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Warning: Some violence in this chapter.

10

Malcolm was awake in an instant when the cell door clanked open. He hadn't slept much, only nodded off a few times into a restless doze. At some point, he had watched the first rays of the rising sun fill the room and paint the floor, the bars and the sleeping prisoners a pale red. Now, bright sunshine streamed in through the window, and all around him, people were slowly coming awake, blinking in confusion when they saw that the door to their cage had been opened.

A guard stepped inside; it was the man who had taken them to T'Lys on the previous evening. Over the Vulcan's shoulder hung a still body wrapped in a blanket.

Malcolm quickly got to his feet. "Trip!"

The guard tossed a few folded blankets on the floor and pointed his whip at Malcolm. "You. Make a bed for him."

"Is he..."

The guard moved his head impatiently. "I said make a bed. Now."

Malcolm picked up the blankets, shook them out and began to arrange them on the floor as a makeshift bed.

"Here." Kin'kur took one of the blankets, spreading it over the others like a top sheet. "He'll be more comfortable that way."

Malcolm nodded at her. "Thank you."

"Are you quite finished?" The guard pushed Kin'kur out of the way. "Help me," he ordered, and Malcolm got up again to assist the Vulcan. Together, they lowered the unconscious man onto the blankets, although the guard's expression left no doubt that he'd rather flung him down, and maybe given him a kick for good measure.

"Spirits, he stinks like a vralt." The Vulcan brushed over his uniform, as if to rid himself of the remaining odor. "The Healer said he should drink this," he pulled a flask out of his pocket and threw it to Malcolm, who caught it just in time. "Half of it today, the other half tomorrow. Don't forget."

"I won't," Malcolm said, and when the guard narrowed his eyes at him, reluctantly added, "S'haile."

"Make sure that you don't." The guard half turned on his way to the door. "The Healer will come by later to have a look at him. She said he's to be moved as little as possible."

The door slammed shut, startling the last of the sleepers awake. Malcolm knelt down next to Trip on the floor. The engineer looked better than he had the day before; while still quite pale, he was no longer drenched in sweat, and seemed to be asleep rather than unconscious. Malcolm noticed that he was no longer wearing his uniform, but a tunic and loose pants much like his own.

Covered with the blanket, Trip's feet had been hidden from sight so far. Now, Malcolm reached out and carefully folded back the thin fabric, not sure whether to be afraid of what he was going to find underneath.

Trip's left foot was swathed in white bandages, an aircast stabilizing the ankle. The great toe, formerly broken and grotesquely bent out of shape, looked almost normal except for the light splint that had been applied to it. Next to it, only two short, bandaged stumps were left where Trip's second and third toes had been.

Malcolm exhaled slowly. He had known that the two toes were beyond saving; even Phlox couldn't have done much except take them off. Still, it was unsettling, seeing only empty air where part of Trip's body had been. He wondered if anyone had bothered to tell Trip that he was about to lose his injured limbs. Not that it really mattered; even if they had told him, it wouldn't have registered with the engineer, caught in a feverish haze as he had been.

At least T'Lys had kept her promise and saved the great toe. If she hadn't, the amputation might have resulted in a permanent walking impairment.

"How did he get injured?" Kin'kur asked quietly. She was sitting next to him on the floor, hugging her knees. "Were you trying to run away?"

Malcolm shook his head. After talking to Jackson, he knew better than to mention the shuttle crash and simply replied, "It was an accident."

She nodded slowly. "Is that why you're here?"

"What do you mean?"

"Were you sold to Silak as a punishment for the accident?"

Malcolm shook his head again. "No, we... it's a long story."

She seemed to accept that he didn't want to talk about it. "I tried to run away," she said softly. "My friend Mathra... she was killed when they came after us."

"I'm sorry." Malcolm didn't know what else to say.

Kin'kur pulled her knees closer to her chest. "I'd rather be dead than go back to my T'Sai."

