Favorable random chance has just run out. There is subspace chatter and it shows that there is an Imperial slave ship searching for us. There is no way to hide our lifesigns. They will be here within a fiveday, perhaps sooner. We have no time to prepare.

With much regret, I have destroyed the padds and hidden outside the camp a cache of the weapons and some of the equipment that we have used to manufacture the prototype collar neutralizers, along with all of them but one, a small one disguised as a piece of homemade and crude jewelry, that T'Amanda has demanded the right to wear. I have wiped the computer console clean of all evidence of use past our crash landing. They must not know that we have any abilities to use such complex equipment. We
all know the parts we are to play. There is still a chance that we could mount a rebellion from within the ship. I have spoken to T'Amanda and admonished her to play the part of a not very bright but servile wild Vulcan child, raised by similarly not bright parents.

I have had time to construct a small circuit chip that I have hidden behind my collar,  which I may be able to use to convince the cameras that we are being docile and causing no trouble.

There is considerable risk in what we plan. But we have all pledged that if we do not succeed, that we shall all dispatch each the other. I have taught Tes and Deezen the Tal-shaya. I have no way to teach them the disciplines to stop their own hearts, so if we do not succeed, I shall have to be the one to do what is necessary. T'Amanda has agreed, and though T'Pel did not wish her to have the right to such a decision, I most certainly do.

There is one more thing to do in preparation, and that is to meld with the Andorians and make certain that if the truth scanner is
used that they can pass its sensors. I do so, and there is nothing left
but to wait. We prepare a communal meal; none of us is willing to be alone when each of us may be separated soon enough anyway.

And soon enough we see the shimmer of the transporters being activated. Standing in front of us is Lord Kirk. I do not know if he will remember me; I do not take any chances. I kneel immediately and signal the others to do likewise.

We are herded to a spot near the Hope by the others in the landing
party, mostly security. Kirk remembers me. He gestures for me to come forward, and I do so, and then kneel again at his feet. He asks me what happened and I tell him that we slaves were strapped in in
back, and our Mistress was piloting. There was a crash and she was dead when I got to her. I told him we had buried her with her property, other than us, of course, and that we had made camp, certain that we would be found some day. McCoy is in the landing party and he has already found her skeletonized remains. He confirms that the jewelry box she had has been buried with her, and it is recovered intact, only slightly damaged by its internment.

Lord Kirk lifts my head by placing his hand under my chin and looks in my eyes, perhaps trying to intimidate me. But McCoy tells him evidence is that there is tragedy here, but no foul play. He comments on the many flowers laid in the grave by Deezen. It has proven to be one more indicator that we are not rebellious slaves. Kirk is not averse to either claiming us as salvage, or claiming a finder's fee from our Mistress' family. Either would suit him. He drops his hand from my chin and tells me to get up and join the others, that we will be beamed up.

Once on board all of us are herded into a cell in the brig. This time,
we are issued blankets and told we will be brought food and
water. As all of us huddle underneath the blankets, we join hands and each of us reaches for the meld points. We will wait until ship's
"night", and T'Amanda herself has a plan to succeed.

It is ship's "night". Of course of all the corridors, the ones outside
the brig are never dimmed. The forcefield is as strong as ever, but we plan for a different egress for one of us. The camera has a blind spot; with us huddled under blankets, seeming to sleep, I inch my way to the corner it sits in and reach up with the circuit chip. Once it is fastened thereon, it shows all of us together--but what it does not show is that T'Amanda is no longer under the covers with the rest of us.

With care I remove the vent cover--it is, fortunately, not screwed in
place, but simply set in place, perhaps because it is too small for an
adult to get into. But T'Amanda is within in seconds and I replace the vent cover and quietly rejoin the others. I again place my fingers on the meld points of my wife and T'Pau, conveying to
them that it is up to her, and we wait.

