It happened so fast.
They didn't set off a single alarm. They weren't picked up in any sensor scans. They came in as silent as death.
One minute the eyes of the Enterprise were fixed on the dance floor staring in disbelief as their proud stoic First Officer led a blushing Head Nurse out to the center of the dance floor.
In the next instant, they were gone.
Spirited away by an undetected transporter.
The Captain's voice pierced through the stunned silence, "Red Alert! Enterprise Crew to your stations! Security to the dance floor now! We need to get the President out of here!"
Claxons sounded and the crew scrambled.
Military and civilian alike rushed to stations over turning chairs upsetting wineglasses.
o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o
Spock turned quickly, but not quickly enough. He caught a blow to the chin from an iron green fist only a fraction of a second after fully materializing. He fell roughly against Christine. They fell sprawling to the floor.
The Orion stared in disbelief for a moment at them. Realized as they fell in a sprawl who they were, or more precisely who they weren't.
His temper exploded.
"What the fuck is this?" He shouted punctuating his words with merciless kicks at the fallen pair.
Spock found himself impossibly tangled in Christine's formal gown. He tried to block her from the blows as much as he could.
He suddenly freed one hand and grabbed the assailant's offending boot.
A disruptor was pressed to his forehead, "Don't even think about it you pointed eared freak!" The man spat contemptuously at him.
Spock released the man's foot and was immediately rewarded with a blunt end of a phaser. Eyes fixed on the Orion's every move, he wiped a small trickle of blood from his lip.
Their assailant spoke again his voice became deadly calm. He spoke slowly as if to a child "Nicki, why do I have this fucking elf and his whore on my transporter pad?"
The short Tellarite behind the controls was squirming, his voice was small, "I dunno Sir. I targeted the Duranium tagged wine. This is what I got. It's not my fault, sir." He began to whine his voice quavered. His plea was lost on his commander as well as the giant Klingon at the door.
"Did..you..scan.. the bio signs..BEFORE...you...transported?!" A vein on his green brow pulsated a deep black.
"No." he squeaked realizing his grave error. He began to beg, hands forward head down, "Oh by the gods, sir. No. Please, no-"
The commander spat at him, "Shut up! P'nlan! Dispose of that ptah!"
The Klingon obeyed without hesitation, drew his disruptor and fired. The Tellarite screamed first in terror then in agony as he slowly disintegrated then disappeared.
The Commander grabbed Spock by the hair roughly, not removing the disruptor from his head. "Shit! What the hell good are you!"
He shoved Spock down kicking at him again. Christine gasped as his boot impacted her in the stomach instead.
The man turned and stomped angrily out the door.
He absently ordered as the doors were closing, "Take care of them too!"
The Klingon stepped forward a bit, disruptor already drawn.
Without preamble he raised it and fired.
o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o
Christine awoke in pain, not entirely sure how it was that she was alive.
There was a sound nearby.
Suddenly rough hands pulled her up. She saw another pair roughly lift Spock's limp body from the floor nearby.
Was he dead? Unconscious?
His face was bruised. A trickle of blood thick and green had dried on his brow.
They had been unconscious for some time. Her mind raced trying to calculate how long it took Vulcan blood to oxidize and coagulate. Forty-five minutes? Perhaps as much as an hour, depending on the conditions.
Maybe he was faking, to gain some sort of tactical advantage. She cursed herself for not thinking of it earlier.
She tried to calm herself, to look for an opportunity as well.
Never surrender. That's what they trained in Starfleet Academy. Always look for an escape.
Her captors dragged her unceremoniously by her arms, not bothering to check to see if she could walk. The burly Klingon from the transporter room, P'nlan, carried Spock in one immense arm gripped tightly around the Vulcan's chest. He carried him like a rag doll.
Christine could see a pulse in the Vulcan's neck.
Not dead then just faking it. That must be it. Vulcans are so much more durable than humans are. It seemed impossible that it could be anything else.
What could he be planning? She wished she could know, but she had faith that it would be all right.
They were dragged to a room several doors away from the transporter room. They tossed her to the floor. The Klingon pulled Spock with him as he scooped a tankard into a giant cauldron of putrid smelling liquid.
Christine turned looking around the room. She counted nine men of various races, all quite obviously pirates.
They leered hungrily at her.
The Orion commander entered jauntily.
The men pried their eyes from the female in their midst and gave him their attention. He too dipped into the vat of blood wine, took a deep draught letting some of it spill down his chin to his filthy tunic. He swayed. He was already quite drunk.
"Well boys, it would appear that our little job has been derailed by the late Nikart of Tellarite. However, as we so seldom have guests-" he drug the back of his hand across his face smearing the red wine stain across his cheek, "-P'nlan thought it would be a shame to waste this opportunity to...entertain."