Malcolm was surprised by the sudden venom in her voice. Kin'kur had seemed so frightened to him, too intimidated to hate her Vulcan captors. He was slowly beginning to realize that in this world, every human was afraid, and every human hated, uncompromising and without exception.

"But she's going to take me back," Kin'kur said, avoiding his eyes. "When I was caught, she told them to keep me here for a few days. Said she wanted me to 'reflect on my irrational actions'." She let out a short, humorless laugh. "She did it so I'd be more afraid of her punishment when she comes to get me. But I'm not."

The way she said it, Malcolm knew she wasn't telling the truth. "What..." He trailed off, not sure he really wanted to know, or wanted to see the fear in the woman's eyes when she told him.

Kin'kur shrugged. "I don't know. She won't just whip me; she used to do that all the time. Maybe..."

Her eyes traveled to Trip's bandaged foot. It took Malcolm a moment to understand, and when he did, he suddenly felt sick. He couldn't conceive of a Vulcan doing what Kin'kur had implied her T'Sai might do.

The woman gave him a long look. "Don't worry about me," she said, and suddenly her tone was friendly again, almost concerned. "I'll be all right. She's not going to kill me. Now that Mathra is gone, she only has two servant maids left. She can't afford to lose me as well."

Malcolm merely nodded in reply. He knew so little of this world, and the more he learned, the more he was convinced that he couldn't live here, one way or the other. There had to have been some... point of transition, when they had passed into this universe. If this was a different universe. If he wasn't going crazy. But if he wasn't, if it was true, then there had to be a way to go back.

"Your friend's waking up." Kin'kur's voice and a slight movement on the blanketed bed returned him to the present. Trip's eyelids were twitching, and he was turning his head from side to side, moaning softly.

Malcolm took his shoulder. "Trip. Trip, it's me."

Like before, the translator relayed what he said in Vulcan, and Malcolm paused for a moment before he realized that with his own subdermal translator, Trip would receive the English version after all. Bloody insane way to communicate, he thought, then forgot all about it when Trip opened his eyes.

"...Malcolm?" His voice was little more than a whisper. "Wh... where...?"

"Try not to talk." Malcolm quickly got up and fetched a cup of water from the bucket before he returned to Trip's side. "Here, drink this."

With Kin'kur's help, he supported Trip so he could take a few sips from the cup. Trip swallowed obediently, pulling a face when Malcolm set the cup aside and helped lie him back down.

"Tastes like... shit."

Malcolm grinned a little. "It's all we've got right now, Commander. Except for your medicine, but I'd say we wait a while before you drink it."

Trip's eyes wandered over the bars, the other prisoners and finally back to Malcolm. "Malcolm, what is this? Where are we? What-" He touched his neck, eyes widening as his fingers found the small bump under his ear. "What's that?"

Malcolm almost wished Trip hadn't returned to full consciousness so quickly. He wasn't looking forward to being the bearer of bad news, especially since, under the current circumstances "bad news" was the understatement of the century.

"A subdermal translator. I've got one, too. It translates what you say into Vulcan."

Trip frowned. "Where are we?"

"A Vulcan slave camp. Trip..." He rested a hand on the other man's arm, continuing quietly. "I'm not sure what's going on here, but this is not the world we thought we'd landed on. I'm..."

I'm not sure it's the same universe. He bit down on the rest of the sentence. He didn't want to share his theory just yet; Trip wasn't going to believe any of this without seeing it for himself.

"Slave camp?" Trip tried to push himself up on his elbows. "What are you talkin' about?"

"These people... they're here because they ran away from their Vulcan masters."

"Not all," Kin'kur added. "Some are just waiting to be sold, like you."

Malcolm was sure that she hadn't meant to sound callous; to Kin'kur, this was life, and she was simply stating a fact.

Of course, her passing remark had a devastating effect on Trip. "What?"

"Trip..." Malcolm tightened his grip on the other man's shoulder. "I'll explain later, all right?" He glanced in Kin'kur's direction, indicating that they would talk when she wasn't listening.

