I'm having trouble separating my paragraphs when I want to leave a double space to show a shift in time, POV, etc. Can anyone offer advice on this – is it best to separate with stars or some other symbol? The extra spaces I leave don't show up on here.
Chapter Seven
"Mr Spock!" T'Sorf's voice, urgent. Spock looked up from the animal trap that he had been inspecting and saw the boy running towards him. T'Sorf came to a breathless halt near the Vulcan."Oh! I am sorry!" He exclaimed, "I thought you wouldn't see the trap."
Spock looked at his foot, which was still a source of considerable pain, "I think it unlikely that I will miss any such devices in future. There is a human expression 'once bitten, twice shy.' Are you familiar with it?
"My mother used it often."
"Is that creature edible?" Spock asked pointing to the large, bloodied, rabbit-like creature caught in the trap. Seeing it, T'Sorf's eyes lit up.
"We call it a rabbit. Mark says it looks enough like an earth rabbit to be worthy of the name. According to him the flesh is tenderer. We will eat well tonight." T'Sorf was immediately apologetic, "That is, the rest of us will enjoy the rabbit – you of course, will eat well too – only differently."
"You have not offended me, T'Sorf. There is no need to apologise." Spock watched as the boy deftly removed the animal from the trap and reset the device.
"Who is Jim?" T'Sorf asked him, shyly. Spock raised an eyebrow.
"Why do you ask?"
"Last night you called his name in your sleep." Spock stood up, focusing his gaze somewhere to the left of the boy's face, "Jim Kirk is my Captain," Spock paused, "and my friend."
"I barely know what it is to have or be a friend, said T'Sorf, a note of regret in his voice. "There were a few other children at the space station on Ravik, but they were younger than me." The boy was lonely, Spock realised.
"If your friend – Jim – comes for you, we too will be able to leave this world; perhaps I will be able to meet people, make friends." Spock was silent, wondering what world T'Sorf would fit into. He looked like a Klingon but he did not behave like one. Where would he gain acceptance? Spock understood what it was like to be caught between two worlds. The boy might find that being amongst his father's people – or his mother's, would only compound his feelings of isolation. This, however, was not what the eager, fresh-faced young man standing before him needed to hear, Spock appreciated. Unfortunately, he could summon no words of reassurance for T'Sorf.
"If there were survivors from the Klingon craft, perhaps they will be rescued too?"
"What has your father told you about the Klingons?" Spock asked.
"That they are a noble, warlike race greatly devoted to honour…but they are also aggressive and predatory, given to seizing what they want with no regard for the cost in terms of other lives." Spock nodded, one eyebrow raised. Had he expected such honestly from Kort?
"It will not always be so." T'Sorf said, quietly. "My father and Mark, they are proof that Klingons and humans can live together peaceably."
"May we both live long enough to see you proved correct in your optimism." Spock said.
The Klingon craft had been at the back of Spock's mind since he had awakened at first light. Not wishing to disturb his hosts with his restless wakefulness, he had slipped quietly outside and walked in the forest willing the strength to return to his aching body, but not really feeling it. Nor had the stillness and quietness of the early morning brought him inner calm.
That a Klingon ship been lurking on the other side of Skara, out of range of the Enterprise's sensors, seemed the only logical explanation for the shuttle's presence here. Less logical was Spock's present response to that knowledge – his sense of irritation and anxiety whenever he contemplated the potential danger that the Enterprise had faced.
He knew that Jim would not hold him responsible for failing to detect a vessel that was undetectable; yet, he could not rid himself of the shame he felt at letting his Captain down. Any attempt at counterbalancing this 'feeling' with logic led him each time to the illogical conclusion that the blame was his alone.
As a Vulcan, Spock relied on logic to interpret the mysteries of the Universe. As a half -human Vulcan, living mostly amongst humans, he also relied on it to anchor him against the vagaries of human behaviour and emotion –which explained why, at times, he was at his most coolly logical in the presence of that most emotionally unrestrained of all humans of his acquaintance – Dr Leonard McCoy. If, on this world, he could not trust in logic – or more precisely, if he could not trust himself to think logically – how was he to function – as a Vulcan or otherwise?