She takes almost an hour, ship's time, to get to her goal--a circuitry
panel junction inaccessible without bypassing several failsafes, under normal conditions, but which should be accessible via the vent ducts, if this ship is like my own Enterprise. I cannot but hope. T'Amanda knows what to do. We wait, simulating sleep. And then it happens. A neural gas begins filtering through all the vents, even here. We know that there is no help for it. All compartments must be flooded before the humans have time to take control.

Shortly, we wake, being administered to by a hypo from Maik, who was the second slave woken up by T'Amanda. Sentor was the first and he has already turned off the forcefields in the brig, and reflooded the other floors with more neural gas, enough to render the rest of the ship harmless for the next three hours. We work swiftly, transferring bodies in each sector to pens and to the brig.

T'Amanda has already routed complete control to the bridge, and Sentor has vouched for another Vulcan who is manning the secondary bridge in engineering. We have separated slaves from humans, and each human is fettered. We must screen all of them one by one; and we must also simulate transmissions from
Lord Kirk to his superiors at what I have discovered are appointed times for communiques.

I have intercepted a transmission from Ryu; he is challenging Hiroko's will and trying to get custody of the five of us.
That, at least, will not happen, but I forge an acknowledgment.

It will help keep the Empire unaware that we now own one of their
flagships.

I am on the bridge here for the first time since being thrown into this universe, and I have the conn, for now. T'Pel is navigating and we are teaching Sentor the helm. T'Pau is running both science and communications, and Sepak, T'Uman and T'Linan are being trained as well. We have rendered all the collars inert and of course confiscated the command bracelets. I am modifying them in order to be able to use them to render inert all collars within reach.

There has been no time to have them removed, which can only be done by a reversal of the fuser used to close them. Maik, in sickbay, tells me he has learned from watching the humans.

They are locked in the brig and will be attended to within the hour. A decision must be made. There are over three hundred of them--if any one of can be convinced to join us, we could free that one, though they will of necessity have to be tagged in some unreproducable way.

I am not sanguine as to our chances of convincing those in power to relinquish their power base, yet Hiroko did so. I do not wish to kill them. Perhaps stranding on one of the class M planets, with equipment for survival, of course. This is a problem which must be
addressed fairly soon.

I turn to T'Pau. "We are on course further into the Briar Patch. It is
my belief that if there is a rebel base here, they will be found on one of these three systems." I point to the small screen above the science station. "Here, here, and here are three class M worlds known in my universe which have never been mapped here, according to Imperial charts. Any one of them--or all of them--is defensible, and almost impossible to detect with standard sensor settings. I suggest we proceed cautiously.

I must check on the human crew, and speak to Kirk. I do not know what we should do, but I am willing to entertain suggestions at
this point."

"Have all the slaves been processed for loyalty yet?"T'Pau was referring to a voluntary mind meld, performed by one of the now trusted Vulcans on board, a young man named Tekar.

"Negative, but we only have a few who have refused out of the..." I referred to the padd handed me by Deezen, who had come from operations, "Eighty thus far processed. Of these eighty, three are reluctant to join us, and wish to stay loyal to the masters. The rest have been trained by mind-link to perform necessary functions. And all weapons located--including most of the bladed ones held in collections--are in lockdown. Tes has been accounting for them one by one."

T'Pau's face is unreadable, as it should be. "Logically, Spock, it would be well to set up another detention area as soon as the detained freed slaves are out of the pens. They are designed to keep in unruly captives even more so than the brig cells. Are the cargo slaves being processed?"

"They are. Again, the majority are willing to undergo the meld in order to prove they will be an asset to us. But there are holdouts. That can be expected."

"Yes. Emotional species are subject to fears and doubts. How many Vulcans in the cargo hold? And I caution thee, Spock, not to accept even they without a meld."

I lift my eyebrow. "I would not make that mistake. I have met slaves happy to stay slaves. It is not something I understand, but that it is so is undeniable. T'Pau, you have the conn. I would suggest you keep monitoring the brig. The humans are very angry."

