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***
It started as a standard diplomatic mission. The Enterprise hailed the Sisterhood as soon as the ship entered orbit around Planet Edda. Upon receiving permission, the captain delegated command to his first officer and beamed down to the surface accompanied by three members of the security team.
The initial orders from Starfleet were to establish diplomatic relations with the Sisterhood of the Valkiers of Halla and open negotiations for future trade agreements as well as possible membership in the Federation.
In retrospect, anyone on board with even a passing knowledge of Earth's mythology should have known better.
Shortly after the away team reached the ground, all communication from Edda ceased. Two hours later, their life signs suddenly dropped. Requests to immediately return the captain to the Enterprise were met with a curt “no”; inquiry after the status of the security team received no response at all. Engineering reported all transporter frequencies were blocked by an unknown signal.
After several tense moments, Commander Spock narrowed his eyes, pursed his lips and bid Lieutenant Nyota Uhura to open communication channels and hail on all frequencies.
“This is Commander Spock of the Federation flagship U.S.S. Enterprise. I request permission to beam to the surface of Edda to negotiate the release of Captain James T. Kirk.”
The Sisterhood responded immediately.
“Permission granted.”
“Lieutenant Sulu, you have the bridge.”
Spock rose from the command chair and strode to the turbolift. Nyota followed close on his heels and stepped inside just before the doors slid shut. Spock inclined his head and arched a brow in wordless inquiry.
“Commander," she said, stressing his rank, "do you really think this is the best way to handle the current situation?”
“I assume by 'this' you are referring to my intention to personally negotiate for the Captain's release.”
Nyota sucked in a breath through her nose and tucked her tongue around her teeth to suppress an impulsive sarcastic reply.
“Yes,” she said finally. “I have to question the soundness of your logic when your strategy in response to the captain being taken is to send down a complementary first officer.”
The left corner of Spock's mouth twitched. “While I see your line of reasoning, you failed to consider all the parameters before reaching a conclusion.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Enlighten me.”
“As part of my Command level education at the Academy I have received extensive training in negotiating hostage situations. Additionally, due to my Vulcan heritage there is only an 8.75 percent chance that I can be emotionally compromised during negotiations. Should it come to a physical altercation, the same genetic heritage will provide the advantage of superior physical strength and stamina. While tactically unfortunate, the fact remains that I am the one best qualified to achieve a positive outcome in the current situation.”
Nyota's hands clenched into fists at her sides. She raised her chin defiantly.
“Are you ever going to stop throwing yourself into active volcanoes for that man?”
“Nyota-”
“Spock!”
The expression on Spock's face changed minutely, sharp brows dipping toward his nose as he ducked his head.
“Not likely.”
The turbolift doors slid open. Spock stepped out, taking long strides toward the transporter room.
Nyota remained behind, staring after him without blinking. Her face settled into a grim mask. She grabbed the communicator from her belt and flipped it open.
“Uhura to Chekov.”
***
Spock materialized on the planet in the middle of a majestic marble hall. A quick glance upward revealed that the ceiling was thatched with golden shields, the rafters made from what appeared to be archaic spear shafts.
“Fascinating.”
“Welcome, Spock of the Federation Flagship U.S.S. Enterprise.”
The woman who greeted him was unusually tall. Her long brown hair was plaited into a thick braid with the help of a leather strip, and her suit of armor appeared to be made of animal skins and metal. She held a long spear with an iron tip in the shape of an arrowhead, and strapped to her belt was a thick club with a spiked iron head.
“I am Herfjötur. I was sent to escort you to Sanngridr.”
Spock nodded in acquiescence and followed the invitation of her outstretched arm. He fell into step beside her, folding his hands behind his back. Herfjötur led him through an enormous double door into a long, spacious hallway. As they walked underneath high arches, Spock noted that the corridor had an equal number of doors on each side.
“Five hundred and forty,” Herfjötur said. “It seemed you were counting.”
Some of the doors were open, allowing a view of the people milling about in the spaces beyond. The twelfth door on the left from their starting point was where the unmistakable red shirts of the security team drew immediate attention. The three men were surrounded by half a dozen beautiful women dressed in flowing tunics and silken dresses. They appeared to be enjoying themselves immensely, heedless of their current mission.
Spock took half a step in their direction, but an iron grip halted his progress. Herfjötur's hand around his elbow was as unyielding as osmium shackles.
“You are not here for them.”
He conceded with a nod of his head and continued to walk alongside the woman, leaving the security team behind.
Several hundred feet farther along, Herfjötur stopped in front of a closed door on the right side of the corridor. She curled her fingers around the gleaming golden rod of its handle and pulled. The winged door opened soundlessly. Behind it was pitch black nothingness.
