Star Trek - Series Fan Fiction ❯ Imprint ❯ Chapter 2

Disclaimer: Star Trek doesn't belong to me. This story is a work of fiction set in the world Gene Roddenberry and JJ Abrams created.

 

Imprint

Chapter Two

 

 

The rebels herded the prisoners in two lines. Wrists bound by rope, Kirk steadily worked his restraints loose. Beside him, Spock darted a disapproving gaze at his reddened wrists. Spock's own restraints were a titanium alloy. The rebels had some knowledge of Vulcan strength, but had failed to account for Human perseverance. Kirk had noted that the rebels didn't have stronger restraints for them all. They had resorted to the shredding strips of a shirt to bind several of the shamans. He wondered how many prisoners they had anticipated taking and how limited their resources were.

 

“Almost,” Kirk hissed under his breath. He ignored the pain of coarse fibers rubbing against raw skin. It wasn't much worse than a rug burn.

 

As a rebel marched up beside him, Kirk lowered his hands to hide evidence of his efforts. Trucking along a dirt path between dense foliage, it was easy to overlook the subtle actions of single prisoner. When the guard moved to the head of the line, where the shamans and ambassadors were, Kirk resumed his efforts. “They didn't find the knife in my boot. If this rope doesn't give in ten minutes, I'll have to risk going for it.”

 

Two Thelosian rebels followed behind Kirk and Spock. The guards kept their distance, occasionally throwing Kirk cautious looks. Their rifles hung carelessly at their backs. The longer it took them to grab their guns and aim, the better Kirk's chances were for escape.

 

“Captain, perhaps we should maintain our complacent façade and attempt to enter negotiations with the Brotherhood's leader.”

 

Kirk glanced ahead at the lieutenant. When he spoke, it was barely loud enough for Spock's ears to catch. “I lied about none of us being expendable. This leader of theirs sounds like a serious bastard.”

 

Spock listened intently, but kept his eyes focused ahead. His expression remained neutral.

 

“The foot soldiers who have us now don't have a clue what they're doing. They're not trained,” continued Kirk. “They don't know what to do with us. No mental games, no interrogation. They just fumbled around with the translator and told me we were going on a road trip.” Attention split between loosening his bindings and talking, he accidentally gnawed on his lower lip out of habit. With an inward curse, he soothed the swollen bit of flesh by running his tongue over it, tasting the tangy wound.

 

In Spock's periphery, he caught the captain's subtle wince. Eyes drawn to Kirk's mouth, he was tempted to advise the man not to speak, but it was clear that Kirk had come to some illuminating conclusion.

 

“We're headed to their base camp because they need new orders. They don't even have communicators, which leaves me wondering how the hell they jammed ours.” Kirk made a frustrated sound in the back of his throat and gave a sharp tug against the rope. “My guess is the lower shamans will be killed on sight. They'll want Eldridge, since he's more than happy to try and make a deal. Who the hell knows what they want from the Federation. Probably weapons. I doubt that you, me, or Carter will live long once their boss realizes we aren't saying Jack to the Federation.”

 

Spock faltered over the captain's idiom, but parsed its meaning after a moment. Though Kirk's conclusions lacked a solid basis in fact, he could not deny the man's observations had an intuitive logic. Suppositions based on behavioral observations.

 

If the captain intended to make an escape, then it was Spock's duty to help. “I might attempt to create a diversion and afford you the opportunity to retrieve your knife. However, a blade will not sever my restraints. Without my unimpeded aid, your chances of fending off ten armed guards is approximately five point zero three percent.”

 

“I've faced worse odds,” Kirk said, sharing a knowing look with his first officer. “If I could manage to get a gun off of one of them, it could be enough.”

 

Choreographing a jailbreak was easier said than done. The timing had to be perfect. Kirk didn't know how far from the camp they were, but it probably wasn't far enough to escape without reinforcements showing up.

 

Kirk's instincts told him that they'd be killed if they reached the camp. They needed to run. And they needed to do it soon.

 

A shout came down the line. The guards ahead gestured for them to stop walking. Kirk's pulse jumped. He waited long enough for the rearguards to walk past and join the rebels at the head of the line. If they had arrived outside the camp, then there was no time to waste. With only the most basic of plans in mind, he acted.

