Chapter 2
Consequences of Life
*~*~*~*~*
The girl paused a moment. She closed her eyes as the water she carried sloshed in its buckets. They were balanced on either end of the staff across her shoulders, making them easier to bear, but the load was still heavy.
She shifted her weight onto her strong left leg as she set the buckets down, her clubfoot aching. Her right leg was crooked, her ankle twisted and her foot scarred and bent. She had been crippled from birth.
She was small - perhaps more so than her age would warrant - and thin from lack of food. But for her deformity and the cruelty with which she had been treated, the girl was very lovely.
Her skin was smooth and rosy, unlike that of many who lived beneath Fortune's glaring double suns, and wisps of dark, wavy hair framed her face. Her lips were full and her pale green eyes were heavy-lidded under a thick black fringe of lashes. Her nose was faintly ridged, her ears sharply pointed, hinting at a considerably diverse heritage. Only her disfigured leg marred her beauty, but perhaps this made her lucky.
A healthy, beautiful girl could fare far worse than one deformed or ugly. In this society, her imperfection was also her security.
"Girl!" A man's rough voice carried from the hut up ahead back to the dirt path where she stood. "Girl! Where is my water! If my pots are ruined...!" He let the threat trail off.
The girl hoisted the staff onto her shoulders and began to walk as quickly as she dared and as steadily as she could.
But as she neared the adobe building her bare foot caught a stone and she fell, taking the buckets with her. They crashed to the ground and landed on a newly-glazed pot. The pot exploded into shards and the water soaked into the thirsty earth, leaving only steam behind. Her master came rushing out of the house.
"You clumsy slave, what have you done now!?"
The huge Cardassian stopped at the door, his face turning a terrifying shade of purple. He yanked the girl off the floor and struck her face with the back of his hand. The girl's vision clouded; the sharp tang of blood was on her lips.
"This pot was newly made! Do you know what you have cost me?" He struck her again, so hard she felt her ears ring. The Cardassian lifted her into the air by the leather slave collar round her neck and shook her violently.
"That pot took me three days to make! And you destroyed it in a second!" He hurled her against the wall of the courtyard where she landed with a thump. "We'll see how clumsy you are after a week of no food!" He roared, then turned on his heel and disappeared inside.
The girl could barely see. She knew through the haze that clouded her mind that none of her bones were broken. She had been lucky. Though her ribs would be terribly bruised, there were no serious injuries.
A moan escaped her lips as she pulled her clubfoot from beneath her. Her master would be back soon, she knew, and most likely in no better a mood. Until he did, she would concentrate her energies on healing herself. She would live. That was all she could hope for.
*****
Spock stretched his lanky body, feeling his skin tighten under the wonderful warmth of Fortune's twin suns. F-gamma-2, informally known as Fortune, was on the border of the Cardassian and Federation spaces, and had been colonized by each.
The dry, unforgiving heat reminded Spock of his home planet. While his friends grumbled and stripped down to their undershirts, he was quite comfortable. He spent most of his time on the Enterprise freezing cold, except when he was in his quarters, which were a balmy 95 degrees.
He did not understand why his crewmates complained. Here he felt like a lizard shedding its skin. Like the rest of his fellows, he wore light pants and a short-sleeved shirt, but not to cool down, only to feel the warmth of the suns on his bare skin.
Whatever else Fortune may or may not be, it was certainly a comfortable planet for a Vulcan.
"And they say Hell is hot," McCoy grumbled from Spock's left.
"Not as hot as Fortune," Kirk answered. "I feel like I'm melting."
The Enterprise crew was on this dry, sweltering cesspool of criminal activities for one reason only - the ship was in dire need of repairs. It was dry-docked, receiving a tune-up, and the crew had taken this opportunity to get out and 'stretch their legs'.
Uhura and her friends had gone shopping in the marketplace and Sulu and Chekov had made a beeline to the nearest bar, planning to drink themselves into oblivion. The three senior officers were content to wander the sun- baked plaza, drinking in the sights and sounds.
