Title: Home (Multichapter fic with 35 parts)
Beta: un-beta'd D: D: D:
Warnings, Themes and Tropes, etc.: bondage, torture, prostitution, explicit sex, drug use
Summary: The Vulcans need a new home planet, so the Enterprise and her crew set out to find one for them.
"They'd come all the way for this? Which mad astronomer had sent them out here? Whose twisted idea had it been?"
Disclaimer: I don't own Star Trek or any of its characters.
– Home-Part 22 of 35 –
The skills tests were fairly basic, which was a relief to Jim. It meant they were being treated like normal 'recruits'.
When they were over, Jim stood with his officers. They were surrounded by Kroth's men. The way the pirates' fingers were lightly resting on the handles of their holstered plasma guns making it clear that they should not move-they were, de facto, prisoners.
One of the pirates was Klingon, others human, but mostly he didn't recognize which species they were. The one thing they had in common were the thin, pale scars each of them bore on their face, like spider webs. Jim had seen such scarring before, back when he was in prison—he'd never asked Lawrence how he'd gotten them, something he now regretted.
The man Jim recognized as the second in command, Vig, approached Spock. "So you're all space-worthy. But it's not every day we get Romulans joining us." He turned his head to address Jim. "Humans more so; there seems to be an endless supply of you meatbags."
"I travel with the humans," Spock replied.
Vig looked down at the slim touch screen in his hand. "I see, ... Stsh-, are you sure this is a Romulan name? Whatever, I can't pronounce it. What do humans call you?"
"Pointy eared bastard," Jim supplied quickly, which earned him a round of subdued laughter.
Vig's reptilian eyes narrowed. "I'm surprised you're still alive." He then turned his attention back to Spock. "Something about Jim we should know?"
Spock didn't answer and so Vig left him alone and stood in front of Jim, once again looking at his PADD-like device. "You supplied a previous profession—what was it? Oh yes, 'mechanic on a trading ship'. I somehow doubt that."
Jim folded his arms across his chest. "You don't trust me, do you?"
"No, I don't. Men!" Vig shouted and immediately five pirates surged towards Jim.
Jim swung his fist at the Klingon, who reached him first. Spock jumped up to defend him, but a further five pirates took on the Vulcan, while a couple others pulled out their weapons to keep Howard and Chekov in check. Spock continued to struggle although he'd been restrained, while one guy who'd looked particularly mean grabbed Jim around the neck to keep him under control while the others pressed him to the ground. He felt his cheek scrape roughly against the metal floor. Someone grabbed the back of his jacket and yanked it down to expose the nape of his neck; he felt something hard and cold pressed to his skin there.
"What does the scanner say?" he heard Vig ask.
Jim knew what was coming next, and worst of all, there was nothing he could do to stop it. Under other circumstances he'd at least be able to explain to Spock. Why hadn't he seen this coming?
A rough voice answered. "He's a convicted criminal for sure. He's got one of them there microchips the Federation is so fond of. Scanner says whichever prison he served time in was on Earth. Can't tell much more though—rest of the data's encrypted."
He was let go. The pirates also released their hold on Spock, but Jim studiously avoided meeting his first officer's eyes. He knew he should probably care more what Chekov or Howard thought of this revelation, but he didn't.
Vig's broad frame shook and some barking sound escaped his lipless mouth. Jim presumed he was laughing.
"Well, well, well. What to make of you, Jim? I don't like you and Quol said you were all Starfleet. They don't microchip petty criminals, but I've met many soldiers who started life on the wrong side of the law."
Quol you bastard, Jim thought. But that's what he'd been expecting and why he'd had pull his weapon on Quol, to play his cards just right. They had to believe Quol had good reason to discredit them.
"Now I only wish that federation data chip would tell us something intelligible," Vig continued, "such as what you're running from. What crimes you committed. Sadly we haven't cracked the deeper levels of encoding on them. I doubt you'll tell me, I see too much regret in your eyes."
Jim nodded and his smile was thin. "Too right I won't tell you."