 

Kirk made a quick spot check on the rebel who carried a large satchel. Their phasers were probably in it. He stooped to the ground and retrieved the small pocketknife from the inner lining of his right boot. In a matter of seconds, he had his ropes cuts, but his actions had not gone unnoticed.

 

The nearest rebel shouted and started towards him while fumbling for his rifle. The shamans were too afraid to break formation, but their heads darted back to see what was going on.

 

“Captain,” Carter prompted, turning and holding his hands out.

 

In swift, sure movements, Kirk severed the lieutenant's ropes. The Brotherhood's lack of tactical know-how might just prove to be his saving grace. Placing Starfleet officers at the back of the line had been their first mistake. Concentrating the guard detail at the front had been their second. He couldn't fathom the idiocy of committing both mistakes at the same time.

 

The approaching rebel was practically beside Kirk by the time he freed Carter. Spock swept in front of the captain. Before Kirk could utter a single protest, Spock baldly grabbed the muzzle of the rifle and wrenched it from the rebel's grasp. The move had been so quick that the gun was on the ground before the rebel even seemed to realize what had happened.

 

“Are you insane?” Kirk barked at Spock. The Vulcan didn't seem to be listening.

 

Even with his wrists bound, the Thelosian rebel posed no difficulty for Spock. His fingers took a fraction of a second longer to find the nerve cluster in the unfamiliar humanoid body, but he found it.

 

Kirk snatched the discarded rifle and made a quick study of it. Part of him begged for the rebels to give up and lay down their arms. They might have killed countless innocent civilians, but he didn't relish taking anyone's life. At the sight of a rifle barrel aimed his way, which placed the shamans and ambassadors in the line of fire, his hesitance disappeared.

 

“Spock, Carter, with me!” Kirk broke from the line and raced towards the line of trees along the path. A shot lodged in the ground several feet away. Another followed in quick succession, closer this time.

 

Teeth grit, Kirk dropped to one knee and took aim with the rifle propped against his shoulder. “Scatter!” he ordered. “Get behind the trees!”

 

Kirk pulled the trigger. For a split second, the loud bang drowned out the shouts coming from every direction. He missed his target, but not by much. The force of the recoil made his heart hammer. The shamans were literally running in circles, too afraid to make for the trees and be shot at, but also too afraid to stand in place.

 

Out of the corner of his eye, Kirk saw Carter reach the trees. A firm hand on his shoulder tried to move him. “Go, Spock!” he ordered.

 

“Captain,” Spock said in reproval.

 

Kirk ignored his first officer, instead taking aim again. His next shot hit the nearest rebel in the chest. This caused the group to rethink their strategy. These were the same Thelosians who had tracked him into a house and tried to storm the child's room he'd hidden in. They knew better than to stand in the open when he was armed.

 

He waited long enough to observe the guard with the satchel issue orders to the others. As several of the rebels fell back to the trees on the other side of the path, Kirk aimed at him. It took two tries, but he got the guy in the leg. The rebel dropped to the ground, grabbing at his thigh and contorting in pain.

 

An iron grip clamped down on Kirk's upper arm and hauled him up. He didn't protest. He had been about to fall back anyway. Spock led him past the nearest tree, at which point he pulled away.

 

Kirk looked at Spock's cuffed hands with regret. He turned to Carter and offered the rifle. “Cover me.”

 

“Captain, let me go for it,” Carter said.

 

“No. You have better aim than me.”

 

Spock straightened, his whole body tensing. “That is an unproven statement, Captain,” he declared.

 

Kirk gave the lieutenant a playful smirk. “Then we'll just have to prove it.”

 

Chest swelling with pride at the captain's confidence in him, Carter ran a practiced hand over the bolt handle and down to the magazine. He'd never handled this particular design, but any decent security officer could figure it out. “On your mark, sir,” he said.

 

Kirk nodded and turned to Spock. “Stay here. I'll be right back.”