Fortune was a refuge for people of all races and walks of life. Ferengi merchants bought and sold, Bajoran minstrels played a lively tune on the street corner, and dirty children raced half-naked through the walkways, playing the universally understood game of tag. Andorians and Klingons settled their differences with their fists as a Romulan metal-smith beat a lump of carbonite into a sword.
The air was thick with languages, all overlapping and intertwined. Obscenities were screamed in Hebitian, gossip was traded in Standard, and a Yridian drinking song floated out of a nearby tavern. Spock fought the instinct to cover his ears. The noise nearly overwhelmed his acute sense of hearing.
The three friends walked on to the end of the boulevard where the bazaar's noises were less overpowering and sat underneath a shade tree, munching on juicy passion-fruit.
Spock had just closed his eyes, intent on enjoying the welcome heat, when he heard something that caused them to snap open again. He listened carefully and this time was sure of what he'd heard - the hoarse moaning of a child in terrible pain.
"Jim. Can you hear that?" he asked his friend. Kirk, too, listened closely.
"I hear something. Sounds like a kitten crying."
"I do not believe it is a kitten. Shall we investigate?" the Vulcan asked.
McCoy jumped to his feet. "Maybe this kitten of yours will take us somewhere cool," he said, following his friends toward a group of houses at the end of the road.
"I think you have come to a wrong conclusion," Spock remarked as they followed the dirt road around a corner and towards the mud-brick fence of the last hut. "My sense of hearing is sharper than either of yours, and I do not believe that the sound belonged to a kitten. It more closely resemble the cry of a -"
All three men stopped still in their tracks as the courtyard of the house unfolded before them. "A child?" Jim finished quietly. "Yes," Spock affirmed, while McCoy gaped silently.
The being in question was slumped against the adobe wall. Her clothing - a half-sleeved shift that just covered her knees - was dirty and torn, and the skin that was visible was mottled with bruises. Bones rushed forward, pulling out his med scanner.
"My God," he exclaimed, reading the screen. "She's nearly dead! We've got to get her back to the ship!"
Just then, the Cardassian stepped out of his house.
"Who's there?" he asked suspiciously in Hebitian. Seeing the doctor, he switched to Standard. "You! Get away from my slave!"
Kirk frowned. "Slave? I didn't know slavery was legal on Federation planets."
The Cardassian laughed. "Everything's legal on Fortune, outsider. Now what are you doing on my property?"
"We heard your...slave crying and came to investigate. We thought there might be trouble." Kirk kept his demeanor calm but casually laid his hand on his phaser. Beside him Spock did the same.
The big man laughed. "The only trouble here is that girl," he said, waving a hand at the figure by which McCoy crouched, taking readings on his scanner. "She's a cripple, can't do a damn thing right. She's clumsy as an ox."
"What are you going to do with her?" McCoy asked with the pretense of friendship. "She seems nearly useless."
The Cardassian shrugged, eager to talk now that he saw the men as no threat. "I figure I'll sell her to the coal mines, or maybe to a breeder. She'd be perfect but for her leg. As it is-"
"I will buy her." Three heads turned to stare at Spock. A fourth, with unfocused eyes, lifted to see him as well.
"You want to buy this cripple?" Spock nodded as an answer to the man's question. "Well, alright, though I don't know what use she could be. Let me get her papers." He disappeared into the hut, and came back with a few sheets of glyph-paper.
Spock handed the man a bag of credit-chips, which he stared at greedily. The Vulcan accepted the papers and then joined the doctor by the wall.
"If you would be so kind as to hold these for me..." he murmured, handing the papers to Bones as he scooped the girl into his arms. Kirk, still in shock, pulled out his comm link.
"Scotty, three to beam directly to sick bay. Energize."
"Aye aye, captain." In a blinding flash of light, they were gone.
* The Cardassian chuckled as they dematerialized. The Vulcan had given him 18 credits - more than the price of a healthy, full-grown male, much less that of a crippled girl! She had brought him some luck, after all.