"There's... something else." He paused. There was no gentle way of breaking the news, it seemed. "The Healer... she had a look at your foot while you were unconscious. She... you... well, you had surgery on your toes."

Trip lay very still. "They're off, aren't they?"

Malcolm only nodded.

Trip closed his eyes and let out a deep breath. Then, without looking at Malcolm, he slowly began to work himself into a sitting position. His movements weren't quite steady yet, and Malcolm silently helped him, one hand on Trip's back as a support. With fingers that weren't quite trembling, Trip pulled the blanket off his left foot.

"Aw shit." The words were whispered, and an expression of shock as much as anything else. Malcolm could sympathize; the sight of the two bandaged nubs was bad, a hole that gaped like two missing front teeth. Kin'kur had averted her eyes.

"The Healer... she seemed all right to me. I'm sure she did everything she could." Even as he said it, Malcolm knew it was a small consolation. Hesitantly, Trip reached out to touch the bandages, as if he wanted to rely on a sense other than his sight. His hand didn't quite make it, though, hovering nervously for a second or two before he pulled it back again.

"Feels strange, " he said softly. "It's like..." He trailed off.

"Like they're still there?" Malcolm finished the sentence for him.

Trip nodded. "Yeah. They still hurt."

Malcolm picked up the flask the guard had given him. "Here. The Healer said you should drink this. Maybe there's some sort of painkiller in it."

Trip eyed the small bottle suspiciously. "You sure?"

Malcolm nodded. He could understand why Trip wouldn't want to trust in anything the Vulcans had given them, but this, he hoped, would actually help, or T'Lys wouldn't have prescribed it. "Drink it. Half of it today, the other half tomorrow."

Trip unscrewed the flask and raised it to his lips. His face twitched in disgust at the taste, but he didn't put it down until he'd taken several long gulps. Malcolm watched him worriedly. He'd heard of phantom limb pain after an amputation, and also that it could become quite severe. Would a Vulcan take an irrational reaction of the human brain into consideration? He doubted even T'Lys would believe that a limb that was no longer part of the body could still hurt.

Trip screwed the flask shut and handed it back to Malcolm. "Thanks."

Malcolm held out the cup again. "Here. Might kill the taste."

Trip drank a few sips of water, sloshing them around in his mouth before he swallowed. Kin'kur took the cup when he was finished. "I'll get you some more."

As soon as she was gone, Trip grabbed Malcolm's arm. "Malcolm, what the hell's goin' on here? Who are these people?"

"I'm not sure." Malcolm spoke fast, lowering his voice so only Trip would be able to hear him. "There's some sort of settlement out there – the Jasif Colony, Kin'kur called it. That's her." He indicated the woman, who was scooping water out of the bucket, blond hair falling tousled into her face. "I talked to one of the other prisoners, and he told me that..." He paused, not sure how to put Jackson's story into a few words. "He said humans have been enslaved ever since the Eugenic Wars. Earth doesn't belong to us any longer, and-"

He broke off when Kin'kur returned. Smiling, she held the cup out to Trip. "Here you go."

"Thank you." Trip's eyes were still on Malcolm, "What-the-hell-are-you-talking-about" written all over his face. Malcolm wished Kin'kur would leave them alone so he could explain about Jackson, but he wasn't going to tell her so. He had noticed the loneliness in her eyes, the desperate wish for someone to talk to, even if it were two strangers she had never met before.

"So." She sat down next to Malcolm, hugged her knees to her chest and looked at Trip. "Feeling any better?"

Trip nodded slowly, and Malcolm was almost relieved to see a trace of the old Tucker sarcasm on the pale, strained face.

"Yeah," Trip said. "Just great."

True to her word, T'Lys came to check on Trip in the afternoon, but she wasn't alone. Silak followed her into the cell, two of his guards waiting by the door.

"You. Krintu." He pointed his whip at Malcolm. "Step outside."