He moved toward Christine and the whole room leaned forward in anticipation.
Christine tried to look fearless.
She felt her heart pound in her throat. Her thoughts raced, searching for something in her Starfleet training to help her.
Her eyes darted around the room, searching for something, anything.
'Look for an escape, don't give up. Just gotta stay alive.' She felt the fear grow in her chest.
She could hardly breath from the weight of it.
He was only a foot away now. He didn't even smirk. He simply reached down and picked her up by the hair.
Spock sprung forward catlike, but he was not fast enough for the Klingon's reflexes.
He cleared P'nlan's massive arms, but was easily struck down by his iron fist.
It seemed impossible that Spock's sudden action had been so easily detected.
Now suddenly he was fighting for consciousness. A new wound flowed green freely from his shining black hair.
P'nlan reached lazily for the Vulcan again, as if he were a mischievous pet, picking him up by the back of his neck. The Vulcan tried to extricate himself, but the Klingon's mass was far superior and in a moment he held Spock once again to his chest. His grip was so tight now, covering both of Spock's arms that the Vulcan could no longer draw more than small gasps of breath.
The Orion laughed at the sight. He held Christine's face, forcing her to watch Spock's defeat. She met his eyes briefly, searching for some sign or signal.
Surely he had a plan of escape.
Her panic grew when she found nothing resembling hope there for her. His eyes were as closed off and controlled as ever. He appeared to be fighting for consciousness.
The commander abruptly pushed her to the table.
Christine fought the scream of terror that was choking her. She wouldn't do that not here not in front of Spock.
'I am a Starfleet Officer. I will not surrender', she thought angrily at the paralyzing horror.
Thick green gray hands ran roughly over her and when they came to the neck of her gown they abruptly grabbed and pulled, tearing the zaffre velvet away.
The men crowded forward hungrily at the drunken cry, "Boys the buffet is open."
She fought against the violent attack with all her strength and training. But the hands of the gang were too numerous.
Her hands were pulled impossibly high above her head; her legs each pulled apart by different onlookers. The first descended on her and she could not stop the cry of pain that he forced from her as he ripped into her.
He laughed and grunted, running bruising hands over her body slapping her roughly when she became too silent.
'They cannot touch my soul. They cannot touch my soul. I am stronger than this - I will survive this - they cannot touch my soul - they cannot touch my soul.'
She gritted her teeth against the cries. Eventually her gasps were lost in the loud raucous chants of the first man's name.
When The First finished with a satisfied grunt he pulled away and was quickly replaced by another.
Eternal minutes passed.
Christine closed her eyes and fought to keep her face from the putrid smell of blood wine and sweat and semen. She felt herself gag at the pain and horror of the assault that seemed to never end.
She tried to block it all out, tried to close herself off from it.
She wanted so much to just close her eyes and feel nothing. But nothing she could think, no words she could say in her mind would block out the pain. And no one would stop the assault.
Six...there had been six now.
She kept her eyes closed tightly, now not even trying to stop the sounds that escaped her.
It hurt more than she could ever have imagined each one worse than the next. Just when she thought it was almost over another mounted her.
Her fingers quickly went numb in the grip of the onlookers, then her feet. The throbbing pain of her bruised flesh burned between the horrible pounding thrusts. She felt as if her bones were being slowly pounded apart.
Her gasping breaths only seemed to excite them more. Her silence brought punishing blows.
She didn't look for Spock, couldn't bear to see what his eyes had in them. She knew he could see her. The Klingon bastard that held him had carefully positioned himself nearby to watch her humiliation.
She could hear him muttering, "You like that, don't you Vulcan?"
'They cannot touch my soul, they can only hurt my body, not my soul.' It was her silent mantra.
The sixth moved off her spewing his vile semen on her belly in delight. He belched loudly and staggered away toward the wine, haphazardly adjusting his trousers.
Christine felt battered and weak, she could barely breathe and yet the gasps kept coming. She fought the desire to give in, knew that this horrible assault could not last forever.
All things end.
All things.
She gasped for air against the tightly controlled sobs that burned in her chest.
She opened her swollen eyes a bit. She could see across the room to where Spock was and what she saw tore away the final shreds of hope that she had been clinging to.
Spock was limp in the Klingon's arms. His face a mask of green blood that still oozed from a gaping wound on his forehead. He had obviously not been left off the 'entertainment' bill.
His eyes were swollen from a beating she had not been aware of.
And he was naked.
Pieces of his regal black tunic littered the floor.
The Klingon held him tightly around the chest pinning his arms to his body.
Spock was gasping; his face screwed tight, eyes shut in pain.
At first Christine thought it was because he couldn't breath. Then her heart sank as she realized that P'nlan's pants were bunched at his knees and he was moving and grunting under the Vulcan.
Her vision swam at the horror.