Herfjötur motioned for Spock to step through. He turned his head and looked at her with one arched brow.
“I feel obligated to clarify that my species is not capable of navigating in complete darkness without technological assistance.”
The expression on Herfjötur's face did not change one iota. “You will see what she wants you to see.”
Spock accepted the terms with a curl of his lip and stepped across the threshold into the unknown. The door closed behind him, plunging him into complete darkness. He cocked his head to the side and listened intently. He could hear the faint sound of heavy breathing somewhere up ahead.
“Commander Spock of the Federation Flagship U.S.S. Enterprise.”
Spock's brows twitched in acknowledgment of the booming female voice. He folded his hands behind his back and addressed the darkness.
“Sanngridr, I presume?”
There was a loud clunk, like a heavy switch being flipped, and a single spotlight breached the void.
Inside the cone of light, James T. Kirk stood shackled to a tall beam with his arms stretched far above his head, shirtless. His chest was mottled with dark bruises and shallow cuts from shoulder to waist. His standard black uniform slacks had been unbuttoned and left gaping to expose his non-regulation underwear. A wide black cloth had been tied over his eyes; underneath the blindfold, a trail of blood had trickled from his nose over his mouth and dried untouched.
“Captain!”
Spock lurched forward, heedless of the bottomless darkness between them.
"Stop," said the female voice from out of nowhere.
He stopped in mid-step and turned, trying to identify the location of the woman.
“What have you done to him?” His tone teetered on the very brink of neutrality.
Another heavy metallic clunk echoed through the room; a second spotlight penetrated the darkness. Illuminated in its bright circle stood a tall, broad shouldered woman with ice-blue eyes and long waves of blonde hair spilling over the shoulder guards of her heavy plate armor.
"I am Sanngridr," she said, "daughter of Freya, ruler of Halla."
Spock returned his hands behind his back, one hand gripping his opposite wrist like a vice, and nodded in acceptance of her introduction. He raised his chin.
"I've come to negotiate Captain Kirk's release. Are you the appropriate person to speak to in this matter?"
Sanngridr laughed. It was the boisterous bark of a callous warrior, reminding Spock of his interactions with the Klingons. She stepped closer, never leaving the bright cone of the spotlight.
"You were allowed to come here to serve our needs."
Spock's brows twitched. "I am willing to address those needs, but any agreement will have to involve the safe return of Captain Kirk to the Enterprise."
A threatening leer stretched her thick lips as she closed the distance between them, bringing the bright hot glare of the spotlight to Spock.
"I appreciate a willing man," she drawled as her eyes scrutinized his physique the way Spock might appraise a particularly perplexing strain of bacteria. "Unfortunately, our scanners showed you're not compatible. Too much inferior DNA."
Spock arched one eyebrow in lieu of an unproductive repartee pointing out the de facto genetic superiority of Vulcan DNA when compared to the vast majority of species inhabiting the alpha quadrant of their galaxy.
"However," Sanngridr continued, turning to face Jim Kirk, "your captain is a prime specimen: strong features, solid build, and clear eyes. He'll provide the seed for many great warriors in the years to come."
Understanding dawned on Spock with a nauseous feeling not unlike the one time he had consumed the flesh of an animal. This woman was planning to use Jim Kirk as a breeding stud. The same fate had clearly been devised for the security team Spock had passed in the hallway. The fact that the three men had appeared well-treated, surrounded by fawning women, begged the question why the captain was in his current predicament.
"Unfortunately," Sanngridr growled as she stepped closer to the captive Jim Kirk, "he hasn't been cooperating."
Spock closed his eyes and fought the urge to exhale a sigh. He was intimately familiar with the stubborn streak of James T. Kirk. The man could stand in the way of an avalanche and refuse to move if he'd made up his mind to stay.
Sanngridr lashed out, gnarled fingers diving into matted blond hair, and yanked Jim's head back until his neck strained. Jim stifled his response to a soft groan behind tightly pressed lips.
"As you can see," she said, forcing Jim to arch his back and push his mottled chest forward, "we've tried our best to convince him, but he just won't give us what we want." She turned her gaze from Jim to Spock. "That's where you come in."
***
Nyota ducked behind a large weapons rack, making herself as small as possible while two hulking white women lumbered past, boasting to each other about the size of their latest hunting trophies.
She had rematerialized, presumably at the same time as Spock, inside an unknown room of an unknown building on an unknown planet and somehow managed to stay in one piece with all of her faculties in tact and without any wardrobe malfunctions. She hoped the same was true for Spock after sharing the same data stream to get here.
