11.

It had been a long time since Spock had stood in the transporter room about to embark upon a mission. He stood in place on a transporter terminal with his hand just touching the butt of his phaser, trying to suppress an unusual sense of nervousness.

The personnel in the transporter room bore very little difference to an ordinary mission of this type. To Spock's left stood Kirk, and behind him was an array of red-shirted security specialists. But to his right was Delash, wearing the borrowed gold Starfleet uniform of a non-commissioned officer, and with his hand on his own phaser. The reasoning behind his presence was entirely logical. Spock had lived in Lord Milaresh's manor for six months, but he had never seen it, whereas Delash had lived there for years with full sight as an indoor slave, and was intimately familiar with its layout. Spock would concentrate on locating Master Robbesh, whilst Delash would concentrate on helping to locate Milaresh. Spock was quite content with that. He had little desire to come face to face with his tormentor.

Together they had produced plans of the mansion that were as detailed as possible, overlaying their interior plans drawn from memory on exterior images of the place taken from space. Spock was certain that there would be very little difficulty in locating Milaresh or Robbesh. He was far less certain of what his reaction would be when they did. For a moment he wished to be in the other beamdown party that would be leaving some five minutes after his own departure. The second team would be beaming to the manor of Lord Mavanesh, in an attempt to retrieve him for trial alongside Milaresh. While Spock, he had to admit, hated Lord Mavanesh, he had not been under his control day and night for six months as he had with Lord Milaresh. He did feel, at least, that he would be able to face him with a greater degree of self-control than he would with Milaresh.

'You okay, Spock?' Kirk asked under his breath, touching the Vulcan's arm.

Spock nodded concisely, not letting his gaze stray from the back wall of the transporter room. He could feel Delash to his right, full of warm concern and a certain pent-up tension, and Jim on the other side emitting similar emotions. He was backed by dependable, experienced security guards. He was in possession of his sight and his voice, and had a fully charged phaser at his hip. Any danger he stood was of the physical type that might arise from a conflict, not of the soul-destroying, relentless ownership that Milaresh had lorded over him. He had no fear of that.

'Beam us down, Mr Scott,' Kirk said steadily.

The transporter room dissolved around Spock's body, and reformed into a room with ochre walls and open doorways leading off it. Spock took in a steadying breath. This had been the plan. They had beamed into the one room that Spock recognised by sight – the anteroom off which stood a number of slave rooms, including his own. The scent and feeling of the place were even more familiar than the sight. Every morning and evening he had traversed this room, navigating by no more than memory and experience and a nascent sense of solid objects around him.

'All right, Spock?' Kirk asked softly.

Spock nodded decisively, looking about himself cautiously. The slave rooms were almost certain to be empty, their occupants going about daily tasks in the house or at work in the mines. Servants and freemen spent almost no time in this part of the manor without a distinct reason. To all appearances the place was deserted.

'I expect Robbesh to be in his office at this time,' he said in a low voice. 'Milaresh is more likely to be in public areas, or outdoors, and far less likely to be alone. Suggest you take the guard with you, Captain.'

'I think you're right,' Kirk nodded, meeting Spock's eyes briefly. 'We're likely to encounter far more resistance. But check in at regular intervals, Mr Spock,' he said firmly.

'Yes, sir,' Spock said concisely. 'Delash,' he said, with no hint of any personal relationship in his tone. 'Will you show the captain the way?'

'Of course, Commander,' Delash nodded. He had learnt to adopt as formal a manner towards Spock outside of private areas as Spock did with him. 'Captain, if you'll follow me.'

Spock watched the small party trooping out through a door that he had passed through many times on his morning route to breakfast and then the mines. He waited a moment for the sounds of their footsteps to fade, and then turned in the opposite direction, moving decisively towards Robbesh's office.

He reached the door to the office and, on a whim, knocked with a quiet and respectful knock.

'Come,' said the familiar voice from inside.

Spock almost smiled. Illogical to feel nostalgia for such a horrendous period in his life – but Master Robbesh had eased him through so many bad times that he could not help but feel affection for him.