Her mind screamed, 'Where the hell is the rescue? My god they always come, they always come! Where are they?!'
Adrenaline rushed through her veins as the fury rose in her. She rolled over swiftly taking advantage of the confusion that followed each rapist as the others decided who would be next. She moved with all her will to save Spock from the animal that held him.
Hard hands caught her and the Orion commander slammed her face down into the table.
Christine tasted her own blood, wretched at the swimming pain.
"Joth, you're not playing! C'mon she's nice! She squirms and everything." Her Orion captor leaned over her, licking her shoulder. She shuddered in revulsion then silently cursed herself for even responding to him.
A short fat hairless Tellarite stepped forward; his eyes were small black beads in the sea of his oily pink skin.
He mumbled something, not looking up from his hoof-like hands.
"I promised you a what?" He reached for Joth, pulling the pudgy man to him in a fatherly embrace, one hand still pinning Christine to the table.
The fat man mumbled again.
"Oh yes, the Deltan slitch. Well I'm sorry Joth but your Horta-fucking brother kinda screwed it up for us, now didn't he?" His fatherly grip tightened painfully on the pink alien's neck eliciting a piggish whimper from the Tellarite. After a moment the Orion chuckled drunkenly, "But if you don't like this little bitch you're just gonna have to wait until our next raid."
Then with a sudden look of cleverness he laughed, released the Tellarite and moved his hand to his belt. Christine steeled herself for another assault.
It didn't come.
Instead he produced a large lethal looking knife. It was unmistakably Klingon. He raised it to her head.
She cried out, unwilling to die silently.
"Of course if you'd like I can help spark your imagination." He gripped the back of her neck more firmly pushing her face hard on the table. He moved the knife to her now matted golden hair and began to hack the locks away in great chunks.
Handfuls of hair fell over her face. Someone she could not see picked up a small pile of it and tossed into the air laughing drunkenly. The knife quickly dulled and the blade scraped long painful marks in her scalp.
She didn't allow herself to cry. 'It is only hair they cannot touch my soul. They can only hurt my body, not my soul.'
She felt a trickle of blood slip down her temple and slide down her brow across her forehead.
Then there was an odd sensation of cold air on her bare scalp as the last of the thick locks fell away. A loud thud of the knife on the table indicated that the task was complete.
He twisted her over onto her back roughly spreading her legs again and made room for the fat pale Tellarite.
Across the room the Klingon flung Spock to the floor like a piece of trash. He landed hard on his hands and knees, gasping for air.
His eyes flew wide as he seemed to reel against the pain.
He glanced up at Christine for an instant their eyes met.
It was a moment of immediate consensus.
It was over.
There would be nomore.
It was obvious that there was no escape. There would be no rescue in the nick of time. This was all they had.
This was it.
Now it would stop.
The dazed look in his eyes cleared, the tears in hers had long dried.
There was no signal, no need for telepathy. They just knew what they must do.
As one they moved.
No one could say who moved faster.
Christine's hands found the carelessly discarded knife and in single vicious stroke eviscerated Joth, blood and gore sprayed her face. For several seconds the raucous gang was either too drunk or too stunned to react.
Spock twisted faster than possible, his hands found the Klingon's throat and in a single murderous motion broke his neck, pulling too hard and too fast, tearing skin and muscle.
Christine seemed to fly onto the table. She sliced through the air cutting the throat of the First rapist and slicing another of the assailants across the eyes in a single frantic motion.
Angry confusion erupted as one after another attempted to grab her and pull her from the table. She moved with the anger and adrenaline that only hours of torment could have fueled.
She was a killing machine in motion, with nothing to lose and only one goal, to inflict as much damage a possible before she died.
Spock too let loose his own fury.
He spun from Klingon, before his body had fallen and he descended on the nearest marauder, his eyes were full of hate and death.
He struck the human with all the force of his fury, felt the man's jaw break, knew he was dead before he fell backward against the bulkhead. An instant later he felt with great satisfaction, the neck of a third man collapse in his powerful grip.
They killed very well together.
It was a murderous thought that surprised him. Almost as much as the satisfying sound of bones crushing in his fingers.
Out of the corner of his eye he could see a blur of motion - a man behind Christine pulled a disruptor from his tunic.
With an animal like cry, Spock dove madly across the table narrowly missing her legs, his hands forward ready to close on this man's throat.
Time seemed to stand still.
A dizzying swirl of light filled his vision. He was certain the disruptor had fired.
Then -
A transporter beam caught them both.
The goddamned cavalry.
Spock saw the disruptor flash even as the room disappeared. His momentum unbroken by the transporter beam, he slid into the wall of the transporter alcove with a heavy thud.
Christine spun around with lightening speed, faced the Federation security contingent. In her hand the bloodied knife, murder in her eyes.