Disclaimer: Star Trek is the property of Paramount/Viacom.
This story is the property of and is copyright (c) 1981 by Kathleen Resch.
Originally published in Gateway,
Martha J. Bonds, editor. Rated PG.
The Devil Her Due
Kathleen Resch
He had been with Jim. One
moment, and they had been standing on the transporter pad, the Captain
exchanging one last word with Mr. Scott before signaling for beam down to their
conference with Commodore Wesley. The next moment Spock had found himself alone
in the darkness of a solid rock chamber. It had now been exactly seven hours,
and he had spent every second of those hours in exploration, in conjecture and
an underlying frantic need and fear to learn his Captain's fate.
Barely perceivable at first,
then more and more apparent, a shimmer of blue light spread faintly across his
field of vision. The light was not nearly bright enough to assist in his
knowledge of his surroundings and the slow-strobe flicker left him vaguely
nauseous. He quelled this impulse without difficulty, but was relieved when the
quality of the light changed, brightened, until it danced slowly, coldly about
him, illuminating in lingering flashes the glistening black onyx stone of the
chamber. He looked around swiftly, taking advantage of the light while it
lasted to analyze by sight what touch had imparted to him earlier.
There were, indeed, no
visible breaks in the circle and arch of the solid stone around, above him. The
only access must be by transporter beam, he thought -- and then he was no
longer alone.
They surrounded him,
seven in all, the shortest taller than he by a foot, and all impossibly,
skeletally thin. He circled warily, eyes on the silent, grey faces, on the
ink-dark eyes that stared out of deeply hollowed sockets. Part of his mind
analyzed the situation -- no transporter hum, no moment of transition. Were
these, then, projections?
Then one reached out,
cobra-swift, instantly dispelling that theory with a bone crushing grip on Spock's
left wrist.
He jerked his hand away
from the cold, damp touch. The creature displayed no reaction.
"Where is Captain
Kirk?" he asked. He did not expect an answer.
They moved closer, their
stink overpowering in his nostrils. Then they laid hands on him at once.
* * *
Spock tested the
strength of the bonds that held his wrists securely behind his back. They were
bound too tightly; blood from his lacerated wrists was sticky against his skin,
and his fingers were tingling from oxygen starvation. He deliberately set his
metabolism to compensate for that factor, and surveyed the four of the
creatures he had been able to render unconscious.
The four that, against
all likelihood, were even now regaining their feet.
He repressed a
momentary, atavistic urge to allow fear to enter his mind. There are no unknowns, he reminded himself, merely data that as yet has not bee fully explained. "Where is
Captain Kirk?" he asked.
One stepped closer, and
he saw for the briefest moment something of intelligence flicker in the dead
eyes. Then it gestured with a long-fingered hand, and Spock looked at the wall
indicated.
There was a light tinkle
in the chilled air, a sound as of laughter, of sliver bells, of the shattering
of crystal. Then the onyx wall before him lightened and, layer by layer, like
onion skin, light flared, retreating through the thickness of the stone wall,
then died away into translucency.
Beyond the wall he saw a
room. There was a woman seated upon a throne. There was an altar at her feet. Upon
that altar was a man.
Jim.
"Take me to
him," he said. He was successful in keeping a tremor of anxiety from his
voice.
Slowly the stone wall
faded into haze. Then that dissipated into the frosty air, revealing the
chamber before him with stark clarity.
He stepped forward
toward Kirk, and was at once restrained by the creature holding the rope
encircling his bound hands. He turned savagely, aware of the uncontrollable
surge of emotion now possessing him, aware also he-had no intention of trying
to suppress it.
"Let me go to
him." His words were razors cutting the air. Nothing in the creature's
gaze indicated that he had even been heard, but then it tilted its head a
little, directing its stare beyond Spock.
The Vulcan nearly turned
to see for himself what had attracted its attention, but then, in a rusty,
mechanical way, the creature dropped the rope.
Spock whirled and ran
the short distance between him and his Captain. The golden glimmer should have
warned him. It did not.
He picked himself off
the floor, angrily shaking the dizziness away, narrowing his eyes as he studied
the faint outline of the forcefield which shielded James Kirk's unconscious
body.
Yet it was him. Alive. Spock
paused for a moment, allowing an intense surge of relief to wash through him,
drinking in the sight of the bare, muscular chest moving in an even rhythm. He
took in the sight of the nude body, the gleam and perfection of shoulders,
chest, belly, thighs, then let his gaze settle lovingly on the angles and plane
of the familiar face, the face that reflected the innocent peace of undisturbed
sleep. It must have been an illusion generated by the forcefield but the quiet
form seemed to exude a golden aura.
Alive. That was what mattered. There would be time for other
questions, now.