"Well maybe one of your companions will talk. We will see." Vig eyed Spock. "Hmmmmm, I doubt any of those unflappable Vulcans would be moved to struggle against five of my men, especially when clearly outnumbered and firmly restrained. And no Romulan would work with Starfleet. Still-you all look a little too clean for my liking. But I hear from Quol that lot stole and devided up his latinum amongst yourselves, and we all know how rich that bastard was. I suggest we head to this base's only disreputable establishment, so you can lighten your wallets there."
His last words might have said 'welcome to the gang', but Jim understood Vig would be watching him and one small step out of line was all it would take for Vig to have him killed.
The pirates marched them towards this bar Vig had mentioned. It was clear to Jim that they hadn't earned their trust yet, but they were getting there. They wouldn't be alive if Vig actually thought they were Starfleet. Their progress was halted when they ran into a crowd of people blocking the way ahead.
Vig threw his left hand up and motioned for everyone to draw close. Jim stood next to his officers but tried to put as much distance between them and Vig as possible. If there was going to be trouble, he didn't want them to be in the centre of it. The crowd were making such a noise that he couldn't hear what Vig was saying. It didn't seem to be too important though, as the pirate next to him wasn't paying Vig much attention. He was human, quite tall, lean muscled, and as scarred as the rest of them. What distinguished him from all the others was his attire-he was wearing a blood red silk shirt. The brightness of the color meant there was no way this guy was planning to hide in the crowd. Before Vig had even finished the man turned to face Chekov.
"See those people," he said to the teenager and pointed at a group of aliens off to their right.
Jim strained his neck to peer around a tall man standing in his way. He saw the group: there were half a dozen pale skinned humanoids, with pointy ears and dark hair. He looked at Spock and then back again. They were clearly Vulcanoid, but he could see the differences. Their ears were longer and less curved and their skin looked greener than Spock's.
"Them there are the locals," he heard the man explain to Chekov. "They're executing someone publicly-always a big turnout for executions. You may as well enjoy the theatre, we won't be going anywhere for a while, not with this crowd."
As if to demonstrate, he turned his attention away from Chekov to something near the far wall of the deck. Jim followed his gaze and saw a stage there.
Jim didn't need to give any indication with his body language-instinctively his officers all drew into a close huddle so they could talk, the right side of Spock's body hot against his left. The ever swelling crowd camouflaged their actions and the shouts, mutterings, and general chatter would mask their words. Jim scanned the mob, but the pirates were all focused on the stage, even Vig. They couldn't leave without being noticed he knew, but they could at least use this time to talk.
"I don't think we've convinced Vig or the others. I think they're going to keep testing us so be aware of that when we get to the bar," Jim said in a low voice.
The others nodded their agreement with only the slightest inclination of their heads.
"Are they Wulcans?"
"No," Spock replied, "but they are most probably closely related to Romulans."
A tall male, one of the locals, was led to the stage by some of the pirates. Silence fell; you could have heard a pin drop on the deck. When they came to a standstill on top of the stage, the man faced the crowd, and the noise started up again. Muttering, jeering and hissing built up into a crescendo, the sounds all far louder than before.
Jim noted that the human pirate from before had sidled up to Chekov again.
"Kroth gives them too much leeway, as you can see," the man said to Chekov. "They have their own laws, which Kroth not only allows, he makes us enforce them!"
Allowing the locals some autonomy to rule was a smart move on Kroth's part, Jim thought. Maybe he'd even managed to get them on his side, make them believe having the pirates here was a good thing.
Although the doomed man was clearly a local the pirates in the crowd didn't actually seem very happy about what was about to happen; he was still missing something here.
"Who is he and why's he being executed?"
The pirate turned to Jim. "He's a fine mechanic-repaired some of our ships for us. Valuable man to have around. I can't believe Kroth is letting them kill him."
"His crime?" Chekov asked.
"They say he raped and killed a woman."
While Jim was glad Chekov was easily getting information out of this pirate, he was concerned by the way the pirate was standing ever closer to the teenager.