I briefly wish I had quarters to stop by; it would be well to be fully
grounded in my mind and be certain I approach them with logic intact. I do not wish to allow anger to cloud my judgement.

Kaiidth.

My contact with the humans, especially with Lord Kirk, is somewhat explosive. He is not willing to talk or listen at this point. I have separated him from the others, and have found that brig cells equipped with less spartan accommodations are available here, but are generally only used for human prisoners.

I do not know why I was not put in one such when I was taken; they are more secure than were the quarters I was sequestered in. Perhaps they were full at that time. I could not know. I have also released his fetters from without the force field. I do not wish to harm him.

I am having more success talking to this counterpart of my own Doctor McCoy. He wants to work in sickbay; he has agreed to a meld to verify his intent. He is proving invaluable. He tells me that not all the crew and officers are in favor of the current system, but saw no way to challenge it. If we can find the rebel base, that may change.

Communications with the Empire has been disrupted, now but not before I sent a forged communique from this place's Kirk. They do not expect to hear again from him for some time. I have informed them that Enterprise is searching for other escaped slaves. They will not question this.

I have also changed the computer protocols. Self destruct sequences have been disabled, temporarily. I will key them to our voices, as well. I must be tired. I did not think of this before. Only isolation from the others may have saved the ship from having Kirk initiate such a sequence; either that or he may not yet believe we are capable of running the ship. Perhaps he thinks we will be requesting our fetters back. He will wait a long time.

We are processing crewmembers two by two. I have made it clear that we will not seek revenge for past injustices done to slaves. If necessary they will be transported to somewhere that they have a good chance of being picked up and returned home. I am keeping any who either will not consent to a mind meld or who once melded, show they are not really interested in anything but returning non humans to slave status.

Those I am placing in the now empty pens in the cargo hold. They will not know where we are, nor where Enterprise is headed. I will not allow them any information that might send them after us once they are returned to their homes.

Instead of four other people to be concerned for, I have over a hundred now. And though none of them have been trained for the tasks they've been set, they are performing well. The bridge and the secondary bridge is now fully restaffed, and I have started retraining engineering crew. The Mr. Scott of this place is not interested in helping us, more is the pity. But I would rather have people who are less than competent but who wish to further our progress here than to have the counterpart of the best engineer in Starfleet, with equal capacity for sabotage.

We have considerably more to lose than those in the brig do.

We have had control of the starship for a tenday. In addition, we have reached the first class-M planet in the system. I am being forced, against my better judgement, to strand the humans who do not wish to help us there.

I believe this to be a mistake. But events today have made it imperative that they either be executed or stranded. They have twice attempted to kill those who were taking food to them. One former slave is in sickbay now and on critical support. If she dies, those who are now crew have made it clear they want revenge.

It is difficult to blame them. They have been maltreated all their lives, and lost family and friends to the forced separation that slavery brings. I am trying to teach them that revenge is not a good philosophy to base this new rebellion on, but I am not having a great deal of success.

I am attempting to speak to Lord Kirk. He seems more subdued, and is, at least, willing to talk. He makes it clear that he would execute all of us if he could. I tell him that so far, that is not an option. He is most intelligent, though, and does at least acknowledge that we have the upper hand, though he believes it only a matter of time before we are found by the Empire and destroyed. I tell him that we will not allow that to happen.

I speak to him of the Empire and its stability, and that it is only a matter of time--perhaps less than a century--before it falls from its own internal rot, and its overreaching of itself while it is at war. "For," I tell him, "I have been monitoring your security channels for some time. The Senate is overextended and underpowered.
Once your Fleet did have the upper hand in technology and in numbers. This is no longer the case. Rihannsu is an offshoot of Vulcan, made up of the warriors who would not accept the teachings of Surak. My people..."