He lifted his eyes to
the woman on the throne. Scarlet eyes regarded him with a strange intensity
beneath the black of her wingswept brows; her lush green lips curved in a smile
which held nothing of warmth. Her white hands, twisted together, held one end
of the length of a short, gold chain. She moved her head slightly to regard him
better, the clacking sound of the ivory earrings suspended from her pointed
ears accompanying the move.
His eyes took in other
details -- the river of ebony hair cascading down to enhance the perfection of
her gold-clad body, the carved and gleaming onyx of the throne on which she
sat, the chamber itself, illuminated with shafts of gold and crimson light...
The fact that they were
now alone. The guardian creatures had vanished again, as soundlessly, as
swiftly as they had appeared.
He could not help but
speculate on the meaning of that occurrence. However, though it was a
temptation, he did not allow himself to draw hope from the fact that they were
gone. Whatever the creatures had been, obviously they were controlled by this
woman. Hers was the power here, and it would be she with whom he must deal.
His gaze returned to
Kirk's face. "What have you done to him?"
Her voice was silk, was
the murmur of a deep river. "Claimed him."
"And who are
you?" He filled his gate with all the intensity, the command that was in
his soul.
"I am," she
said, drawing an emerald tongue over her lips. She smiled. Laughed. "I am
that I am."
Annoyance flared through
him at her riddles. Yet there were more important matters. "Release
him." Their gaze locked.
"Have you no other
questions to ask, Spock?"
Riveted, he demanded,
"How do you know my name?"
"Curiosity, at
last. I saw from his mind that you are driven by it." Her scarlet eyes
were avid. "I see from your mind there are forces yet stronger."
He fought to keep his
face expressionless, "Release him," he said again.
"What will you give
me for him?" She rested her head on one green-nailed hand.
His lips were suddenly
dry, his voice difficult to summon. "Anything. Anything that I am able.''
"Then give
me..." Her pale hands twisted the chain idly as she appeared, dreamily, to
contemplate the proposition. But her eyes were hard beneath her lowered lids. "...
your soul."
"That is a
religious concept in which I do not believe. Though common to many cultures…"
"Including your
own." It was no question. "Including both of your own."
He said nothing at all.
"If you do not
believe, it should not matter if you agree or not," she pointed out
reasonably.
"If I do not?"
"Then he will know
Hell."
His attention was
instantly on Kirk. A scream of pure agony sent horror through Spock; the sight
of Kirk's hazel eyes, wide open and tormented, his body writhing beneath
unbearable pain was impossible to face or deny.
"Stop!" he
shouted.
"Do you
agree?"
He looked up to find she
had left her seat and was now facing him over Kirk's quiet form. He dared to
glance down again. No trace of pain was left his Captain's quiet features, eyes
closed once again in sleep.
"Will you return us
to the
"If you agree, you
may take him wherever you will."
It was the only answer,
he realized. A difference which makes no
difference… He swallowed. "Will you conduct some peculiar
ceremony?"
She smiled, revealing
cat-sharp teeth. "Give me your consent."
"I consent." His
tone spoke of contempt, and of desperation.
"Then it is
done."
"That is all?"
"All."
At that word, the rope
still binding his wrists together fell away from them to the floor.
"Give me your
hands," she said.
He brought them around,
reaching over Kirk's body. She laid the golden chain across his outstretched
palms.
"He is yours,"
she said, boredom in her voice. "And you are mine." Emerald lips
curved with delight. "Mine."
"Release him. Now."
"You yourself hold
the key."
He didn't understand for
a moment, then looked down at the chain he still held. Then he began a minute
study of the altar, of the tremor of the forcefield encasing Kirk's body. It
wasn't until his eyes returned to his Captain's face that he saw it, a faint
necklace of golden light directly above Jim's throat.
Without pausing to think,
he laid the chain there. It fitted perfectly, just for an instant, then the
shimmer dissolved away and it fell through, landing upon Kirk's throat. Gold,
to fulfill the departed aura.
The gold was marred with
crimson. With disbelieving eyes he looked at the scarlet river gushing from
Kirk's throat. At the golden dagger he still held. The stiffening of the body
before him. The smile of the woman beyond.
"No..." A soft
sound of agony, of disbelief, was torn from him. He reached frantically,
gathering up the body in his arms. For an instant, it seemed not to be of
flesh... lying lightly in his arms, near insubstantial, as haze given form by
the frosted air.
The instant passed. "Jim?"
This flesh and blood was real to his touch. This form was real to his eyes. "Jim?"
he asked again.
There was no answer.
"Liar!" The
flare of murder was in his eyes. "Liar!"
"You have what you
have bargained for. "Take him wherever you will." Her tone was a
dismissal.
He looked back down at
the burden in his arms and found he could not look away.
"And I have what I have bargained for." Her voice
was already far in the distance.
Laughter tore at his
ears. Some of it was his own.
THE END