The man shrugged his shoulders. "I'm not sure what to believe. The women seem to be in charge of everything here, and they would be quick to place the blame on someone like him—they seem to have it out for the bachelors of their species. I think it's 'cause them there women sell their comforts to the highest bidder. Even when they get married, it's all about the money: who can pay the most for them. And then the day after their marriage, you see them out on the streets again, selling their bodies to us. Not that I need to buy that kind of attention."
The pirate leered at Chekov; it made the hairs on the back of Jim's neck stand on end.
"But if a man doesn't pay, they punish him severely. And Kroth allows that too. If one of our men doesn't pay in latinum, he gets us to hand him over to the locals"
"What happens to them then?" Chekov asked, his eyes wide.
"No one knows for sure, the men never talk about it. But I witnessed it once. Happened to my ship's captain-he was a Romulan. Kroth made us restrain him and bring him before the women. I was one of the people who had to lead the captain to them. It wasn't even rape, he just wanted to marry the girl. She wanted to marry him too, but no matter how much money he might have handed over, it wasn't allowed, simple as."
He lowered his voice then, and Jim had to take a step closer to listen in. "Don't mind admitting that I was dead scared he'd kill me once he was released; I was hoping the women would kill him. But they didn't. They touched his face and then … he screamed, and screamed, and screamed. They let us take him away, but he didn't stop screaming all night long. We locked him in the brig. It wasn't until he exhausted that he fell asleep. When he woke up again, he was silent. He never talked about what happened to him. A few weeks later, he was dead."
"He simply died?" Chekov asked.
"No, he was shot at point blank range by another Romulan. Vaporized."
At this point the pirate looked pointedly at Spock. When he turned back to Chekov he chuckled though and put his hand out to touch his hair. Jim caught his wrist in a vice-like grip before he could complete the motion. They stared at each other until Jim let go of his wrist.
The pirate narrowed his eyes. "Be careful, Jim-boy."
His eyes rove all over Jim's body instead of Chekov's now.
"You're quite a pretty boy, you know."
Before Jim had time to react, Spock had moved to stand between him and the pirate, his stance saying 'don't cause trouble'. The man was suitably intimidated and took a few steps back.
"Watch your step, Romulan, you wouldn't want to find yourself crossing any lines. Kroth's punishments are no less ruthless than the women's."
Spock didn't reply to that for which Jim was grateful—in this charged confrontation Spock's neutral tone would have given him away as a Vulcan in an instant. The man stole one more glance at Chekov before stepping away from them and turning his attention once more to the stage.
"Thanks for that," Jim said when he was sure the man was out of earshot.
Spock inclined his head ever so slightly.
"Can ve trust the information he gave us? The story of the Romulan captain … it sounded like an old ghost story."
Jim shuddered. Memories of dry fingers pressed to his temples, his mind invaded by Spock's older counterpart—he could easily believe that Vulcan telepathy could be used to torture someone, and Spock had implied as much when they had talked about the subject.
"I believe that horror story," Jim answered.
"And that their women auction themselves off to highest bidder?" Howard asked.
"Irrelevant," Spock replied.
Jim raised an eyebrow. "We're clearly still under observation. The more we understand, the easier it will be for us to fit in. So, your opinion, Mr. Spock?"
"It is plausible, but we have only one man's word for it."
"It sounds horrible," Chekov said.
Spock stood taller. "The reason Starfleet teaches us to respect other cultures is that as outsiders it is difficult to comprehend the reasons behind their value systems."
Jim was reminded of the conversation he'd had with Spock about Vulcan morals when they were in the underground city-that seemed like an age ago.
"Don't be so quick to judge until you've lived in their shoes. Is that what you're trying to say?" Jim said.
"Indeed, that is the message I intended convey."
The Vulcans probably would commend such a system, too; it neatly avoided the whole messy business of emotions. Jim's lips twisted into a humorless smile.
"Doesn't sound like it works if they just leave their husbands for the next highest bidder. Great family values right there."
"They do not do that."
Jim was taken aback by Spock's sharp tone. "How do you know?"
"It appears I may have been mistaken in my initial assessment. Romulands are not telepaths-it appears the locals here are more Vulcan than Romulan in biology. And Vulcans mate for life."
