwise my centurions will be forced to do so. Do you understand me?"
She nodded quickly, hoping it would satisfy the Klingon. Apparently it did not. His dark face hardened.
"Say it," he growled.
"Yes...I understand you."
"Good."
He held her for several more agonizing seconds before finally releasing her and heading for the cavern entrance.
Lieutenant Girard watched after him and was enormously relieved when the force field went back up between them. Only after he was gone did she realize she had been holding her breath.
The Captain's wrists were still shackled together, but for some reason Kor had released her restraints. Girard rubbed her arms in an effort to restore the circulation in them and finally turned her attention to the Captain.
He was lying on his side, his back to her, but she could tell he was still struggling to breathe. She knelt down beside him, almost afraid to touch him. She was not even sure that he was aware of her.
Suddenly she heard his faint voice, and she had to lean closer to hear him.
"Spock..." he said, almost in the tone of a whispered prayer. "Don't let him have my ship...don't let him..."
His body suddenly tensed in a convulsion of pain, and his last words were more of a gutteral moan.
Trying valiantly to control a threatening flow of tears, Girard placed a trembling hand on his shoulder.
"...Captain?"
He jumped slightly at her touch, but at least he seemed to be aware of her now. She was hesitant to move him, but she couldn't very well leave him like this, either. Girard slid her hand behind his neck, inhaled shakily, then gently rolled him to her, cradling his head just off the cavern floor.
The Captain cringed at the movement but seemed grateful for the assistance. As she peered into the handsome face, now scarred and bruised from abuse, she finally relented and allowed her tears to stream freely down her cheeks. She tried to brush his hair away from his face, but a single, stubborn lock remained falling down over his forehead.
Kirk's face was contorted in an effort to steady his breathing, and it was several minutes before he opened his eyes. When he was finally able to look at her, the Captain's expression transformed to one of concern. He raised his shackled hands to dry her tears.
"What's wrong?" he whispered. "Are you hurt?"
Girard wasn't sure whether to smile or sob. He was concerned about her? She decided to attempt a smile.
"No, Sir. I'm fine."
Kirk nodded with relief. "Good...good..." His eyes closed again, and when he finally looked back at her, there was a look of determination in the hazel eyes.
"Give me a hand, will you?" he said, making an unsuccessful attempt to rise.
"Captain, I..." she said warily, trying to keep him still. "I don't think that's such a good idea."
Kirk seemed to be growing stronger now, his strangled whispers slowly returning to his normal, commanding tone. She could tell, though, that speech was still an effort for him.
"I can do this with or without you, Lieutenant," he said. "Frankly, I'd appreciate the help."
Tenacious to the last.
She had never personally met the Captain until now. Her only prior knowledge of him before joining the Enterprise had been rumors through the galactic grapevine. She was beginning to realize, though, that truer words were probably never spoken.
"All right," she conceded. "But let's take it easy, okay?"
Girard eased him up to a sitting position, then gave him a moment to summon his strength. She looked into his pale face.
"Still okay?"
He nodded breathlessly, then closed his eyes in preparation. Girard slid her arm across his back and made certain she had a secure hold on him before she spoke again.
"We're going to try to stand. Are you ready?"
Another nod.
"Okay...here we go."
Kirk tried to help, but she practically had to drag him to his feet. She kept her hold on him until he had steadied himself and was able to stand nearly erect. Girard tentatively released him, paused briefly to make certain he was all right, and then stepped back to inspect him.
The Captain was deathly pale, and though the cavern in which they were imprisoned was uncomfortably cold, he appeared to be sweating. His breathing was shallow but steady, and he finally opened his eyes to look at her.
"Thanks," he said simply.
"You're welcome," she replied in a voice so calm that it surprised even her. "Now what?"
His voice was hushed now more for reasons of secrecy, she imagined, than physical necessity. Kirk's eyes surveyed their surroundings as he spoke.
"Finding a way out of here should probably be..."
But suddenly he stopped and fixed his gaze on something across the cavern floor. The Captain staggered slightly, and Girard moved quicky to steady him as he exhaled a mournful sigh.
"Captain, what is it?"
She turned her head to follow his gaze and immediately wished she hadn't. Girard turned quickly back to Kirk, but it was no use. The sight of Ensign Graham's corpse, his eyes open wide, was etched sickeningly in her mind.
"Lesson Number Four..." Kirk muttered softly.
Lieutenant Girard gazed into his eyes. There was a more profound sense of sadness in them now than she had seen since their capture. They were the eyes of a wounded child. It was obvious he felt the loss of a member of his crew more deeply than his own physical pain.
She wished there was something she could say, something she could do that would help ease his mind. But what could even begin to console a man who had suffered what this one had in so brief a time?
Suddenly she thought of something. It was a small thing, but it was all she had to offer him.
The Lieutenant moved slowly to kneel beside the body of Patrick Graham. She hesitated only a moment, then passed here hand lightly over his face to close his eyes. She gazed at him several moments through her tears, then pushed herself up and moved to rejoin the Captain.
His eyes were still trained on the Ensign's lifeless body.
"Thank you," he whispered sincerely.