"Are you well, Mr Spock?" T'Sorf's voice, concerned. Spock realised that he was trembling. Placing one hand over the other to steady himself, he answered,
"Quite well, T'Sorf."
"Will you take breakfast with us?"
"I would prefer to walk for a while." Spock answered.
"Look out for traps." T'Sorf warned as he ran off holding the still bleeding rabbit.
"We must find out if there are survivors." Mark Hunter's voice, calm, determined.
"Mr Spock, your phaser is inoperative, is it not?" Kort asked. Spock's phaser had been returned to him and he had taken it apart and reassembled it.
"I believe I have repaired the damage, which was minimal and temporary – an effect produced by ion radiation during the beam-up. If you will permit…" Spock aimed his phaser, at some stones and looked around for permission to fire. A burst of energy and the stones glowed red hot. T'Sorf cried out in admiration.
"The Klingons will be armed with disruptors." Kort cautioned.
"We must consider whether to seek out any survivors or wait until they find us." Said Hunter. "A single phaser would be scant protection if we were taken unawares."
"Mr Spock, what is your opinion? Should we seek them out?" T'Sorf asked the Vulcan, eagerly. Spock did not hesitate.
"I see no alternative but to locate the craft and ascertain the whereabouts of any survivors. Were they to locate us first, no quarter would be given." Spock did not avoid Kort's gaze as he spoke. As far as he could tell, the Klingon was not offended, but reading people was not the Vulcan's area of expertise.
"We will set out tomorrow. Mr Spock, I would ask you to accompany us, but your injuries…"
"…are not an impediment. I will accompany you." Spock asserted.
"Very well," replied Hunter.
"Kravok!" The tall Klingon kneeling by the waterfall looked up at the sound of his name. The movement caused him to wince; he had been lucky – his injuriewere slight – but his neck and shoulder burned with pain that the coldness of running water numbed but could not eliminate.
It was Varon calling him, his voice hoarse, strained. Kravok filled his flask with water and offered it to Varon who slammed it with his fist, spilling the contents on the ground. For the third time that morning he urged Kravok to hand him his disruptor, or use his own to end his accursed life.
Varon's wounds were severe; he spoke of duty and the Klingon way and called Kravok a coward. Kravok stared at him, wondering at his inability to assist Varon in a dignified death. Klingons did not hesitate in such matters. To do so was to show weakness and no one had ever accused Kravok of weakness and lived to boast about it. Was it the trauma of the crash, his injuries, some poison in the atmosphere of this miserable world that was affecting his judgement? All Kravok knew was that he should have ended Varon's life hours ago and that Varon was still lying there in agony and he, Kravok did not act.
The others would return soon. T'Hana and H'Narth. Both had also sustained minor injuries, but were well enough to climb the hill they had crashed into, to survey their immediate surroundings. Kravok distanced himself from Varon; he took no pleasure in hearing the injured man's groans. Soon, Varon would lack the strength to cry out for death, or any other intervention. Kravok hoped that he would pass on before the others returned.
The situation aboard ship had been bleak after the storm struck and the Enterprise fought back – self-destruction had been the only honourable course of action for the commander to take, and Kravok and the others had been the only survivors, hurtled into the storm before Commander K'Sath had issued the order to obliterate his ship. Of them all, only H'Narth had been meant to be aboard.
And now, how could they even be sure that they were on Skara? Last night as he stumbled from the wreckage of their craft, stunned and injured, Kravok had observed many moons in the night sky, but his vision was blurred and he could not trust his own eyes.
The unmistakeable hiss of a disruptor firing interrupted his thoughts. Without turning, Kravok knew that Varon was dead. T'Hana appeared at his side. "It was necessary." She said, almost gently. "Your brother deserved an honourable death." Kravok nodded, turning to see H'Narth return his disrupter to his belt. H'Narth did not meet his eye.
"Your brother's death will be avenged. H'Narth snarled. "It is the Klingon way, the warrior's way."
"Yes." Kravok thought, "But that will not bring Varon back. He stared down at his brother's motionless form, thinking, not for the first time of late, that the Klingon way was not the only way.
Hope people are still reading – I'd love to hear your thoughts, whatever they are on the story so far. It runs to 98,000 words, so review and I'll post more,