"Come again?"
Spock raised an eyebrow.
"Vulcans mate for life? Wait a minute, um, what do you mean with that?"
He didn't care that they were in the middle of a crowd at a goddamned execution with Chekov and Howard listening in, that sentence deserved some explanation. Spock had broken up with Uhura and even if he hadn't had sex with her, and he was certain he had, he'd definitely had sex with him and he was not getting the whole 'life-partner' vibe off Spock.
Spock looked at Jim seriously and lowered his voice almost to a whisper, so that the others had to lean in to hear him. Jim cursed the fact that he wasn't alone with Spock for this talk.
"A Vulcan marriage is not equivalent to a human one. But once married only death can break the bond."
"Oh right, I get it—marriage. But how can you be sure they practice the same traditions the Vulcans do when it comes to marriage?"
"Not tradition, biology."
When he'd been a kid he remembered he'd once got gum stuck in his hair and tried to pull it out again; talking to Spock was similar.
"Help me out a bit more, will you?"
Just when Jim thought that the discussion was over, Spock leant closer to him, not allowing the others to be part of the conversation. Understanding that, the two ensigns backed off.
"As I stated, these people are telepaths, just as Vulcans are. And when we marry we are linked telepathically."
Jim had to concentrate to make out Spock's soft words above the din of the jeering crowd.
"My wife's name was T'Pring. Even the greatest distances could not part us—only death."
He could hear the blood rushing through his veins, the noise of the crowd completely drowned out by it. Why had Spock never told him before?
At that moment the two women moved up to the man, who, now that Jim looked closely, did resemble Spock more than he was comfortable with. They each placed a hand either side of this face and pressed down. He started screaming—it was as the pirate had told them. When the man's screaming stopped, he crumpled to the floor, lifeless. The execution was over. They'd killed him telepathically. The skin on his temples felt hot and cold at the same time just where Spock had touched him on Delta Vega—he knew he was just imagining it, but it was still a disturbing sensation.
He turned to Spock, but the Vulcan had walled himself off, his face completely expressionless.
"I'm sorry. I didn't even know you were married."
He'd been with Uhura after all. He'd loved her. Or so he'd believed at least.
"All Vulcans have spouses—or should have," Spock whispered before turning his back on him and stepping towards Chekov and Howard.
The crowd was starting to disperse in front of them, offering him a clear view of the body. He averted his gaze quickly. Vig was pushing his way through to them.
And so they continued with the gang towards the bar. Jim couldn't help feeling betrayed by Spock. He'd known his friend had held back a lot, was a very private man, but this? He'd truly been kidding himself in thinking Spock had ever taken him into his trust.
As they walked and he pushed thoughts of Spock to one side, he felt the back of his neck itch. He refused to imagine any of his officers' gazes lingering there. Hell, how had he ever let his life get so out of hand before he joined Starfleet? Well, he knew the answer to that question of course, but still, it seemed unimaginable to him now that he could've ever thought so little of himself and his life.
When they got to the bar, Vig sat the party down at a large table. This was exactly the kind of trial Bones had warned him of, Jim realized, when Vig started throwing all the alcohol and hard drugs in the galaxy their way. He could tell his crew didn't have a clue where to start with the drugs. They looked around hoping someone would demonstrate, but the pirates' eyes were all on them.
They had to be convincing, every one of them, to pass this test or they'd be found out. Jim honestly didn't know what to do with most of the stuff on the table either. But there was one drug he recognised-Meekon. He'd never used it, but he'd seen others take it. All he could do was try it and hope for the best; at least he knew it wouldn't kill him. He reached for the Meekon, which was in a box that was divided into two compartments, one containing white the other a bright purple powder. Immediately he felt Spock's eyes on him and he was certain his first officer was struggling to not smack the box out of his hand. And, honestly, pirates be damned, Jim wished he would.
He took a pinch of the white powder; it felt as soft as flour between his fingers. With the thumb and the index finger of his left hand he formed an L-shape and in the corner between those two digits he placed the powder. Then he added the coarser purple stuff on top, before gently mixing the powders together with his right index finger, which he then wiped clean on his shirt.
