"She knows we are coming," Spock said, as he set the shuttle craft down in the middle of one of the most desolate places Kirk had ever seen in the galaxy.
"Telepathy?" Kirk asked.
Spock shot a curious look at his captain. "We're being scanned," he answered.
Kirk nodded. Technology. Not what McCoy called "Vulcan voodoo." That he could deal with.
Spock powered down the shuttle and Jim got the packs carrying their climbing and survival gear. Trying not to be obvious Jim watched Spock with his peripheral vision. His First Officer appeared normal while seated, nothing to be alarmed about. But his movements were different, stiffer, without their usual smooth grace. His breathing was labored, and since Jim should not have been aware of Spock breathing at all that alone was cause for alarm. He also appeared to be frowning, though it could just be concentration.
Kirk sighed in frustration. There was nothing he could do. Even if he had ordered Spock to remain behind, Spock would have refused and found another way to get to Vulcan. At least this way he could keep an eye on him.
Besides, he needed Spock. He knew enough about basic desert survival, and he had the proper equipment. But he didn't have Vulcan hearing, or Spock's long experience with the Vulcan desert.
Nor could he have endured the heat, the searing inferno that was Vulcan. It washed over him in a flaming wave, seared his lungs, and left him gasping for breath in spite of the tri-ox compound he had dutifully taken. The moisture in his throat and eyes would have been sucked dry without the protective coatings McCoy had supplied. Without the cold suit, Kirk knew he would be dead out here in a matter of hours; and it was just before dawn in Vulcan's Forge. Jim wondered what midday was like and hoped their business was complete by then.
Spock on the other hand seemed somehow restored as soon as he stepped from the shuttle. He straightened, inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly. He had once told Jim, "I was spawned in a very different ocean than you." That 'ocean" – of heat and sand and some of the harshest conditions known to the galaxy - was now spread out before them. The Forge was Vulcan's driving heart and merciless, faithless soul. Its unforgiving nature had created the race that had made a civilization here, triumphed over surroundings, adapted to them and finally defied their own bloodthirsty heritage to make peace.
And one of them, one of that hardy and magnificent race, had chosen to follow him, to stand at his shoulder and back his intuition even when that intuition defied the logic Vulcans held so dear. It mystified Jim, but he dared not question it. The friendship, and the loyalty that accompanied it, were too dear to him.
Rising out of the sand and shimmering like a mirage, was the dead volcanic plug known as the Clinging Fire. It looked much like the Devils Tower, on Earth, which Jim had free climbed many times. He knew from the mission briefing that it was much smaller, with more jagged cliffs at the top to be dealt. Once the climb at the top was over, they had to scramble down the other side to reach the valley. Their directions placed their final destination in nearly the dead center of the top of the cone.
The Romulan Commander would know they were coming and be able to see them for miles; and they would arrive already depleted from the climb and the heat. At least Jim would. Under normal circumstances, a climb and a short hike in his native desert would hardly leave Spock breathing hard. But circumstances were not normal. Jim glanced at him, trying not to look anxious, trying not to "hover." Spock didn't like it when McCoy hovered. There was still a hint of guardedness about him, something he was keeping to himself. But his color was better and his eyes were clear and alert.
As Kirk had expected, he was more tired after the walk across two kilometers of desert than Spock was. The sand was soft and shifted underfoot, making progress slower than he would have liked even in the boots made for such a hike. As the unrelenting Vulcan sun climbed higher the heat became more intense. Heat lightning began to splinter the orange-red sky. Clouds formed in the blink of an eye and vanished. Jim drank often; Spock not at all. The cold suit protected him from the heat to a certain extent. The tri-ox compound helped him breathe. But there was no invention that could protect him from the pressure of Vulcan's greater gravity. The climb up Ruskaraya ni'reh was not going to be a walk in the park.
The closer they got to the Clinging Fire the more certain Jim was that both of them were about to vaporized in a lancing stream of phaser fire. Out here in the open, with nothing but sand and shimmering heat, they were at the mercy of anyone watching them approach.
Spock had arranged to land so that they would arrive at the Clinging Fire on the shaded side. Jim walked gratefully into that shadow, shrugged out of his backpack and sat down. He leaned against the rock, which was hot, and tried not to breathe in the sand brought by the brief blast of warm wind.
"Jim?" Spock said. The concern in his voice was obvious though he would no doubt pass it off as his duty to his captain's health and safety.
"I'm fine, Spock. Ready to climb?"
The Vulcan nodded and began unloading climbing gear from his pack. It was state of the art gear, a technology that should get them to the top with relative ease – provided the heat didn't get them, or any of the large poisonous reptiles known to live on the Clinging Fire, or that blast of phaser fire Jim still expected at any moment, or a streak of heat lightening.
Jim lost all sense of time after that. His entire life was now centered on the mantra handhold, foothold, hoist up, handhold, foothold, hoist up with pauses only to drink and hang from the side of the Clinging Fire catching his breath. Normally he loved to climb and would one day look back on the scaling of this Vulcan icon as a personal triumph. At the moment, he would be happy to survive it.