 

Spock's nostrils flared as he released an agitated breath. A crease formed between his brows, but his features were otherwise impassive. “Captain, you are attempting to walk into the enemy's line of fire. The chances of your success without injury are-”

 

“Spock, it'll work,” Kirk said, unable to suppress a grin. He watched Spock's dark brown eyes dilate at the familiar words. He didn't wait for a response. “Mark, Lieutenant,” he called over his shoulder as he launched from his position and into the open.

 

It was a short distance to the fallen rebel. The man's comrades had been too preoccupied to drag him clear of fire. He doubted there was much honor among thieves and murderers.

 

Knowing that zipping bullets would pierce him the moment he stopped moving, Kirk decided he just shouldn't stop. He stooped and made a grab for the satchel. The injured rebel offered no resistance. The man didn't even try to raise his gun at him. The bag tore away and he kept moving forward, crossing the four-yard gap to the opposite side. The rebels had scattered, each positioned somewhere inside the forest's edge. Kirk almost laughed as they began shouting, clearly confused.

 

Logically, he should have grabbed the bag and turned around. But his instincts had compelled him to run straight across the path and take cover where they least expected. Feeling mildly nostalgic, he crouched behind the tree and listened to bullets lodging into bark.

 

He threw the satchel's flap open and rummaged through its contents. Three phasers, three communicators, two universal translators, one tricorder, one data pad, and what appeared to be a cylinder shaped black stone.

 

When the gunfire suddenly stopped, Kirk's stomach clenched tight. Time skewed, seconds becoming minutes. Silence descended over the fray like a damp blanket, clinging to everything. With nothing but the feel of his heartbeat in his throat and the whisper of his own breathing, he waited.

 

Ages seemed to pass before a shaky voice rang out. “Kirk!”

 

A cautious glance around the tree trunk revealed Ambassador Eldridge held at gunpoint.

 

“Shit,” Kirk hissed. Bad things happened when enemies realized how easily they could blackmail Starfleet officers by threatening subordinates and innocent bystanders.

 

“Captain!” Carter called. The lieutenant edged into view, rifle raised.

 

Kirk shouted back, “Stay back!”

 

Eldridge made a simpering noise when the rebel shoved him forward, gun pressed to the back of his neck. “Captain Kirk!” Eldridge called again.

 

Breathing in deep measured breaths, Kirk cleared his head. Strapping a phaser and communicator to his hip, he stored the other items in his jacket pockets and slung the tricorder over his shoulder. The pockets bulged and it was uncomfortable, but he remained conscious of the Prime Directive and knew he couldn't leave behind any advanced technology. He stared for a curious moment at the strange stone, then flipped it in the air and caught it with the sort of nonchalance that most of the admirals hated him for. It was an unimpressive piece of polished rock, but he had a hunch that it was the Thelosians' prized Holy Relic. He briefly wondered why they would have just tossed it a bag like they had, but everything in the bag would be considered priceless to insurgents eager to collect high tech gadgets from other worlds.

 

Standing, Kirk stepped out into the open and raised his hands, the stone held in plain sight. “What do they want, Eldridge?” he asked, locking eyes with the ambassador.

 

“Look what you've done!” Eldridge accused. His bound hands trembled.

 

“Ambassador,” Kirk said in a deceptively calm voice, “I can see you're in a difficult position.”

 

“Get this gun off my head!” Eldridge snapped.

 

Kirk shifted his gaze and caught the rebel's eye. He waved the stone, a sense of triumph overcoming him when the rebel appeared shocked and worried. “Take the gun off the ambassador and we can talk about you getting this rock back.”

 

After a moment of pregnant silence, Kirk prompted, “Eldridge, how about you make yourself useful and translate what I just said.”

 

The ambassador complied. Kirk's eyes traveled around the clearing. The shamans and Thelosian ambassador were huddled in a group, almost ten yards down the path. A rebel, just visible behind a tree, had a gun trained on them. That left six rebels unaccounted for, hiding somewhere in the trees.

 

Kirk's attention returned to Eldridge when the man spoke. “He says the Holy Relic is useless to you. You can't activate it.”

 

In a blur of motion, Kirk drew his phaser and pointed it at the stone. The rebel holding Eldridge cried out and aimed at him. “I don't want to activate it. I'll destroy it without batting an eye. Now lower your weapon.” Kirk looked expectantly at Eldridge, who began translating.