He interrupts me. "People? Animals. We conquered you animals. We civilized you. Without us you'd all be grubbing around in that desert, trying to make a living."

I steeple my fingers as I sit by him, guarded as he is by two former
slaves, one Andorian, and one Vulcan. "People, James Kirk. T'Khasi's civilization had achieved warp drive while yours was still in the iron age. In any case, I am not here to debate your innate prejudices with you. I am here to explain your position and your peoples' positions, and quite possibly offer you a choice, much like the one you gave me eight point five solar years ago. We have your ship. Many of  my people wish you dead, and those with you as well. We approach a Class M planet; it is unknown to your star maps, and may stay so. We can beam you all down there, with some survival supplies. Or we can execute you all. That would be an illogical waste in my estimation; however, it is clear that it would be too dangerous to take you to Imperial territories where your people might be easily found, and equally clear that we cannot allow you to remain aboard. As you are their superior officer, it is necessary for you, therefore, to make the choice for them. I grant you more time than you gave me. We will be able to orbit the planet within two point four hours. I request you have an answer by then."

I stand up. He speaks. "Wait. What assurance have I that you'll keep your word to give us supplies once we're down on the planet?"

"James Kirk, I am a Vulcan. We do not lie. We will beam you all down, a few at a time, and once on the surface, you will be given what supplies I can spare. If you choose death, you and your people will die by phaser or Tal-shaya, whichever is your choice. I will not have you suffer the way you made those people you executed in my sight suffer."

He chooses life, and asks only to be among the last to go. The beam-down is uneventful; the humans are heavily guarded as they are taken to the platform. It takes some time, but at last he and two others are the last to go to the platform.

T'Pel is among the guards--she wishes, she says, to confirm that they are all gone. But as Kirk is being led to the platform, one of my people, a former slave, attacks. Somehow he has concealed a knife. T'Pel reaches Kirk before anyone else can react, and to my horror, the weapon slides into her side, directly into her heart.
I reach the attacker and without volition, snap his neck.

Kirk has barely enough time to register that his life has been saved by one he regards as animal before the transporter beam catches him and he is gone.

And I hold my wife in my arms and I feel the bond try to pull me in as her life ebbs. I learn later that T'Amanda nearly goes into convulsions when her mother dies. T'Pau arrives, having come at a dead run, in time to pull my consciousness back from the void hers went into. No time to get her katra--she is already gone when I hold her, her life's blood spilling onto my clothing.

I send down a single communicator, and open channel. Kirk has it.
"Vulcan," he says, "I'm sorry. I didn't ask that girl to save me."

"That 'girl', James Kirk, was my bondmate. My wife. I am aware that you did not precipitate her death. I wished you to know that I will honor our agreement. There will be tents, medical supplies, and food rations sent down, along with some basic tools. And three phasers. There may be predators. I would not have you unarmed, though I can spare no more."

"I am sorry, Vulcan. I want you to know--when we are picked up, and the Imperial forces go after your group, I'll push for a merciful death for all of you."

"That is kind of you, James Kirk. I think it will not be necessary, however. You will pardon me. My daughter and I must mourn our family member. And you and your crew must prepare yourselves for survival. I believe I have given you a good chance of it. Live long and prosper."

"I can't say I wish the same for you, Vulcan. Instead I'll say until we meet again."

"Indeed, you must do as you will. Spock out."

I close the channel and go to speak with T'Amanda. She is in sickbay with the body of her mother, my wife. She is dry-eyed and I commend her for her control.

"Father," she says,"I do not want to become like them. My mother would not have wanted it. I will be as our People wish. And I will restore T'Khasi. That will be T'Pel's legacy."

"It is a worthy one, T'Amanda-kam. I regret we have no time for
mourning, however. We still have not found any evidence of the rebels. Will you assist T'Pau at the science station? We must help our small band to survive, in order to fulfill that legacy."

"I will, Father. You should clean up."