The pauses slowed him down as Spock didn't stop at all and reached the top well ahead of him. He finally joined his friend to stand panting at the pinnacle. He was winded and drenched in sweat despite his cold suit. He bent over and placed his hands on his knees, gasping for air, his face bright red from the effort, his hair plastered to his forehead. He took the opportunity to glance up at Spock in concern. He looked flushed, a deeper shade of olive than normal, and the muscles in his jaw and neck were tense.
Spock pointed and Jim followed the line to see two small shelters, solar panels glinting on the roofs, nestled on the valley floor. The slope down was not long or steep and they packed up the climbing gear. Jim fervently hoped they would need it for the climb down. He straightened up, nodded reassuringly when Spock placed a hand under his elbow, and then began picking his way down a slope rife with tiny stones and bits of broken rock.
They had not gone far, trying not to slip in the gritty sand and stones, when Spock put his hand on Jim's shoulder and squeezed. The Vulcan had come to a halt, every muscle tense, and every sense alert.
"What?" Jim whispered.
He watched Spock tilt his head, listening intently, then look sharply down and to their right.
"Lamatya," he said, finally, grimly and pointed.
Sliding in and out of the shadows, the long long-slung form of Vulcan's most deadly predator, was making its way steadily across the terrain.
"Young," Spock said, "relatively small." This startled Jim since the lizard had to be at least 6 feet long. "Inexperienced perhaps, but hungry if it risks hunting this late in the morning."
"Does it see us?"
"No, its eyesight is actually very poor. It scents us though."
Even from this distance Jim could see a preposterously long black forked tongue flicking in and out, tasting the air in their direction.
"Jim," Spock said, urgently, "I have the antidote to their poison with me, but do not let it near you. Even an antidote is no guarantee."
Jim was about to reply when the lamatya screamed. The sound was primal, eerie, designed to terrify prey out of hiding. It stood the hair up on Jim's arms and the back of his neck. He recalled the information about the predator that he had absorbed before this mission- ruthless, well adapted to the environment, a long, long snout filled with rows of needle sharp teeth and dagger-like claws filled with deadly poison. This was not a complication they needed this close to their quarry.
The creator picked up speed suddenly and Spock turned to head back up the slope. Jim followed.
The Vulcan moved with nearly the same speed as the pursuing lamatya and Jim struggled to keep up. Ascending, Spock led his captain to a place where a landslide had deposited a collection of rocks and boulders. He stopped before one that was exceedingly large and more round than most. It was sitting in a pile of crushed stones and gravel.
Spock glanced wordlessly at Jim and lifted an eyebrow. It was too big for even both of them to lift, but with the right leverage it could be rolled. Their adversary was snaking his way up a switchback in the lose shale, obviously a hunting trail created over long years. Timed correctly the boulder would hit the animal. Jim nodded and set his shoulder against it, bracing his feet as well as he could. Spock hesitated.
"Spock?" Jim asked, mystified.
"It is only an animal, fulfilling its niche in nature," Spock said, his reluctance to kill evident in his eyes, even though this was his idea.
"At the moment we're fulfilling the niche of its food supply," Jim pointed out. "I didn't climb all the way up here to rescue your cousin only to wind up as a meal for that thing."
Spock nodded, took a deep breath and said, "I doubt the doctor would forgive me for allowing you to be eaten."
"Not to mention Daphne," Jim pointed out.
"Point taken," Spock said. He looked down the slope and found the lamatya gaining ground rapidly. If they could roll the boulder in the next few seconds they could trap it against an outcropping of rock. He put both hands on it, digging his feet into the sand of his native planet and, on Jim's nod, they shoved.
At first nothing happened. Jim turned and put his back against the boulder and they both strained with simple brute strength until it slipped a little. It moved slowly at first, and then its own weight dragged it forward. It plummeted towards the lamatya with an accuracy they had not dared to hope for. Intent on the hunt, using its sense of smell and sight, the lamatya remained unaware of the danger until it was too late. By the time it saw the oncoming boulder it had time only to twist around and then scream in outrage as it was crushed against a wall of rock behind it. The cry echoed off the stones for a moment and then faded away. Lightning flashed and crackled and burned the air. Kirk turned his head and closed his eyes to block out the blinding light and horrific noise.
When Jim looked at Spock and found him with his head bowed, eyes closed. He didn't know if it was some kind of Vulcan ritual of forgiveness for killing, or if Spock was trying to regain control over the pain he was in after so much physical labor. He had known Spock for four years, trusted him with his life, and yet there was still so much about him he didn't understand.
Spock looked up again finally and, seeing Jim's worried expression, nodded slightly. Without another word, they started down towards the valley once again.
She heard the lamatya scream and knew it was dead. She felt no remorse, in fact felt relieved. Death in the poisonous clutches of a dumb beast was not the death she wanted for Spock. The other one, the human, she could happily feed the first beast who would have him. Let the Vulcan see his captain dead in certainty and not the faked death they had inflicted on her.
Spock … she had other plans for him.