He slowly raised his hand to his nose, careful not breathe out over the drug or spill any of it. All eyes were on him-he hoped he wasn't going to screw this up. Bracing himself for he didn't quite know what, he leant down and snuffed the powder.
It went straight to his sinuses, where it burnt like hell. A sharp pain ripped across his skull, but it was gone as soon as it had come, though the burning sensation in his nose lingered. Apart from those two effects he didn't feel any different-yet. Talk quickly, he thought, before the brain melts the drug. Or, er, something like that.
"Good stuff." Okay, not exactly Shakespeare, but already his mind was starting to go oddly blank.
"No messing about, eh? Straight for the strong stuff. I don't have the head for that personally," Vig said.
This was all going to go horribly wrong, Jim thought.
"Me neither," Spock replied to the pirate's statement.
He was glad Spock had declined the drug. He knew it was safe for humans, well, not exactly safe of course, that was kind of missing the point of drugs, but it was unlikely to kill to him; it could be fatal to Spock though. The aliens at the table where mixing powders in all manner of ways, while Jim still couldn't shake the feeling that Vig had been waiting for him to pick up one of the many other drugs on the table. He'd never seen most of them, for all he knew that beige powder was pure arsenic, but made Klingons feel like they were cozying up to unicorns on pink fluffy clouds while drinking tea.
"We have some Romulan ale, if you'd rather?" Vig pulled out a bottle of sky blue liquid and held it up for Spock to inspect.
Jim gasped-that's what the ambassador had given them! He'd drunk it with Bones and it had given him the mother of all hangovers.
The pirates had heard his exhale and were now chuckling.
Vig waved the bottle at him. "Want some?"
Hell no! He'd had some before and it hadn't killed him, but who knew how it would react with the Meekon. Though if he could nurse just one cup of Romulan ale, rather than having to take any more Meekon, it might be worth the risk.
His reply had to sound genuine, so he'd have to muster up some enthusiasm to color his voice. He tried to think of something he really wanted to do. Not Spock! Anything else-a nice relaxing bath and some Saurian brandy, yes, that was better.
"Want some? Hell yes!" he said with a grin so wide he could feel it hurting his jaw muscles.
And so all his crew were poured a glass. Spock looked distinctly unhappy, Jim thought, which was of course ludicrous, as Spock never looked unhappy, but it made him wonder how the drink affected Vulcans. Maybe it was just like beer to them or maybe it also caused them to become drunk instantly.
One of the pirates called for some women to come over who'd so far just been singing quietly on a stage while dressed only in glitzy underwear. They came and stood a few meters away; in the loud bar that was far enough to mask all sound, probably even from the pointiest of ears. One of the men got up and started talking to them.
One of Vig's scaly hands gripped Jim's upper arm tightly before releasing it again. "If you want one you had best hurry up or only the ugly ones will be left."
The very idea offended Jim.
"I can see in your eyes you're not interested," Vig taunted him.
Another test? Well, he wasn't going to play along this time.
"Maybe I can help?" Vig continued. "If women aren't to your taste I could arrange some boys instead."
Jim had no doubt that they would be boys too and not men. He felt sick to the stomach.
"I know this will sound quite rude," Jim answered, "but what the hell, we're all enemies here, aren't we? Between you and me, I just don't feel much like catching Tellarian syphilis."
"This base is quite clean."
"Really? So your face is nat'ruly hideous? My bad!"
He wished his mind could've come up with something wittier, but the drugs were really kicking in now, he'd heard how badly he'd slurred his words. They weren't just starting to affect him, though, but everyone else's too it seemed as there was laughter all round. He hoped he'd sufficiently deflected from the issue of the local prostitutes.
They just needed a bit of information and then they'd be out of here quicker than lightning. Before tomorrow if he could help it. But he saw a long night ahead of him. They all carried a lot of money, though, and these men wanted prostitutes and drugs, all of which had a high price. He'd get the information they needed given enough time. He wondered if there'd be anything left of his brain come daybreak or whether it would be a fizzing mess of slowly dissolving grey mush.