The hardest part was remaining hidden from the locals until she could team up with Spock, Kirk, and the rest of the missing crew. A quick browse of the nearest computer had made it abundantly clear that anything other than "Teutonic" was simply not an ethnic option on Edda. Not a place Nyota cared to hang around any longer than strictly necessary, so she had looked up the directions to the nearest armory via the generously spacious ventilation system.
Once the two hunters had disappeared, Nyota crawled out behind the weapons rack and perused her options. There was an assortment of two handed swords and what looked like gigantic hammers with spikes on one side of their heavy metal heads. Luckily, there were also a few shorter, light-weight swords as well as a number of clubs and maces.
Nyota picked a slim, pointy tipped sword with a sturdy wooden handle and a straight cross guard that she might be able to handle at least a little bit like a fencing foil. Sorta. She could clearly visualize Sulu's horrified face, mouth agape and brows furrowed above wide eyes, at the thought.
Shaking it off, she abandoned the weapons rack in favor of the suits of armor. If she could find an outfit that hid most of her dark skin, she might have an easier time getting around the place until she found her people.
***
Spock observed Sanngridr with carefully veiled interest. She was obviously aware of her physical strength, carrying herself with the posture of a seasoned fighter. The large muscle groups of her arms and legs were well defined, suggesting frequent strenuous use. The two-handed sword strapped to her back ostensibly accounted at least partially for the muscle tone.
Without further data, it was impossible to ascertain whether his Vulcan strength would give him an advantage in hand-to-hand combat. Spock decided the best course of action was to continue negotiations.
"What is it you want from me?"
Sanngridr smiled, revealing an incomplete set of large, ivory colored teeth supplemented by three gold implants in the upper left quadrant.
"Well," she purred, "Since the stick didn't work, I thought the best course of action would be to offer a carrot."
Spock frowned. "I'm not sure I understand."
"You," she said, releasing Jim's hair to point at Spock. "You're the carrot, and you're going to make this ass move." She delivered a reverberating crack across Jim's rear end with her open palm.
This time, there was a definite grunt of pain as Jim's head snapped up before it lolled forward again. Spock watched his captain's body sag inside the bonds, the nauseous feeling wrenching at his insides.
"What do you want me to do?"
He rephrased his question calmly, controlling the sudden urge to scowl or sneer or scream at the contemptible woman who was holding Jim prisoner. Though Spock would never admit it, abstaining from emotional responses was considerably more difficult whenever Jim Kirk was involved.
Sanngridr rolled her eyes. "Either you're being deliberately obtuse or your race is the most ignorant we've ever encountered. Seduce him. Be nice about it, or don't be, but get him to respond, and, when he's ready to spill his seed, be sure to collect it in this."
She produced a small wooden bowl from the pouch at her hip and handed it to Spock. He accepted it with a stony face and his insides twisted in knots.
"What if I refuse?" he asked quietly.
Sanngridr shrugged. "Then you're going to spend an awful long time in servitude, doing hard, menial labor until you die. Oh, and we go back to using the stick on this poor little ass." She brushed her fingers over the cheek she had struck before.
Spock lowered his gaze as his mind worked furiously to solve the quandary. Neither option was desirable and their outcomes equally uncertain. Would they be able to escape if he turned down Sanngridr's demand and opted to be taken prisoner? On the other hand, if he acquiesced, would he and Jim be able to turn the situation to their advantage? If so, once they were back on the Enterprise, would Jim ever be able to look at him without revulsion again?
"Decide."
Sanngridr's voice shattered the silence like a hammer strike.
***
The full body leather armor was constrictive and clammy, and the sword in her hand was getting heavier every minute she carried it. Nyota could barely see through the almond shaped slits in her chosen helmet, making it that much harder to find her missing crew mates. She snuck around another corner and ended up in a long wide hallway with a high arched ceiling and an insane amount of doors on each side.
Nyota had a horrible vision of having to open every single one of these doors to find her people and sobbed out a desperate laugh. Then she shook her head, rolled her shoulders, and got herself back under control. This was not the time to get emotional. She had a job to do and her crew mates depended on her.
The trill of a coy giggle somewhere up ahead caught her attention. Nyota sped up her steps and followed the sound to its origin.
As she stepped around the threshold of an open door on the left, her jaw dropped behind the visor of her helmet. The three members of the security team that had been sent down to protect Captain Kirk on his diplomatic mission were lounging around on exotic furs while a group of scantily clad women fed them fruit and wine from golden tableware. Nyota's hand tightened around her sword.
Cooler heads would have cautioned her not to underestimate the other women based on their meek appearance, but, at the moment, the only thing controlling her actions was stifling, inexorable fury.