Consequences of Life
*~*~*~*~*
The girl paused a moment. She closed her eyes as the water she carried sloshed in its buckets. They were balanced on either end of the staff across her shoulders, making them easier to bear, but the load was still heavy.
She shifted her weight onto her strong left leg as she set the buckets down, her clubfoot aching. Her right leg was crooked, her ankle twisted and her foot scarred and bent. She had been crippled from birth.
She was small - perhaps more so than her age would warrant - and thin from lack of food. But for her deformity and the cruelty with which she had been treated, the girl was very lovely.
Her skin was smooth and rosy, unlike that of many who lived beneath Fortune's glaring double suns, and wisps of dark, wavy hair framed her face. Her lips were full and her pale green eyes were heavy-lidded under a thick black fringe of lashes. Her nose was faintly ridged, her ears sharply pointed, hinting at a considerably diverse heritage. Only her disfigured leg marred her beauty, but perhaps this made her lucky.
A healthy, beautiful girl could fare far worse than one deformed or ugly. In this society, her imperfection was also her security.
"Girl!" A man's rough voice carried from the hut up ahead back to the dirt path where she stood. "Girl! Where is my water! If my pots are ruined...!" He let the threat trail off.
The girl hoisted the staff onto her shoulders and began to walk as quickly as she dared and as steadily as she could.
But as she neared the adobe building her bare foot caught a stone and she fell, taking the buckets with her. They crashed to the ground and landed on a newly-glazed pot. The pot exploded into shards and the water soaked into the thirsty earth, leaving only steam behind. Her master came rushing out of the house.
"You clumsy slave, what have you done now!?"
The huge Cardassian stopped at the door, his face turning a terrifying shade of purple. He yanked the girl off the floor and struck her face with the back of his hand. The girl's vision clouded; the sharp tang of blood was on her lips.
"This pot was newly made! Do you know what you have cost me?" He struck her again, so hard she felt her ears ring. The Cardassian lifted her into the air by the leather slave collar round her neck and shook her violently.
"That pot took me three days to make! And you destroyed it in a second!" He hurled her against the wall of the courtyard where she landed with a thump. "We'll see how clumsy you are after a week of no food!" He roared, then turned on his heel and disappeared inside.
The girl could barely see. She knew through the haze that clouded her mind that none of her bones were broken. She had been lucky. Though her ribs would be terribly bruised, there were no serious injuries.
A moan escaped her lips as she pulled her clubfoot from beneath her. Her master would be back soon, she knew, and most likely in no better a mood. Until he did, she would concentrate her energies on healing herself. She would live. That was all she could hope for.
*****
Spock stretched his lanky body, feeling his skin tighten under the wonderful warmth of Fortune's twin suns. F-gamma-2, informally known as Fortune, was on the border of the Cardassian and Federation spaces, and had been colonized by each.
The dry, unforgiving heat reminded Spock of his home planet. While his friends grumbled and stripped down to their undershirts, he was quite comfortable. He spent most of his time on the Enterprise freezing cold, except when he was in his quarters, which were a balmy 95 degrees.
He did not understand why his crewmates complained. Here he felt like a lizard shedding its skin. Like the rest of his fellows, he wore light pants and a short-sleeved shirt, but not to cool down, only to feel the warmth of the suns on his bare skin.
Whatever else Fortune may or may not be, it was certainly a comfortable planet for a Vulcan.
"And they say Hell is hot," McCoy grumbled from Spock's left.
"Not as hot as Fortune," Kirk answered. "I feel like I'm melting."
The Enterprise crew was on this dry, sweltering cesspool of criminal activities for one reason only - the ship was in dire need of repairs. It was dry-docked, receiving a tune-up, and the crew had taken this opportunity to get out and 'stretch their legs'.
Uhura and her friends had gone shopping in the marketplace and Sulu and Chekov had made a beeline to the nearest bar, planning to drink themselves into oblivion. The three senior officers were content to wander the sun- baked plaza, drinking in the sights and sounds.
