Chapter Six:

Spock slept badly, his dreams full of the terror that would come as world after world was stripped of all life. He woke with a start, backbone damp with the sweat of dread. Renewed pain in his wounds and apprehension made further sleep impossible.

Keetah was swiftly at his side, kneeling to raise his head, another cup of that noxious brew held to his lips. Spock drank, observing as she curled up in her own furs, instantly asleep. When he shifted restlessly, trying to find a comfortable position, the dark eyes flashed open, regarded him for a moment, and drooped shut again. She appeared to have the ability to sleep as easily and lightly as a cat waking with the same speed and alertness - an enviable trait

Untroubled by doubts, the plan she had conceived was straightforward and, he had to concede reluctantly, quite logical. Coming to sit Indian-style beside his rude bed, she had drawn a simple map in the dirt at her feet, explaining what she intended to do – with or without his help. It needed caution, she admitted readily when he voiced his reservations. There were sentries posted around the garrison, scouting parties on powered sleds, the constant menace of the interceptors patrolling the skies.

Whatever the risks they must be faced. A heavily armed freighter would arrive to collect the fungus, and it could not be permitted to reach its destination. Spock mulled the problem over; trying to put himself in the place of the Klingons, assess how they would behave. He concluded that greed might well be their vulnerable point. The freighter would not leave orbit with its holds barely full – logically it would wait until all the fungus had been harvested.

Keetah agreed with suspicious promptness, adding blandly, "If my information is correct, both the Vulcan supply ship and the Klingon freighter are due at approximately the same time. Perhaps your Enterprise also. An interesting meeting for all parties."

Both eyebrows rose. She appeared to be taking the prospect with distressing flippancy and lightness.

"You are Indian?" Spock asked, even his present worries unable to subdue his avid curiosity. It could explain much he now found baffling about her.

"Apache," Keetah said shortly, then relented. Few white-eyes could tell Apache from Navajo or Ute, much less tell one Indian from another.

Expecting more from a Vulcan was childish. She lifted her head proudly, A direct descendant of the warriors who once raided across half a world. I specialize in hibernation and estivation; they offer many advantages to hypothermic surgery, free-fall surgery, some kinds of mental illness. I have been with the team for almost four years now. My home is on Mistai'ai. Do you know if it?"

"A class 'M' planet in the Orion sector, colonized by a mixed group of North Amerindians approximately 289.745 years ago. Principal exports –dilithium crystals, light metals, drugs, spices, hand-made jewelry, emergency survival equipment, and high–precision medical instruments."

Keetah stared at him in quickly hidden amazement. Every Vulcan she had ever met was quite overpoweringly well informed, but that one of them should know of an obscure human planet was in all truth unusual.

"The Federation has been granted the right to maintain outposts on the four largest continents. These are permitted on the firm understanding that no attempts to interfere in the domestic and internal affairs of Mistai'ai will be undertaken."

"It is so. Like Vulcan, my world is harsh and cruel; death stalks the unwary. We no longer war with the other Nations or the Pinda-lick-o-yi but to survive we must relearn the ways of our forebears. All the Nations have done thus. The learning came hard, so terribly hard, and the Ah-ni-zahni – the ancient ones of my people – called unceasingly. There was much sorrow in the Rancheria, and now Apache ride always with the war-lance at hand, that our little ones not go down under rending claws and fangs. We – all the Nations – live in harmony with nature and we do not wish any interference. Those who desire Federation training and skills may go to one of the outposts. Few of us so choose."

"You were one of those few?" To some small degree, he could understand the harsh necessities enforced by a desert existence, having undergone a similar experience, even if he could not approve of the methods.

"It is so. I trained on Sigma Draconis and joined the team on Alpha 177. We were transferred here two years ago."

"You have never been to Earth?" Now that Spock found surprising. In his experience, humans were singularly uncontrolled when it came to sentiment and nostalgia.

"It is Keet-e-wahn-gah, a forbidden place. Centuries ago our lands were wrested from us, our people pushed to the brink of extinction. Then came Mistai-ai, and we left the world that had given us birth. The Apache, along with the Navajo, the Sioux and Kowa, what was left of the Comanche, and Cheyenne, the Shoshone, a few Arapahoe. Life is a precious gift on my world, but it is better than the reservations, and we will never go back."

A tightness gathered in her throat, unbearable longing for her home and family, and she sat brooding for a moment. Then she jerked herself out of the mood and added softly, "Now, I hunt and kill Klingons."

"Indeed."

Again his disapproval was icy, his stare expressionless, enough to daunt even the strongest. Sirak was also an expert in that direction, Keetah thought with an inward smile as various incidents flitted quickly across her mind. Though he had never condemned; always there had been respect, if not understanding.

"With those?" Spock gestured at the primitive weaponry. His arm and chest ablaze as he moved, he controlled the pain, little energy or inclination left to argue absurdities.

"With those," she agreed levelly. Spock wished fleetingly that she would stop repeating everything he said.

"Klingons are not dobe'-gusndhe-he – invulnerable. A Klingon who has fallen down a crevasse and broken his neck is careless. A Klingon clawed to death by an animal is unfortunate. But a Klingon with the marks of a Federation weapon on him is a survivor to be hunted ruthlessly. My 'primitive' weapons can be made to serve many purposed is one is traine din their use…as I am."