"Out!" she barked. "Now!"
The women scattered at her command, dropping dishes and goblets mid-air in their haste to leave. The security team was moving sluggishly to get up, struggling to follow their lead. Nyota pointed her sword at them.
"Not you three."
She watched the men sag back onto the furs as doors opened and closed on the sound of retreating footsteps. A quick look around assured Nyota they had been left alone.
She strode across the room to the three prone men, crouched down, and turned to the security officer with the highest rank. Nyota struggled to recall his name from the pre-mission briefing as she pulled him up by his red shirt.
"What on Earth are you doing here, petty officer?"
"Please," he slurred, raising his hands in a sluggish defense, "don't hurt us. We'll do anything you want."
Nyota bit back an impatient growl and removed her helmet. The petty officer cried out in terror. She slapped a hand over his mouth and glared at him.
"It's just paint," she snarled. "Calm down, petty officer. That's an order."
The man whimpered, but he stopped his fussing and settled down. Nyota slowly removed her hand from his mouth.
"I'm Lieutenant Nyota Uhura, Operations Division on the Enterprise." She purposely omitted that her field of duty was communications. "What happened here and where's Captain Kirk?"
***
Spock kept a wary eye on Sanngridr as he approached. She had one hand on her hip, just above the hilt of the heavy looking cudgel strapped to her belt. The other stroked possessively over Jim's rear. Her leer remained in place as she took a step back just far enough to make room for Spock.
"Wise choice," she drawled. "Oh, and don't bother trying to whisper sweet nothings." She removed her hand from Jim, brought it close to his ear, and snapped her fingers. Jim showed no reaction. "He can't hear you."
Spock accepted the implied warning with stoic silence. Sanngridr was under the impression that any attempt to conspire with the captain had been forestalled by rendering him blind and deaf. Whether this proved true remained to be seen.
He stepped as close to Jim as he could without touching him and pointedly turned his head to face Sanngridr.
"Will you allow us some privacy?"
Sanngridr threw her head back with another callous bark and grinned so widely Spock was forced to reassess the state of her dentures. Four gold teeth in the upper left quadrant.
"Of course," she said. "We wouldn't want you to feel uncomfortable."
As she backed away, Spock contemplated the likelihood that there were other women watching from the darkness. He was absolutely certain that Sanngridr remained within close proximity beyond the reach of the spotlight.
Under the guise of a caress, Spock reached out his hand and placed it against the side of his captain's face. Jim's flinch yanked at his twisted insides. Spock wanted desperately to reassure him, but he did not have the means to do so yet.
"Get on with it!"
Sanngridr's tactless command confirmed Spock's assumption that they were not alone. Adjusting his fingers from the unfamiliar position, he could barely touch two of Jim's psi-points on his cheek and temple. It might be enough, but it might not be. He touched his forehead to the captain's, pressed his fingertips firmly into the sweat soaked skin, and recited the ritual words feverishly in his mind, trying to form the connection.
"Hel's mercy, my womb will shrivel before this is done. Go on, kiss him."
Spock closed his eyes, pressed his lips to Jim's, and begged forgiveness with the taste of copper and regret in his mouth.
'Your mind to my mind. Your thoughts to my thoughts.'
Jim convulsed, lips pressed into an unwelcoming barrier, chest taut with arrested breath.
'Your mind to my mind. Your thoughts to my thoughts. Forgive me, Jim.'
There was a twitch. The shackles creaked above their heads as a jolt went through Jim and rendered him motionless for an extended moment before he sagged inside his bonds. His mouth relaxed, lips pliable to the pressure of the kiss. When Spock drew back, Jim's chest caved with a shuddering breath.
"Spock."
***
"Stay here and keep quiet until I come back for you."
Nyota pulled the youngest of the three security crew members up against the wall of the ventilation shaft. He slumped over sideways the moment she let him go. The men had been heavily drugged, probably by the food and drink the silk clad women had been feeding them.
She wished Bones was here. He would know how to flush whatever drug it was out of their system. Then again, it was probably better he wasn't around. These Valkiers already had the captain and Spock; there was no need to go for the trifecta and hand over the ship's doctor.
Between the security team's slurs and mumbles, she had puzzled out that the captain had been taken to a woman named Sanngridr, the leader of this merry band of man-snatchers, after he had refused their sexual advances. This had not made much sense until the petty officer had revealed that the sole purpose of the seduction was reproduction. Apparently, the specter of forced fatherhood was were James T. Kirk drew his line in the sand.