"What-"

"Step outside. Now." The Vulcan raised the whip in an unmistakable threat. Malcolm held his eyes for another moment before he went over to the cell door, doing his best to appear calm. He had expected this to happen sooner or later, but, much like the time with the Suliban, inwardly his nerves were blank. And he had a feeling that this was going to be a lot worse than the time he'd been interrogated by Silik and his troops.

"What's goin' on?" Trip asked. Malcolm tensed, and was relieved when he heard the Healer's soft voice.

"Don't speak, Mazhiv. You should be resting."

Malcolm had no time to wonder about the name T'Lys had called Trip. One of Silak's guards grabbed his arm, roughly dragging him out of the cell.

"Move it, pau'kaluk!"

"Hey!" Trip pulled away from the Healer. "What are you doin'? Where are you taking him?"

Silak ignored him as if he hadn't spoken at all and waved at the guards to get moving. Malcolm stumbled along, his arm held in the guard's bruising grip. Furtive eyes followed him as he passed the rows of cells, and were quickly lowered if Silak or one of the guards happened to glance at the starer. Jackson, at least, didn't cower as the Vulcans went by. He stood at the very front of his cell, and held Malcolm's eyes until the guards led him out of sight.

As they stepped outside, Malcolm was blinded by the glare of the morning sun. Despite the early hour, the asphalted ground burned under the soles of his thin sandals. The hot air weighed on the yard like a heavy wool blanket.

"Over there," Silak ordered, and the guard resumed his brisk pace, Malcolm in tow. In a corner of the yard, several of the guards were gathered around a wooden post, sitting on the ground or leaning idly against a wall. They grinned when they saw him coming.

Malcolm couldn't take his eyes of the post. A pair of shackles dangled from it, and its sun-bleached wood was stained with dark spots... spots that had taken on a dull brown color, but had doubtlessly been bright red by the time they had first splattered on the wood.

"Take a good look, Krintu," Silak said next to his ear. "There are some questions I am going to ask you, and this-" he pointed at the blood-stained pole – "should convince you that it would be advisable to answer them to the best of your knowledge."

Some of the guards snickered, and Silak threw them a mildly irritated glance before turning back to Malcolm.

"Do you understand, slave?"

The word stirred something in Malcolm, and he forgot about the post for a moment. "I'm not a slave. And my name is Reed."

The guards went silent at that. Silak gave him a long look, his angular face devoid of any emotion.

"Fool," he said eventually. "You are my property now, and your name is as I choose it. Denying it is illogical."

He pushed him towards two of the guards. Malcolm tried to dodge their hands, but they caught him easily enough and manhandled him to the post. His arms were forced over his head, the shackles closed around his wrists. Blisteringly hot from the sun, the metal cuffs burned his skin, but Malcolm bit down hard on his lip, holding back any sound of pain. He couldn't deny that he was afraid, or more precisely, scared shitless, but he'd be damned if he let them see it.

A hand grabbed his hair, forced his head back. Silak was looking at him, one slanted eyebrow arching towards his hairline.

"Now tell me, Krintu... what is this?"

At first, Malcolm had no idea what the man was talking about. Then he saw a bundle of blue, dirt-stained fabric in the Vulcan's hand.

"That's my uniform."

Silak's mouth twitched in disbelief. "Your uniform?"

"Yes," Malcolm said.

"And why, do tell, would a pau'kaluk need a uniform? For your military parades, perhaps? Maybe as a dress uniform for your receptions?" The guards chuckled, but Silak didn't even smile. "Well?"

Malcolm thought quickly, desperately. He couldn't tell them about Enterprise - what if his theory was correct and there was some sort of transition point between the two universes? The Vulcans might decide that it was worth looking for; they might even find a way to cross the barrier, and then... he didn't even want to think about it.

"I am not going to ask you again, slave." Silak shoved the uniform in his face, pointing at the Enterprise insignia on the sleeve. "What is this? Why is it written in Terran letters?"

"I... I don't know," Malcolm said. "That was how the Captain wanted it."

"The Captain?"

Malcolm nodded, trying his best to sound both naive and scared. He wasn't sure Silak would buy it, after his previous displays of "illogical" rebellion, but it was the best he could do. "I don't know the species. My friend and I served aboard his vessel..."