Spock looked at her in silence. Apache. He had read about them. Nor could he deny that they had little hope of reaching the subspace radio, let alone getting away safely – though for him that was a desirable, but not entirely necessary, outcome.

"I estimate the odds of complete success to be approximately 5482 to one. That is of course, taking our surprise factor into consideration."

Keetah understood his reluctance, knowing that killing came hared to any Vulcan. And Spock, who was somehow – different – seemed doubly to dislike the idea. She knew then that it was time to apply pressure. Such tactics were an old, old story to her raider ancestors, and Spock was doubly vulnerable. Hating herself for the assault on his integrity, his Vulcan beliefs, she made herself say the words without emotion, coldly.

"If the odds are not reduced, the Enterprise and the Vulcan supply ship will be destroyed – by the garrison here or the Klingon freighter, which will be as heavily armed. On the other hand, perhaps they may wish to take prisoners. It is in my mind that there is little on Hiemal to amuse or occupy Klingons."

Spock flinched at the cold assessment of an all too likely outcome. Klingons bored with guard duties and collecting fungus would be only too eager to seek amusements to alleviate the monotony. The thought of James Kirk in their hands was one he found quite remarkably unattractive. Nor did he care for the idea of an unknown number of Vulcans in the same straits.

"It is the only way, Mr. Spock."

"Possibly," Spock's eyes swept Keetah in veiled distaste. "It seems I must rely on your expertise in such matters

Shaken, wondering why she found his aversion suddenly so – painful – she studied her hands as if she had never seen such objects before. "In all truth, I have killed these past weeks as I have never killed in my life before. The Rancheria, clan-kin, must survive. I failed in my duty, did not protect…" She stopped abruptly, finding herself in forbidden territory at thought of those she had lost.

She jerked herself out of the mood with an effort. "It is late, and you must be weary. We will talk again of these things when you have rested…"

O0o

Looking back, Spock was to remember his slow recuperation as a time of discovery: of Keetah, but also of himself, his motives, and beliefs. He was Vulcan, taught to revere all life, not just the good or beautiful or virtuous, but all life – which, unfortunately or not, included the Klingons. Yet he was also an officer in Star Fleet, trained in the martial arts, expected to use that training when the need arose. It was not a new dilemma. He had long since come to the conclusion that compromise was the only logical solution. He could and would kill, but only when all other avenues had been explored and found wanting.

The same rules did not bind Keetah; the same logic did not apply. Whatever debt she felt she must settle made her quite ruthless where the Klingons were concerned. Spock was curious, but to ask why was more than difficult, might well bring in exchange an equally difficult question. Learning that the team was dead had left its mark – not least the death of Sirak, far more than just the distant cousin he had spoken of to Captain Kirk.

Sirak - the greatest Synthesist Vulcan had ever produced - life long friend and companion of Spock's father and, from Spock's childhood, a staunch and unwavering support. Sirak, and T'Neah's son Sorel, was the only one of Spock's contemporaries who had never judged or condemned. And always there was calm acceptance from Sirak and T'Neah during their infrequent stays on Vulcan without the desperate need to please that existed between his own father - none of the despair when failure threatened, as it so often did.

T'Neah had died of an unknown disease many years ago, and Sirak no longer came back to Vulcan. Married, absorbed in his home and work, Sorel had gently dissolved the old boyhood relationship. Only Sirak continued to stay in touch, standing firmly behind Spock's decision to seek acceptance and a place where he could belong in Star Fleet. Their work on strange new worlds made communications rare but nonetheless valued. Now Sirak was dead – that anguished death cry in Spock's mind no malaise of too many missions, as real as the death of the starship Defiant. Though somehow he had thought, expected – surely the impact of Sirak's death must outweigh six Vulcans he knew by name only, had never met.

In some small, indefinable way, his expression must have must have altered, for Spock looked up to find Keetah studying him curiously. With innate courtesy, her eyelids dropped, unwilling to trespass on his privacy. He'd noted that quick perception before, so rare among humans. It intrigued and fascinated him, as did so many things about her, though it did little or nothing to lessen the antipathy he felt for her grisly plans.

Keetah was not without doubts of her own. Spock puzzled and confused her. He looked Vulcan, acted Vulcan, yet there was something …different about him, something she could not name. Disturbed by it, she was still drawn to him. An ancient legend slipped into her mind. Mba'a, the coyote, spirit to her people when they rode and ranged freely across the Americas; Ga'an – spirits – sometimes for food, sometimes not, but always there, a constant irritation. When he learned what she had done here, would Sirak also think of her as Ga'an, unreliable, not to be trusted, akin to the Mba'a? It was an idea to weight the heart, drag at her spirits. Best she finish Spock's outer garments and not dwell on thoughts to weaken the bravest.

Spock watched in silence, interest held by the skillful fingers as they cut and stitched, but after awhile he became aware of the hands lying idle in his lap. He stood up and was gratified to not that, other than the pain and the slight dizziness, he was able to move with relative freedom. Taking the longbow, he tentatively grasped the stave and drew the string. The savage pain and the voice came simultaneously…

o0o