Fortune was a refuge for people of all races and walks of life. Ferengi merchants bought and sold, Bajoran minstrels played a lively tune on the street corner, and dirty children raced half-naked through the walkways, playing the universally understood game of tag. Andorians and Klingons settled their differences with their fists as a Romulan metal-smith beat a lump of carbonite into a sword.
The air was thick with languages, all overlapping and intertwined. Obscenities were screamed in Hebitian, gossip was traded in Standard, and a Yridian drinking song floated out of a nearby tavern. Spock fought the instinct to cover his ears. The noise nearly overwhelmed his acute sense of hearing.
The three friends walked on to the end of the boulevard where the bazaar's noises were less overpowering and sat underneath a shade tree, munching on juicy passion-fruit.
Spock had just closed his eyes, intent on enjoying the welcome heat, when he heard something that caused them to snap open again. He listened carefully and this time was sure of what he'd heard - the hoarse moaning of a child in terrible pain.
"Jim. Can you hear that?" he asked his friend. Kirk, too, listened closely.
"I hear something. Sounds like a kitten crying."
"I do not believe it is a kitten. Shall we investigate?" the Vulcan asked.
McCoy jumped to his feet. "Maybe this kitten of yours will take us somewhere cool," he said, following his friends toward a group of houses at the end of the road.
"I think you have come to a wrong conclusion," Spock remarked as they followed the dirt road around a corner and towards the mud-brick fence of the last hut. "My sense of hearing is sharper than either of yours, and I do not believe that the sound belonged to a kitten. It more closely resemble the cry of a -"
All three men stopped still in their tracks as the courtyard of the house unfolded before them. "A child?" Jim finished quietly. "Yes," Spock affirmed, while McCoy gaped silently.
The being in question was slumped against the adobe wall. Her clothing - a half-sleeved shift that just covered her knees - was dirty and torn, and the skin that was visible was mottled with bruises. Bones rushed forward, pulling out his med scanner.
"My God," he exclaimed, reading the screen. "She's nearly dead! We've got to get her back to the ship!"
Just then, the Cardassian stepped out of his house.
"Who's there?" he asked suspiciously in Hebitian. Seeing the doctor, he switched to Standard. "You! Get away from my slave!"
Kirk frowned. "Slave? I didn't know slavery was legal on Federation planets."
The Cardassian laughed. "Everything's legal on Fortune, outsider. Now what are you doing on my property?"
"We heard your...slave crying and came to investigate. We thought there might be trouble." Kirk kept his demeanor calm but casually laid his hand on his phaser. Beside him Spock did the same.
The big man laughed. "The only trouble here is that girl," he said, waving a hand at the figure by which McCoy crouched, taking readings on his scanner. "She's a cripple, can't do a damn thing right. She's clumsy as an ox."
"What are you going to do with her?" McCoy asked with the pretense of friendship. "She seems nearly useless."
The Cardassian shrugged, eager to talk now that he saw the men as no threat. "I figure I'll sell her to the coal mines, or maybe to a breeder. She'd be perfect but for her leg. As it is-"
"I will buy her." Three heads turned to stare at Spock. A fourth, with unfocused eyes, lifted to see him as well.
"You want to buy this cripple?" Spock nodded as an answer to the man's question. "Well, alright, though I don't know what use she could be. Let me get her papers." He disappeared into the hut, and came back with a few sheets of glyph-paper.
Spock handed the man a bag of credit-chips, which he stared at greedily. The Vulcan accepted the papers and then joined the doctor by the wall.
"If you would be so kind as to hold these for me..." he murmured, handing the papers to Bones as he scooped the girl into his arms. Kirk, still in shock, pulled out his comm link.
"Scotty, three to beam directly to sick bay. Energize."
"Aye aye, captain." In a blinding flash of light, they were gone.
* The Cardassian chuckled as they dematerialized. The Vulcan had given him 18 credits - more than the price of a healthy, full-grown male, much less that of a crippled girl! She had brought him some luck, after all.