I look down at my garments, still stained emerald, darkening now, and nod. "Correct. I will join you on the bridge when I have cleaned up. T'Pau will help you reach the console. It is only your height which handicaps you; you have proven an apt pupil in computer science, and I believe I have little more I can teach you. Though it is many years before you reach physical adulthood, your knowledge is equal to most on this ship now, indeed better than most. I wish you to know I approve."

I hear an echo of my father's words, that one does not thank logic. Yes, I tell that voice, but a child needs approval as a desert plant needs the rain. I will not raise my daughter precisely as you raised me. The inner voice falls silent. It is irrational of me to argue it. It is only memories. But I find myself feeling irrational. My bond has broken, and I think the cause is sufficient. Though I was not a good husband to T'Pel, she was a good wife to me.

T'Amanda nods, half bowing, and takes her leave. I search out a vacant stateroom, and thumb open what proves to be Kirk's stateroom. I rifle through his closet--most of his things were beamed down to him--and find nothing. I sigh and go to the computer console and requisition replicated Vulcan robes. I do not feel comfortable with the idea of donning a leftover uniform of this place's service.

When the robes are delivered, I am clean from my shower, and I dress quickly and recycle the old garments. Then I go to the bridge.

T'Amanda is kneeling on a chair, looking at the viewer. She is intent on whatever readings she is getting but when she hears my entrance, she pulls away and turns to me. "Father. I've found something in the databanks and it may be important."

"Explain, Daughter." I use the formal appellation to reinforce our
professional relationship on the bridge. I am indeed proud of her,
illogical though that may be.

"I think we have found the rebel base--but this is more important. I found the Imperial data on the latest star explorations. I found that
dead star you spoke of to me. I reset the instruments, the way you told me you had in your home place, and if I am not mistaken, the star may be falling silent. The ripples you spoke of are starting to fade. It could be a result of the dampening in the Patch, but we should go there to be sure. If you are ever to get home..."

I get up and go to the console. I consult the viewer myself and then
read the data. There seems to be no mistake. But can I justify the risk to all the others? I think not. "T'Amanda, your readings are flawless. But if this is true, then it is more imperative that we find the rebels. Over a hundred lives depend on us. I cannot risk this vessel for one person. The needs of the many..."

"Father, I submit that it will not be a risk. There are no Imperial vessels close enough to reach us inside of at least four weeks. It will take us one week to get out of the Briar Patch at this point and another two point two solar days to travel to the point by that star.  I have been working on calculations. I think I know how to get you back. Father, if you do not go, you may be stranded here for all time. And further--I have read the time fluctuations. If you do not go back, you may damage the time track in your universe. I have found data...Father. I do not want to lose you. But you've shown me your place and time--your friends. Without you there, there will be changes. If my data are right, I can get you back close to the time you left."

"How, daughter?"

T'Amanda shows me her padd. "Something you said about time--time being an illusion--it resonated, Father. I did some research with the help of the other Vulcans on board. Do you know that one of them is a theoretical physicist? Somehow he managed to keep up with research by accessing the computer in the lab he was assigned to clean. He's kept everything in his head, but I started working on a practical application. I made a miniature wormhole effect--saw the computer on your Enterprise. I was able to access its data--just enough to determine that your loss is critical. I can't say more. There is a chance of altering that track again, even if I succeed in recreating a wormhole to get you back at the right time--but believe me, you need to go."

I scrutinize her work. This is years ahead of where science is in my
time. My extraordinary daughter. "Can you come with me?"

"Negative, Father. I will be needed here. The needs of the many.."

I touch her shoulder and suddenly she is a child again and buries her head in my neck, flinging her arms about it. Then she pulls back, embarrassed. "The cause is sufficient, T'Amanda-kam." T'Pau is looking on, not unsympathetically.

"Spock. I grieve with thee...T'Amanda is correct, though. Thee needs to go if thee can."