None of the three could tell her where the captain had been taken. One of them thought he had seen Spock pass by in the hallway, but he couldn't be sure. Nyota gritted her teeth and tried to bear with the drugged trio. They were doing the best they could under the circumstances.
She left them in their hiding spot inside the ventilation system, placed the helmet back over her head, and soldiered on. As far as she could tell, she had been here for nearly an hour, which meant Sanngridr had had plenty of time to do damage to Spock if he had met her. She didn't even want to think about the state Kirk might be in at this point.
Left with no choice but to search, Nyota went straight to the nearest computer panel and tried to find as much information as she could about Sanngridr and her current whereabouts. In a stroke of luck, it turned out that the ruthless leader had a crippling weakness begging to be exploited.
Nyota memorized the directions to the two different chambers and twirled her sword over the back of her hand. It was time to do some snatching of her own.
***
"Impressive."
Sanngridr's drawl caused an averse reaction in Spock not unlike the effect of being challenged at the height of the blood fever.
'Whoa, tiger, hold your horses. She's a lot stronger than she looks.'
Jim's sarcastic tone inside Spock's mind was laced with pain. Spock could feel the tendrils of agony reach out to twine around his own synapses. He resisted the urge to let them and stamped down any errant emotions to stay in control of their shared mind.
'Human idioms are nonsensical enough on their own. There is no need to mix them, Jim.'
'How the hell do you do that?'
Jim's amused bewilderment tickled, overshadowing the pain. Before Spock could answer, Sanngridr intruded once more.
"Do it again, and, this time, rub his rod until it stands firm as an oak."
Spock's brow arched high as his head turned minutely in the direction of her voice. A not insignificant part of him doubted the woman's capacity as a fully functioning adult, let alone the leader of an entire populace.
'That feels so weird. Do you feel like this every time you make that face at me?'
'Not every time.'
Spock faltered. Knowing that Jim couldn't hear Sanngridr's commands exacerbated the situation. Jim had to trust that none of Spock's actions were fueled by some sordid personal desire, but instead were based solely on the predatory sexual whims of the barbaric woman who held them captive. Even so, the fact remained that none of this was Jim's choice. Whether the actor was friend or foe could not make much difference.
'Jim, I'm so sorry.'
'Hey, what's going on? What did she do to you?'
'She asked me to seduce you.'
The peculiar feeling in Spock's mind could best be described as the mental manifestation of one of Jim's sarcastic snorts.
'Yeah, I'm sure she was real polite about it and not upset at all when you declined.'
Spock could feel the underlying frisson of panic in Jim's timbre. He wished there was something he could do to assuage that fear. Jim struggled against his bonds, blind and deaf to the presence of Sanngridr only a few meters away.
'You declined, right?'
'I kissed you, Jim.'
'Yeah, but that was part of this mind thing, right? You're not really going to ... I mean, don't get me wrong, I've got no problem with you, and, hey, I don't mind the kinky stuff once in a while, but really, right now is so not the time, and I'm your superior officer, and ... You can't let her get to me, Spock. Please. She wants my sperm. She wants to make me her baby-daddy, and I am so not ready to be anyone's baby-daddy.'
'Father.'
'What?'
'The standard English terminology is father, Jim.'
The disruption had the intended effect. Jim's rambling mind had crashed to a halt and Spock was able to locate the strains of panic and desperation so he could attempt to smooth them over.
'I agreed to buy time. It was the only avenue to communicate with you.'
"What are you waiting for?" Sanngridr sounded impatient.
Spock flinched. 'I'm so sorry, Jim.'
'Hey, what- Whoa!'
The small wooden bowl clattered to the ground.
***
The girl sitting in front of the vanity couldn't be older than fifteen. Nyota felt the pinching grip of guilt at the nape of her neck as she watched her through the mirror, trying to apply makeup with clumsy fingers.
They were alone in the room. No one was there to protect her. This was Nyota's chance. She tightened her grip on the hilt of her sheathed sword and stepped out of the shadows.
"Brynhildr?"
Nyota was reasonably certain her years of linguistic training had allowed her to utter the correct pronunciation. Her certainty waned when the girl didn't respond. She repeated the name louder and with more authority in her voice. The girl turned her back on the mirror and bestowed Nyota with a spiteful glare.
"You're supposed to address me with 'Your Highness'," she said in a squeaky, arrogant tone.
The pinching grip of guilt released Nyota as the compassion she had harbored for the girl evaporated.
"I'm sorry, Your Highness." She emphasized the title in the same tone she had used with Captain Kirk before he had earned her respect. "Your sister has asked to see you. I'm to escort you to her."
Brynhildr frowned. "Where's Herfjötur?"