He opened the door and stepped through, his expression unchanging in the face of Robbesh's stare of utter shock as his eyes fell on the Starfleet officer. Robbesh opened his mouth to speak, but Spock held up his hand in a plea for silence.

'I am under orders to arrest you for your part in my abduction and subsequent treatment,' Spock said clearly, keeping his hands very deliberately away from his weapon. 'Were I to succeed in this aim, you would be taken for trial at a Federation base, and would likely spend a considerable amount of time in rehabilitative custody. Your incarceration would be a loss to Villanesh 4.'

Robbesh stared at him as if he could not quite understand what the Vulcan was saying.

'Commander Spock,' he said curiously. 'Why tell me this? You carry a weapon. It's a simple business to take me into custody.'

Spock's face did not change in expression.

'If you were to escape,' he continued, 'I would have no doubt that you would find employment on another estate on this planet, and continue to carry out your job with the admirable degree of ethics that you have always displayed. You were always a vital buffer between the slaves and the whims of Lord Milaresh.'

Robbesh nodded in sudden understanding.

'Were I to escape…' he echoed.

His hand closed on a heavy ledger that sat on his desk, his eyes still fixed on Spock's face.

'You are unlikely to hurt me severely with that book,' Spock said steadily. 'But I've no doubt that it would sufficiently distract me…'

Robbesh pressed his lips together, and lifted the book. He hesitated for a moment, then said, 'You were always an admirable man, Commander Spock. I am sorry to do this. And I wish you luck.'

And then he flung the book straight at the Vulcan, deliberately aiming it at his head. Despite his forewarning, Spock stumbled backwards into the wall as a corner of the ledger hit his temple. By the time he had recovered himself, Robbesh had left the room.

Spock stood still for a moment, then very deliberately sat down in Robbesh's chair behind his neat and ordered desk, pressing a hand to his temple. His fingers came back wet with blood. The cut was not severe, though. The blow had served to put him off balance, nothing more.

He surveyed the office before him. He had been here many times – most notably immediately after preventing the rape of Telani-esh, when he had knelt on the floor through a storm of raised voices, and had been sentenced to public whipping for his actions, and then again the morning after that first, terrible assault by Milaresh, when Robbesh had attempted to take his mind off what had happened by allowing him to clean and tidy the room. Spock knew this room intimately by touch, but he had never seen it. It was almost precisely as he imagined it, though. Ochre-walled, with ordered shelves of books, certain computer and communications equipment, and the large, well-equipped desk. No personal pictures or souvenirs adorned the walls. Robbesh kept his business in this room, and nothing else. Spock could barely imagine him having a personal life.

He stirred himself to action. There was no use in sitting here reminiscing about the place. He spent a few moments sifting through Robbesh's meticulously ordered records, pulling out anything that seemed vital to his case, then having the small pile of paperwork and discs beamed directly to the ship. That done, he opened his communicator, and contacted his captain.

'Jim,' he said in a level voice. 'I located Robbesh, but he managed to evade capture. Suggest we concentrate solely on Milaresh.'

There was a brief silence, then Kirk said in a tone of understanding, 'Of course, Commander. I think you're right. Milaresh is the more vital target.'

'Have you located him yet?'

'No,' Kirk said through the communicator. 'We've covered the probable sites for this time of day, but we ran into a lot of resistance. Had to stun quite a few of them.'

'Of the slaves, Jim?' Spock asked in surprise.

'Affirmative. Seems they've been warned of dire consequences if the Federation manages to pull of anything like your rescue again. They don't want to fight, but they're terrified.'

'I see,' Spock said slowly. 'Do you have any orders, Captain?'

'We're scouting the outdoor areas. Delash suggested he might be making rounds out there. Can you start on the upper floors?'

'Affirmative,' Spock nodded, his expression becoming pensive. 'I have an idea of where he may be.'

'Fine,' Kirk replied quickly. 'Check in in ten minutes, Spock. We'll continue our sweep out here, then make our way towards you.'

'Acknowledged,' Spock nodded. 'Spock out.'

He closed his communicator and put it on his hip, but his mind was far from his actions. An image was forming in his head of what Milaresh was doing. McCoy would have called it intuition, and mocked him for it. Spock called it a deep understanding of these surroundings and the man who had been his master. Whatever it was, he was certain the Milaresh was in his chambers, and that his mind was far from business. He left Robbesh's office, and continued to stalk cautiously through the mansion in the search for his target.