I sigh. "Very well." The implications of time distortion are not lost on me. If there is truly a risk of disruption I cannot stay. "You say that you have found the rebel base?"

"Affirmative, Spock." T'Pau answers. "We have sent a transmission, encrypted. We've left a channel open. They may or may not reply before we come back. They may think it's a trap."

"We must --you must--find a way to convince them it is not. I must
meditate. Leaving you all will be difficult. Leaving T'Amanda...I wished to do better by her than my father did by me."

The rest of the bridge crew are paying no attention to our public
display, for which I am grateful. This loss of control must not
continue, however. I stand up. "T'Pau, you have the conn. I will be in Kirk's former quarters. I will keep the comm line open. I ask that I not be disturbed unless it is necessary."

I spend the next few days going over her calculations, trying to find a flaw in them. I do not succeed. T'Pau checks her data that I should not have access to, the data about the possible future, with or without me, of my universe. She also finds no flaw.

I do not wish to leave my daughter. But I will have to. We spend as much time together as we can. I show her in my mind all the knowledge I possess.

She is aware of my deepest feelings for her as well. She knows
better than I did how deep Vulcan's fire runs. It is my hope that
someday she will walk the sands of Gol and restore Surak's kir'shara to Vulcan, the way T'Pau in my universe did a hundred years before. She knows the hidden location of it, from my mind, as every Vulcan child learns when they learn the history of T'Khasi. I allow myself to hug her and she me. She has learned to shield and I have learned the value of touch. It is not logical, but it is so.

And we are at the same coordinates as I had been eight point five years ago. We have rigged the transporter and it should work.

"For Father, you must not arrive before you leave if you do not wish to disrupt our timeline," says T'Amanda, quite sensibly.

I take a small holo of her, to remember her by. Perhaps someday I shall show it to my mother that she knows I did give her a grandchild.

I address the crew of the newly inaugurated Surak's Enterprise. I tell them how proud I am of all of them, and admonish them to support the rebel colonies. They have learned all they can from me about tending this ship--they will have to take her and her weapons to the rebel base and from there launch the movement that may help overcome the Empire. I can delay no longer. I lift my hand in the ta'al, and stand on the platform.

"Diftor heh smusmeh," I tell my friends and my family. T'Pau repeats my farewell and starts the transporter, timed as it is to coincide with the fading ripples in the space-time fabric.

And I am home.

I look about my quarters now. I see my firepot and my own antique
ka'athyra as it lies against the drapes in my quarters, red as the sands of Gol. I am changed. My bond with T'Pring is back. I can feel its pull. Perhaps she will have wondered at its disappearance for the two point five days I was gone, in this universe. Perhaps not. We have not corresponded over the years.

My joy at also feeling the bond restored to my own Captain Kirk is tempered by the precedence of this bond with T'Pring, who will draw me to her when I undergo my second Time. Perhaps I will be spared it. If I find I am spared it, and if I again see what I saw once before when my Captain and I melded, I may find a way to speak
to him of what is in my heart. I do not know if that is possible. If
not, I shall be forced to honor the bond with T'Pring, and I shall do my duty with her, assuage my need, and leave her to go where my heart lives. I will endeavor to be kind to her if I can.

For I know now, if I did not ever love T'Pel, I will never love T'Pring. But I will try to be a better husband to her than I was to T'Pel.

I miss my daughter. I would see her grow up, find her own way as I have found mine, but illogically, I have faith that she will. I will keep the datachip with this journal in my private things. I have made my official report, sanitized as it is. There is much that does not need to be said.

I will resume my life. But I will never again take my comforts for
granted--friendship, warmth, cleanliness. Freedom. And I will add one more endeavor to my life's work. One day I shall work to end the states of war between the Federation and the Klingon  and Rihannsu Empires.

There is time. But I will do it for T'Amanda and for T'Pel.

I am home.

And --I can admit it to myself, at least, it *feels* good to be home.

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