Nyota had no idea who Herfjötur was, let alone where the woman might be at this particular moment. Unfortunately, Brynhildr was looking at her expectantly, waiting for an answer.
"Bathroom," she said decisively and elaborated, "A terrible stomach ache. She said she's never had to sh-"
"That's enough!" Brynhildr squeaked as her pale powdered face turned a hilarious shade of cherry.
Nyota grinned behind the cover of her helmet. The prissy ones never could stomach the thought of anything nasty.
Brynhildr rose from her seat, smoothed her hands over her silken skirt, folded them primly, and marched right past Nyota to the door.
"Take me to my sister," she demanded.
"With pleasure," Nyota drawled, keeping her hand on the hilt of her sword.
They made their way down the long, wide corridor of doors until they reached the one Nyota had memorized as the entrance to Sanngridr's throne room. She took a firm grip of the long golden handle bar and pulled. As the left wing of the door opened, she could see mostly darkness and a single cone of bright light at the back of the large chamber.
"After you, Your Highness," she bowed her head and motioned Brynhildr to precede her.
"Of course."
Nyota rolled her eyes as the self-absorbed teen flounced past her, unperturbed by the lack of light ahead. After the prissy princess had disappeared inside, Nyota quietly unsheathed her sword before she followed.
As her eyes struggled to adjust to the darkness, Nyota turned her gaze on the single source of light in the room. What she saw made her jaw drop like a broken shuttle hatch.
Inside the spotlight, Spock and Kirk were tangled together in front of a tall wooden beam, Kirk's arms raised above his head, rutting like mindless animals.
***
Jim groaned into Spock's mouth as his hips jerked away from the pressure of Spock's hand on his crotch.
'What the hell?!'
'Our captor was getting impatient.'
'What was she going to do, beat me up some more? I'm serious, Spock. I'm not giving her what she wants, and you're not either. That's an order.'
'I have no intention of giving her what she wants.'
'Then would you mind pulling your hand out of my pants?'
Spock slid his hand up over the flat expanse of Jim's stomach and rested it against the center of his chest, feeling Jim's heart throb furiously beneath his palm. Their mouths parted on a hot, gasping breath.
'Not what I meant.'
Jim's synapses fired annoyance mingled with fear across their link to Spock. Below that, subtle and bewildering, thrummed a hair-thin wisp of arousal. Spock closed his eyes and clamped down harder on his own emotions, struggling to retain control and focus on the objective he was trying to accomplish.
'How strong are these shackles. Do you think I can break them?'
He slid the hand that was not maintaining contact with Jim's psi-points further up Jim's body, gliding past the flexing bicep and along his forearm, following the ridge of a strong tendon to the fragile bones of his wrist. Spock could feel the rough texture of abrasions on the sensitive skin just below the edge of the manacle. Jim hissed.
'No. Maybe? I don't know. I put my full weight on them and they didn't budge.'
Spock deliberately moved his head to nestle into the crook of Jim's neck. The smell of old sweat and dried blood almost turned his stomach.
'What about the surroundings? Did you see anything useful? A way to escape?'
Jim shivered, and Spock observed the hairs at the nape of his neck rise up, puckering the pale skin with tiny bumps. He stood firm as Jim's hips bucked against his thigh.
'You mean before she blindfolded me and stuck that poison in my ears?'
A hiccup of hysterical laughter bubbled out of Jim's mouth before he got himself back under control.
'Nothing. ... God, what if I can never hear anything again?'
Spock ground his teeth against the unsolicited surge of irritation at the words and the feeling of Jim's despair that slithered along their shared synapses. He moved his hand to trace a finger along the edge of Jim's ear.
'You can hear me right now.'
Of course, that was not what Jim was talking about. Inside their connection it was impossible to miss the racing thoughts that surged at light speed toward the ultimate consequence: losing the Enterprise, what Jim considered his home, his family. Spock wouldn't allow it. He squeezed Jim's shoulder in a gesture of support.
'I'm sure the doctor will be able to prevent any permanent damage once we're back on the Enterprise.'
'Right, Bones. Bones will fix this. Right?'
'I have absolutely no doubt.'
'All right. Then we just gotta get back to the Enterprise.'
Spock felt the wave of Jim's resurging confidence and almost succumbed to the responding rush of relief and pride. He stamped down the wayward emotions, but not before Jim had noticed them.
'Hah. I know I'm hot like this, but there's no need to swoon.'
'Vulcans don't swoon.'
'Uh huh, sure. Whatever. Now kiss me like you mean it, and let's figure out how the hell we're gonna get out of here.'