Martina Girard was trying very hard not to cry, but it was becoming increasingly difficult. She exhaled a quivering breath.
"Captain...I'm frightened."
Kirk turned his head to look at her. In that flash of an instant, his entire demeanor changed.
"It's going to be all right, Lieutenant," he said, the new-found certainty in his voice reflecting in his eyes. "We'll get home. I swear it."
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Kor sat back in his chair in the makeshift operations center as he pondered the viewscreen before him.
"The good Captain is sentimental," he said aloud to no one in particular. "This could prove interesting."
"Commander," came a voice from behind him. "A transmission from High Command for you, Sir."
Kor waved toward the viewscreen. The image almost instantly dissolved, then reformed in the shape of a battle-scarred Klingon face.
"General Kalakh," Kor acknowledged. "All is proceeding according to plan. We have encountered no resistance."
"Kirk is dead, then?"
"Not yet, General," the Commander replied. "But soon."
The General gazed at him icily from the viewscreen. "Do not prolong it so far that you miss your opportunity, Commander," he warned. "What of the starship?"
"It has not yet crossed the Neutral Zone, General...but it will." Kor had no shred of doubt that they would come.
"Pray that you are right, Commander. The capture of that vessel will be the true test of this farcical treaty. The entire Klingon fleet is poised to move once the Enterprise is ours. You must not fail this mission."
"I will not accept failure, General."
Kalakh glared at him. "See that you do not, Commander. This transmission ends."
Kor stared at the darkened viewscreen for several moments before turning to the officer behind him.
"Signal Ketahl," he said firmly. "The Enterprise must be ours."
by Trish Bennett
Kor eventually returned to call off his guards. Martina Girard watched with utter contempt as he circled the battered Captain, inspecting their brutal work. Kirk appeared only vaguely aware of the Commander's presence.
"Lesson Number Three, Captain," the Klingon said melodiously. "Dispense brief, intense punishment at periodic intervals. You must not allow your victim to become insensitive to the pain."
He watched the Captain in silence a moment as Kirk sagged against the restraints that held him upright. After several failed attempts, Kirk was finally able to regain his footing, though it was an unsteady footing at best.
When the Commander spoke again, he seemed enormously pleased with himself.
"Still, you must forgive their exuberance," he taunted. "They have so few opportunities for recreation."
Kirk did his best to steady himself. Try as he might, though, he could not mask the pain in his face, or his voice.
"Everyone...needs a hobby," he said hoarsely. Suddenly his eyes closed against the pain, and he was unable to suppress a moan.
"Tenacious to the last," Kor said with a nod of approval. He studied the Captain briefly before reaching up to release the shackles from the overhead niche. "You would have made an excellent Klingon, Captain. What a pity it is you persist in being so...human." He spat the last word distastefully.
The manacles snapped abruptly, and Kirk hit the floor with a grunting wheeze. He landed face down on the damp cavern floor, his wrists still bound securely together, gasping desperately for air.
Kor watched him writhe at his feet for several emotionless seconds before nudging Kirk's shoulder with the toe of his boot. The pressure rolled the Captain to his side, and he forced himself to look at his tormentor. His glare was filled with contempt.
The Klingon gazed back at him with mock remorse. "What a pity, indeed."
Without further comment, he stepped over Kirk and moved to the frightened Lieutenant. He slid his arm around her waist and pulled her tightly to him as he released her restraints with his free hand. Girard quivered at his touch, but with Kirk as an example, she did not look away.
"I would suggest," Kor said smoothly, "that you keep him awake. Otherwise my centurions will be forced to do so. Do you understand me?"
She nodded quickly, hoping it would satisfy the Klingon. Apparently it did not. His dark face hardened.
"Say it," he growled.
"Yes...I understand you."
"Good."
He held her for several more agonizing seconds before finally releasing her and heading for the cavern entrance.
Lieutenant Girard watched after him and was enormously relieved when the force field went back up between them. Only after he was gone did she realize she had been holding her breath.
The Captain's wrists were still shackled together, but for some reason Kor had released her restraints. Girard rubbed her arms in an effort to restore the circulation in them and finally turned her attention to the Captain.
He was lying on his side, his back to her, but she could tell he was still struggling to breathe. She knelt down beside him, almost afraid to touch him. She was not even sure that he was aware of her.
Suddenly she heard his faint voice, and she had to lean closer to hear him.
"Spock..." he said, almost in the tone of a whispered prayer. "Don't let him have my ship...don't let him..."
His body suddenly tensed in a convulsion of pain, and his last words were more of a gutteral moan.
Trying valiantly to control a threatening flow of tears, Girard placed a trembling hand on his shoulder.
"...Captain?"
He jumped slightly at her touch, but at least he seemed to be aware of her now. She was hesitant to move him, but she couldn't very well leave him like this, either. Girard slid her hand behind his neck, inhaled shakily, then gently rolled him to her, cradling his head just off the cavern floor.
The Captain cringed at the movement but seemed grateful for the assistance. As she peered into the handsome face, now scarred and bruised from abuse, she finally relented and allowed her tears to stream freely down her cheeks. She tried to brush his hair away from his face, but a single, stubborn lock remained falling down over his forehead.