He found himself in a corridor in the upper house, feeling strangely disoriented. The corridor stretched away before him, and then turned sharply right. There were doors at intervals in the walls, and works of art that he had never been aware of hanging in the spaces between them. He recognised the configuration of this place from the sketched map that he and Delash had drawn, but he could not reconcile that with his own memory.

He sighed, and closed his eyes, letting himself become aware of his surroundings in a different way. He immediately became more aware of the distant sounds of people moving about, of subtle sounds of conflict and raised voices. They were far away, though. Irrelevant to him at this time. Jim would be dealing with it.

Then scents welled up around him. Ah, yes. That peculiar scent of the carpet beneath his feet. No doubt it would feel familiar too, if he removed his boots. The feeling of the walls close on either side of him, and the subtle alteration in the air currents and echoes as he walked past recesses that held doors. And that scent… He turned his head sharply toward the left. That scent, of spiced oils mingled with human sweat, that bored into his mind and brought a subtle sense of nausea into his stomach. He flexed his hands, opening his eyes sharply and looking down at himself. He was whole, he was sighted, he was standing in Starfleet uniform with a phaser at his hip. The slave Sarkesh, so close inside his own head, was, in reality, a world away.

Spock walked decisively two metres down the corridor, and stopped before a door. He raised his hand, as if to knock twice, as he had been taught. But then he clenched his fist, unclenched it again, lifted his phaser, and opened the door.

The scene before him seemed frozen in his sight. This room, that was a collection of scents and sounds and feelings in his memory, suddenly had colour and depth and finite boundaries. There were hangings on the walls, woven of rich silks. There were ornaments that he had felt but never seen each time he had been required to clean them. There were decanters atop a polished wood cabinet, that glistened under mood lighting. He had felt those decanters every night… He had poured those invisible liquids that now had colour and translucency as well as scent. There were the thick rugs that he had felt beneath his feet, that he had been forced to kneel on and…

Spock swallowed, focussing his eyes on the man who lay on the bed at the centre of the room, like a fat spider at the centre of his web. He had, in reality, been staring about the room for less than a second. The man that now drew his attention had to be Milaresh – he recognised him from that brief glimpse he had had on the starbase before his abduction. Milaresh was staring at him, with an expression of mixed surprise and anger on his face, rolling his heavy, oiled body away from another man who lay pressed into the bed.

'Stand aside, boy,' Milaresh said in a harsh voice.

Spock almost reacted, before he realised that Milaresh was speaking to the man who lay with him on the bed. The man stood up with an alacrity born of fear, stepping swiftly to the side of the room and putting his hands behind his back. Spock's eyes tracked his movement. The man was blind, and mute. He was a chamber slave. Is that what he had looked like, he wondered, with the taught, drawn expression on the face and the vacant eyes that did not seem to remember how to move?

'Ah, Sarkesh,' Milaresh said in a voice that was suddenly lazy and arrogant, facing Spock without bothering to draw on a wrap over his nakedness. He stroked a hand down his own chest and belly, and smiled. 'This is the second time you've prevented me from having my way. You know how I punished you last time. Should I blindfold you to remind you of old times? Or will I need this to persuade you to obey orders?'

And reaching sideways he swiftly picked up a slim weapon from the bedside cabinet, that Spock had failed to notice in that long moment of staring at the room before him.

Spock froze. Never in his life had he frozen in sight of a hostile. But – the thought ricocheted through his mind, bringing with it a cacophony of remembered sensations and sounds and scents – he had never before been raped by the hostile that he was facing…

He realised that he was still staring at Milaresh, and that Milaresh was speaking, but his words seemed unintelligible to his ears. He could not move. He could not even lower his phaser in deference to the weapon that Milaresh held. He could not reach for his communicator.