Jim rolled his hips and slung one leg around Spock's waist in a single fluid move that would have impressed an Orion in heat. Spock closed his eyes and sucked in a deep breath, fighting his purely physical reaction to the unexpected pelvic thrust.
Gritting his teeth, he pulled away from Jim's neck and crushed their lips together, mindful to keep his fingers well below Jim's hands scrabbling for a hold above their heads.
A sharp whistle pierced the darkness, eclipsing their heavy breathing and the quiet moans they stifled inside each other's mouths.
They pulled away from each other, gasping for breath, as Spock turned around to locate the source of the sound.
***
"Over here," Nyota hollered into the darkness, following up on her whistle. She'd have to thank Scotty for teaching her. "Can I get some light?"
There was a series of dull clunks as the lights turned on overhead, flooding the room with brightness. Nyota squinted, thankful for the glare shield her helmet provided, and looked around. Up above, seated on a balcony that ran the length of the room, was a sizable crowd of hulking white women in armor and more dainty pasty faced ladies in elegant silken gowns.
On the ground, less than three meters away from Spock and Captain Kirk, stood a colossal blonde warrior with a wicked looking two-handed sword brandished in Nyota's direction. The woman was a perfect match to the photograph in Sanngridr's personal profile.
"Who are you?" she bellowed.
Nyota pressed the blade of her own sword a little closer to Brynhildr's throat before she shifted her free hand off the teenager's shoulder and removed her helmet.
"I have come to demand the release of Captain James Tiberius Kirk, Commander S'chn T'gai Spock, and the three members of the Enterprise Security crew, Miller, Copeland, and Brown, in exchange for your little sister."
"Who. Are. You."
"My name is Nyota Uhura." She dropped her helmet and returned her free hand to Brynhildr's shoulder. "But to you I am the Death Star."
Nyota dug her nails into the sensitive groove at the girl's neck, making her squeal and squirm away from the pain until she came into contact with the sharp edge of Nyota's blade against her throat.
"Please, sister." Brynhildr sobbed, wringing her hands uselessly in front of her chest. "Please, give her what she wants. She'll kill me."
"Heed my command," Nyota shouted, putting every ounce of her meager acting chops into her part as the bloodthirsty villain, "or watch your sister bleed out, before you die on the blade of my sword."
The thick layers of pigment paste on her face trapped her nervous sweat, allowing her to look a hell of a lot more confident than she felt. She was in way too deep and had no idea what she would do if Sanngridr called her bluff.
The warrior stared her down, her enormous sword unwaveringly pointed in Nyota's direction.
"If I surrender these men, you will spare my sister?"
A wave of gasps and muttered comments swelled amid the crowd on the balcony. Nyota did not take her eyes off Sanngridr. Her hand remained clawed into Brynhildr's shoulder, the blade of her sword pressed close enough to the sobbing girl's throat that she would nick her skin if she breathed too deep.
"You have my word."
***
'What's happening?'
Jim's confusion hummed along their connection. Blindfolded and deaf, he had no idea what was transpiring outside their shared minds.
'Nyota is here. She is negotiating the terms of our release.'
Spock relayed the information as calmly as possible as he tried to suppress the terrifying image in front of them.
Nyota's face was hidden behind the mask of a skull, painted with thick black and white paste. Inside their pitch black circles, her eyes glittered fiercely as she challenged Sanngridr.
'What? Is she crazy? Those lunatic harpies are going to kill her!'
Panic began to transmit through their synapses, but Spock took control and assuaged Jim's unbridled emotional response.
'I do not think that outcome is likely under the current circumstances.'
'What? Why? What's she got on them? Ugh, get this damn thing off me, Spock, I want to see.'
Jim struggled inside his bonds, scrubbing his face against his bicep in an attempt to remove the cloth from his eyes.
'Spock!'
Spock heeded the frustrated command and carefully pulled the blindfold off over Jim's head. Jim immediately craned his neck, blinking furiously, eyes watering from the sudden bright light.
"Uhura?" Unable to hear himself, Jim was shouting at the top of his lungs.
'She is currently presenting herself as the Death Star.'
The manic glee bubbled up too quickly for Spock to prevent it from manifesting itself. Jim's mouth fell open, and he broke out into hysterical laughter that reverberated across the room.
"We're dead," he guffawed between wheezing breaths. "We're so dead."
Spock was about to muffle Jim's outburst when he noticed the reaction it elicited from the crowd of women that surrounded them. The ladies and fighters up on the balcony collectively held their breath, staring soundlessly with wide, frightened eyes at the spectacle below. Sanngridr's sword wavered as she looked between her madly laughing captive and the strange warrior who personified death and pressed a sword to her little sister's throat with the intent to kill.