"And he wanted you to wear a uniform with Terran insignia?" Silak's tone made it clear that he didn't believe a word of it.

Malcolm nodded again. "Yes. Their species looked a lot like humans, and he said he wanted everyone to know that we're... slaves." The word left a sour taste in his mouth.

Silak's eyebrow climbed higher. "This does not look like the uniform of a steward or maintenance worker, Krintu. You will not tell any more lies. The truth, now." He stepped closer to Malcolm, and suddenly there was emotion in the dark eyes; tightly controlled, yet still very present. "Were you part of a Terran rebel group?"

Malcolm didn't have to ask what would happen to a Terran rebel. "No," he said quickly, and as he hoped, convincingly. "No, we weren't."

Silak stared at him, searching his face. "We will see about that."

He stepped back and nodded at one of the guards. The next thing Malcolm knew, hands grabbed the collar of his tunic and ripped it apart, exposing his back. A knife appeared in his field of vision, slicing through the faded fabric of the sleeves until the tattered garment fell off entirely.

"The pants, too!" shouted one of the guards. Malcolm recognized the short-haired woman who had assisted in their capture. "Let's see his little pink ass!"

To Malcolm's mortification, the hands returned, grabbing his pants, and were about to pull them down when Silak spoke up in a sharp tone.

"Leave them on. We are not here for your entertainment."

The guard let go, quickly stepped back and out of the Zhel-lan's way. Silak ignored him and lifted the whip so Malcolm couldn't help but look at it. It was long and thin, made of twisted leather with a wooden handle. Malcolm found that he couldn't look away, even though he knew that Silak was doing this to intimidate him.

"I can see you haven't experienced this before," Silak said, his eyes flickering to Malcolm's bare back. "Unusual. You must have had a kind S'haile... or should I say, overly indulgent."

His eyes caught Malcolm's. "I realize that your kind isn't overburdened with intellectual capacity. The choice is quite simple, however. Tell me the truth, and you will go back to the holding pen unharmed. Continue lying, and you will suffer."

"I wasn't lying. We weren't part of a rebel group."

Silak's eyebrow twitched. "Very well then."

Malcolm closed his eyes. He wasn't going to scream. He'd survived the ocean, and he wasn't going to let these bastards get a glimpse of the coward who had almost drowned him out there.

Pain cut through him as the whip came down for the first time. He grunted, his bound hands clenched tightly into fists as if they would help him keep the scream inside. God, it hurt-

"Tell me the truth."

Smack. The force of the blow made him stumble against the pole.

"I... have told you-"

He broke off when another cut sliced through his back, ripping him apart. Don't scream, don't you dare-

"The truth."

"I have told you the truth!" He tried to shout it, but his voice broke and the rest of the sentence came out as a choked gasp. "We served on a space vessel, I don't remember the name! We're not rebels!"

The whip was brought down again, bringing a new sheet of pain, and this time Malcolm couldn't suppress a small whimper. Each new blow reverberated in his body, driving him against the post with the force of a battering ram.

Smack. Now there was blood trickling down his back.

Smack. He couldn't scream, there was no way he would-

"You are a fool, Krintu."

With an effort, Malcolm turned his head. His vision was blurring, and all he could see were Silak's face and the hand with the whip, ready to strike again.

"My name's... Malcolm Reed."

He had wanted it to come out defiantly, but it was only a hoarse whisper, almost a sob. Silak, of course, caught the words all the same, and something in his face changed, became hard and at the same time excited, the expression of a man who has found a challenge worthy of his time.

His voice was deceptively calm as he replied. "It will not be when I'm done with you, pau'kaluk."

You know he's right. Malcolm pushed the voice in his mind aside, hands balled into fists, steeling himself, he wasn't going to let them do this to him-

Silak raised the whip again. "The truth, now."

Sagged against the post, bleeding and trembling, Malcolm was aware that oblivion wouldn't come for a very long time.

TBC...

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