*Illogical. Stupid. Fire the weapon. Open your communicator. Do something. You cannot stand here and allow him to rape you again…*

Milaresh was moving towards the restraints that were laid out on his table precisely as Spock would have laid them out. Spock felt his chest tightening. Stupid to have come on this mission… Stupid to believe that he was ready to face Milaresh…

The scent of the oil was going to make him vomit. The walls seemed to be crushing in around him. His eyes followed Milaresh as he reached for a restraint, and still he could not move.

*Control. Control.*

Somehow, with a monumental effort, he managed to draw in a breath to the bottom of his lungs. He flexed his finger on his weapon. Milaresh was so convinced now of his control that he was no longer looking directly at Spock. Spock's finger began to depress the trigger.

A beam lanced out across the room, hitting Milaresh in the side in a vicious surge of energy, slamming him into the cabinet by the wall. He slumped to the ground, and the decanters that had been ranged so neatly on the surface toppled to the floor and smashed around Milaresh's body.

Spock suddenly came to life again, as if time had abruptly been restored to normal. One thing he was sure of – *he had not fired his weapon.* The beam that had hit Milaresh had come from behind him, and it had not been a relatively low-powered stun setting that had hit the man. This phaser had been dialled up nearly to kill.

He spun, and at the same moment Delash came forward towards him with his arms outstretched, murmuring, 'Spockesh, oh, Spockesh. I'm sorry… You're all right, though. This time, I didn't let him hurt you.'

Spock stared at him, then turned back just as swiftly towards Milaresh, kneeling beside him amid the shattered decanters and touching his fingertips to the man's neck. The skin was warm, and sheened with oil and sweat – but there was no pulse moving beneath his fingers.

'He's dead,' he said slowly, withdrawing his fingers. 'Delash, you have killed him…'

Delash stood frozen with shock.

'I – did not mean – ' he stammered.

Spock removed the phaser from Delash's hip, and studied the setting. It was set high, it was true. It was set, perhaps, by a person who desperately wanted revenge on a man who had brought so much misery to him and to those who he loved – but it was not set to kill.

Spock returned the phaser to Delash, and nodded.

'If the shot killed him, it was an instability in *him,* not the phaser setting,' he said quietly. 'Perhaps a heart attack. Perhaps he struck his head. The doctor will determine the cause.'

'Spock…' Delash said in a haunted voice.

Spock inhaled deeply. He deliberately turned his back on Milaresh's body, and touched his hands to Delash's face.

'You did not mean to kill,' he said quietly.

He drew Delash closer to him, resting his forehead against the other man's, before tilting Delash's head a little upwards and touching his lips with his own. His arms slipped around Delash's body, holding him tightly, feeling the confused fear and dismay running through his mind even as Spock kissed him.

'I wanted him to stand trial,' Delash said finally, as Spock's lips stopped moving on his. 'I wanted him to be punished…'

'He has been punished,' Spock said in a low voice, his breath billowing hotly over Delash's face. 'I could not move, Delash. I found myself frozen. He had a weapon, and he was reaching for restraints. He was irrational, full of hatred, and I was quite alone. I – am certain that he meant to – rape me – to punish *me*.'

Delash's expression hardened at the tremor in Spock's voice, and Spock felt the same reaction echoed in his thoughts.

'I know,' he said in a low voice. 'And I'm glad I killed him. I am glad.'

'No,' Spock said softly, touching a hand to his cheek, stroking the soft margin where his skin became obscured by his beard. 'Never be glad at the taking of a life. Be glad that you have spared me further pain, but not glad of death.'

Delash smiled wanly.

'Spockesh,' he said, reaching out to run a fingertip along the contours of the Vulcan's ear. 'You are right. You are logical. And I will be glad of that.' His eyes drifted to Milaresh's body again. 'But just at this moment, I am glad that that fat, cruel, disgusting man is lying dead on the floor, and he will never hurt anyone again.'

Spock's eyes turned to the chamber slave, who was still stood, silent and bewildered, at the side of the room. He walked over to him, and touched a hand to his arm.

'Your master is dead,' he said quietly. 'Go to your room. Someone will come to instruct you.'

The man turned a mute, unseeing face to him, bewilderment clear in his expression. Spock turned away, declining to explain further. It was too hard for him to see this man, and to see what he must have looked like when he was in his place.