Uhura shook the girl inside her grip, making her squeal in terror.
"What's it going to be?" she shouted in a tone she usually reserved for negotiations with the Klingons.
Jim's laughter stopped abruptly as Spock ruthlessly squashed his emotions. Nobody moved for a long moment as the two women stared each other down. Then, finally, miraculously, Sanngridr lowered her sword.
"Give me my sister, and you can have the men."
"First, give Spock the keys to release Jim Kirk from his bonds."
Sanngridr replaced her sword in the straps behind her back and pulled something from the pouch at her hip. She handed it over reluctantly with a misgiving sneer on her lips.
'I have to break the meld.'
'Okay, okay. Just give me-'
Spock removed his hand from Jim's face, severing their connection. Jim glared at him through swollen eyes.
Spock held out his hand and accepted the key, recognizing the primitive long-short skeleton design of the bit. He found the covered keyhole and unlocked the thick manacles, careful to avoid contact between their hands. Jim's knees buckled the moment he was free. Spock caught him around the waist and wrapped one of Jim's arms across his shoulders to support him.
"Good," Nyota bellowed, still keeping a firm grip on the girl in her arms. "Now, remove the transporter blocking signal and open your communication channels. Hail on all frequencies."
"That wasn't part of the deal." Sanngridr bared her teeth in a nasty scowl.
"Do it." Nyota shouted, pushing her sword against the girl's neck hard enough to nick her skin.
Sanngridr's eyes widened as she watched a trickle of her sister's blood slide along the edge of the blade. She sucked in a deep breath, turned her gaze up to the balcony and nodded once.
Nyota waited for another moment before she cocked her head to the side.
"Uhura to Chekov, can you hear me?"
There was a pause, followed by a subtle crackle, before the familiar Russian accent of the young engineer filled the room.
"This is Chekov," he said. "What's your status?"
"Can you locate our signals? We have three in the throne room and three in the ventilation shaft close to the main water storage."
There was another pause. Spock could see Nyota's hand begin to tremble under the weight of her sword.
"We've got you."
"Yes," she barked. "Six to beam up. Now, Chekov. Now."
The peculiar sensation of molecular deconstruction spread through Spock's body as the throne room disappeared in front of his eyes.
***
When they rematerialized in the transporter room of the Enterprise, Bones was on them in an instant. He stuck his tricorder in each of their faces, scanning for injuries and anything else out of the ordinary.
"Death doesn't suit you," he quipped when he got his first look at Nyota's face.
"Shut up," she said, rolling her eyes, and handed over her sword to a fresh-faced red-shirt. "Hikaru Sulu will want that, so don't go too far with it."
"Yes, ma'am." The young ensign gulped and carried away the antiquated weapon by the tip of the hilt. His face blanched when he noticed the blood on the blade.
"Minor contusions and abrasions," Bones mumbled to himself as he tucked his scanner back into his belt and checked the pupils of the three security team members the old fashioned way. "And the three of you are going to need to sleep off the sedative in your system."
"Bones!" Kirk yelled much louder than necessary. "You need to fix me!"
"What, Jim?" Bones joked, holding a hand behind his ear. "I didn't quite catch that."
Nyota boxed him in the shoulder and shook her head at their silly antics as Kirk glowered and kicked the air in front of Bones, still hanging off of Spock's shoulder.
"Nah." Bones waved his hand. "Let's get you to sick bay. You'll be right as rain in no time."
"What?"
Bones opened his mouth to yell, but then realized Jim was just goading him and snapped it shut again.
"Nice try. Let's go." He jerked his thumb in the direction of the exit.
Nyota followed along, not sure what to do with herself now that the danger had passed. She was still wired from her unexpected stint as a blood thirsty villain. She couldn't believe she had actually cut that girl.
Trailing after the men, she reached out and placed one hand hesitantly on Bones' shoulder.
"Got any prescription for me, doc?"
Bones looked her over, his bushy brows furrowed deeply over his nose and his strong jaw jutted out, as he considered her question.
"A long, hot shower and a stiff drink." He hesitated and threw a furtive look over his shoulder.
Kirk and Spock were shambling their way toward sick bay, Kirk leaning heavily on Spock with one arm slung across his shoulders and Spock's arm wrapped around Kirk's waist for support. Their fingers on Spock's shoulder were laced tightly together.
Bones looked back at her, one bushy brow raised in question. Nyota scoffed, remembering how she had found the two inside the throne room. Bones shrugged and curled his lips in his most charming grin.
"I've got some Saurian brandy in my cabin if you're interested."
Nyota considered the offer for about a quarter of a second.
The End.