Kirk's face was contorted in an effort to steady his breathing, and it was several minutes before he opened his eyes. When he was finally able to look at her, the Captain's expression transformed to one of concern. He raised his shackled hands to dry her tears.
"What's wrong?" he whispered. "Are you hurt?"
Girard wasn't sure whether to smile or sob. He was concerned about her? She decided to attempt a smile.
"No, Sir. I'm fine."
Kirk nodded with relief. "Good...good..." His eyes closed again, and when he finally looked back at her, there was a look of determination in the hazel eyes.
"Give me a hand, will you?" he said, making an unsuccessful attempt to rise.
"Captain, I..." she said warily, trying to keep him still. "I don't think that's such a good idea."
Kirk seemed to be growing stronger now, his strangled whispers slowly returning to his normal, commanding tone. She could tell, though, that speech was still an effort for him.
"I can do this with or without you, Lieutenant," he said. "Frankly, I'd appreciate the help."
Tenacious to the last.
She had never personally met the Captain until now. Her only prior knowledge of him before joining the Enterprise had been rumors through the galactic grapevine. She was beginning to realize, though, that truer words were probably never spoken.
"All right," she conceded. "But let's take it easy, okay?"
Girard eased him up to a sitting position, then gave him a moment to summon his strength. She looked into his pale face.
"Still okay?"
He nodded breathlessly, then closed his eyes in preparation. Girard slid her arm across his back and made certain she had a secure hold on him before she spoke again.
"We're going to try to stand. Are you ready?"
Another nod.
"Okay...here we go."
Kirk tried to help, but she practically had to drag him to his feet. She kept her hold on him until he had steadied himself and was able to stand nearly erect. Girard tentatively released him, paused briefly to make certain he was all right, and then stepped back to inspect him.
The Captain was deathly pale, and though the cavern in which they were imprisoned was uncomfortably cold, he appeared to be sweating. His breathing was shallow but steady, and he finally opened his eyes to look at her.
"Thanks," he said simply.
"You're welcome," she replied in a voice so calm that it surprised even her. "Now what?"
His voice was hushed now more for reasons of secrecy, she imagined, than physical necessity. Kirk's eyes surveyed their surroundings as he spoke.
"Finding a way out of here should probably be..."
But suddenly he stopped and fixed his gaze on something across the cavern floor. The Captain staggered slightly, and Girard moved quicky to steady him as he exhaled a mournful sigh.
"Captain, what is it?"
She turned her head to follow his gaze and immediately wished she hadn't. Girard turned quickly back to Kirk, but it was no use. The sight of Ensign Graham's corpse, his eyes open wide, was etched sickeningly in her mind.
"Lesson Number Four..." Kirk muttered softly.
Lieutenant Girard gazed into his eyes. There was a more profound sense of sadness in them now than she had seen since their capture. They were the eyes of a wounded child. It was obvious he felt the loss of a member of his crew more deeply than his own physical pain.
She wished there was something she could say, something she could do that would help ease his mind. But what could even begin to console a man who had suffered what this one had in so brief a time?
Suddenly she thought of something. It was a small thing, but it was all she had to offer him.
The Lieutenant moved slowly to kneel beside the body of Patrick Graham. She hesitated only a moment, then passed here hand lightly over his face to close his eyes. She gazed at him several moments through her tears, then pushed herself up and moved to rejoin the Captain.
His eyes were still trained on the Ensign's lifeless body.
"Thank you," he whispered sincerely.
Martina Girard was trying very hard not to cry, but it was becoming increasingly difficult. She exhaled a quivering breath.
"Captain...I'm frightened."
Kirk turned his head to look at her. In that flash of an instant, his entire demeanor changed.
"It's going to be all right, Lieutenant," he said, the new-found certainty in his voice reflecting in his eyes. "We'll get home. I swear it."
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Kor sat back in his chair in the makeshift operations center as he pondered the viewscreen before him.
"The good Captain is sentimental," he said aloud to no one in particular. "This could prove interesting."
"Commander," came a voice from behind him. "A transmission from High Command for you, Sir."
Kor waved toward the viewscreen. The image almost instantly dissolved, then reformed in the shape of a battle-scarred Klingon face.
"General Kalakh," Kor acknowledged. "All is proceeding according to plan. We have encountered no resistance."
"Kirk is dead, then?"
"Not yet, General," the Commander replied. "But soon."
The General gazed at him icily from the viewscreen. "Do not prolong it so far that you miss your opportunity, Commander," he warned. "What of the starship?"
"It has not yet crossed the Neutral Zone, General...but it will." Kor had no shred of doubt that they would come.
"Pray that you are right, Commander. The capture of that vessel will be the true test of this farcical treaty. The entire Klingon fleet is poised to move once the Enterprise is ours. You must not fail this mission."
"I will not accept failure, General."
Kalakh glared at him. "See that you do not, Commander. This transmission ends."
Kor stared at the darkened viewscreen for several moments before turning to the officer behind him.
"Signal Ketahl," he said firmly. "The Enterprise must be ours."