'Delash,' he said. 'What brought you here? I thought you were outside, with the captain?'

'I was,' he said simply. 'But – I heard the captain order you to search upstairs, and I just – had a feeling – that I was needed.'

'You were quite correct,' Spock nodded. 'I – don't care to think what would have happened had you not come. I was foolish to come on this mission.'

'It has ended now,' Delash said firmly. 'Milaresh is dead. Robbesh is escaped. It is over.'

'There is still Mavanesh,' Spock said in a hard voice.

'Yes, there is still Mavanesh,' Delash nodded. 'And he will bear the punishment for both of them. By all accounts he was a crueller man than Milaresh. He deserves his fate.'

Spock exhaled, and then leant forward into Delash's arms, taking comfort and reassurance from his embrace. He suddenly felt very tired.

'I'll tell you something that may gladden your heart, Spock,' Delash said in a conspiratorial tone, his voice close to Spock's ear. 'That chamber slave you just sent away…' An impish smile came onto his face. 'That was Menash.'

'Menash,' Spock said slowly, letting the name run through his mind. Then suddenly he remembered. 'Menash! He was – a free servant, who worked in the wash room, was he not?'

Delash nodded. 'A free servant. Free with his cuffs and blows and insults to the slaves. Free with his obsequious toadying to Lord Milaresh. I always said that if Milaresh told him to bend over, his star would be pointing at the ceiling before the Lord had finished speaking.'

Spock moved uncomfortably at those words, once he had fully understood Delash's meaning.

'I'm sorry, Spock,' Delash said quickly, stroking a hand down Spock's cheek. 'I meant nothing by that – nothing towards you. But anyway, I don't know what he did to come into slavery, but there he is. I think he got more from his Lord than he ever expected to receive.'

'Yes,' Spock said slowly. 'Yes, I imagine he must have…'

'Spock!'

The exclamation came from the doorway to the room, in Kirk's voice. Spock drew away from Delash as if he had been stung.

'Captain,' he said in a remarkably composed voice.

Jim was staring at the two of them, an expression of puzzlement and intrigue on his face. Then he seemed to shake off his preoccupation, and turned his gaze to the slumped figure at the side of the room.

'Spock, that's Milaresh, isn't it?' he asked quickly.

Spock nodded. 'Dead,' he said concisely.

'Dead?' Kirk echoed, staring at the man's body. There was something particularly repulsive about the naked, oiled, fleshy corpse, slumped as it was on the ground.

'I shot him,' Delash offered quickly, holding out his phaser to Kirk in a gesture of surrender. 'It was not Spockesh. I didn't mean to kill…'

'Spock?' Kirk asked curiously, turning back to the Vulcan.

'Milaresh had pulled a weapon,' Spock said in a level tone. 'I found myself – '

He broke off, unable to explain calmly and rationally what had gone through his mind at that moment.

'When I came into the room Milaresh was pointing the weapon at him,' Delash cut in. 'He said to Spock, *I'm going to enjoy fucking you, and then killing you*. Spock seemed to be frozen. Milaresh was reaching for his cuffs…'

Kirk's eyes darted to Spock, and then back to Delash.

'He was a large man,' Spock put in. 'A higher weapons setting was warranted. And Delash was not intimately familiar with the workings of the phaser.'

Kirk continued to stare at Delash.

'You did right,' he said finally. 'He made a threat to kill. You acted first. You did what you had to do.' He stood for a long moment in silence, then said darkly, 'All right. I think this mission's failed about as spectacularly as it possibly could. You and Delash beam up, Spock. I want you to see McCoy.'

'See McCoy – ?' Spock echoed. 'Captain, I – '

'Spock,' Kirk said more kindly. 'I may not be a doctor, but I think you're in shock. I don't think you were in any way ready for this and I shouldn't have encouraged you to beam down. Go and see McCoy. Delash, see that he does. I'll stay down here with the security team, and try to sort this mess out.'

Spock inhaled, looking about himself slowly. The mess was both literal and figurative, and he very much desired to get out of it, even if that did mean that he would have to submit himself to the attention of McCoy.

He reached slowly for his communicator, opened it, and ordered, 'Transporter room. Two to beam up.'