 

Kirk was surprised at how quickly the rebel stepped back, gun pointed to the ground. In a show of good faith, Kirk lowered his phaser.

 

“Captain,” Eldridge began, “we're outnumbered. If you just do as they say and let me talk to their leader, I promise we can get out of this.”

 

Fighting back a derisive scoff, Kirk simply shook his head. “I'm sure you'd be very persuasive, but some people aren't open to making deals.” He wasn't necessarily referring to the Brotherhood's leader. If they weren't killed on sight, then the Federation's refusal to make a deal would ensure a death sentence. “I can't take a chance with the lives of my men.” A leader whose first order of business was bombing civilians didn't seem like a very reasonable guy.

 

From his position, Spock could see Kirk and the unfolding standoff. He heard the faint rustle and crunch of running feet. Turning his attention towards the western rise of the path, where the camp lay, he had the distinct displeasure of sighting rebel reinforcements. Their dark clothing blended in with the low hanging branches of clustered trees.

 

Acting on the same intuitive logic that Kirk frequently utilized, Spock sprinted in fluid strides towards the captain.

 

Kirk had a brief moment to question what his first officer was doing before he was tackled to the ground. Gunfire, which would have hit Kirk, impacted the soft dirt near the ambassador's feet.

 

Despite the cushioned spring that the damp soil gave while walking on it, Kirk found the ground to be unforgiving when he landed with a fully grown Vulcan on top of him. The air rushed from his lungs and his vision darkened for several precious moments. His earlier headache came back with a vengeance. Before he could orient himself again, a demanding grip on the front of his jacket yanked him to his feet and dragged him behind the line of trees. Kirk distantly considered that all this dancing around trees was like a high stakes game of peek-a-boo.

 

“Captain, are you unharmed?” Spock asked as he leaned Kirk's sagging form against the tree's trunk. In his haste, he had not calculated the force of impact against his captain. As a Human, Kirk's mass was less dense and bones more brittle. The man had fallen with alarming ease. The effort currently required to prop Kirk against the tree was minimal. He often found himself at odds with his strength when touching Nyota. Kirk did not appear fragile, but under his hands, the man could break.

 

After taking a wheezing breath, Kirk fought to find his voice. His thoughts were spinning. “Warn a guy before you tackle him,” he managed to answer.

 

“I shall endeavor to declare my intentions should an occasion again arise that necessitates such physical force.”

 

“You do that,” Kirk muttered. He fumbled inside his jacket for Spock's phaser and communicator. Suddenly realizing he was missing both his own phaser and the relic, he tried to dart a look around the tree. Spock's hold prevented him. “The relic,” he said. Spock understood what he meant and stepped back.

 

Still a little stunned, Kirk stumbled forward a step before catching his balance. Spock's dark eyes watched him intently. Forgoing further assurances that he was okay, he looked to the pathway.

 

Eldridge had already rejoined the shamans. Kirk didn't see his phaser, but the black stone sat in the middle of the path. The rebel who'd held Eldridge moments before had already reached it. As the man retrieved the relic, Kirk lost his last chance at gaining leverage.

 

“Captain, I suggest we retreat.”

 

“Agreed,” Kirk said. “But not without Carter and Eldridge.”

 

“Ambassador Eldridge will not be inclined to join us. I believe you are correct in your assertions that the ambassador's life shall be spared. Therefore, it would expedient to exclude him from our party.”

 

“I hate that you're right,” Kirk said. Hunkered low, he cast a furtive look at the Thelosian rebels breaking into the clearing. They were still a good fifty yards off, but their accuracy with weapons was clearly superior to the schmucks who'd taken them captive. They would have shot him if Spock hadn't intervened. “We'll head east. On my mark, we cross and get to Carter.”

 

Holding a phaser out, Kirk asked, “Think you can still shoot, Commander?” His lips twitched as he fought to keep from smiling. This was the first mission of his career and the second time Spock was fighting at his side. Despite staggeringly poor odds, he felt like anything was possible.

 

A single sharp eyebrow quirked upwards in response to the captain's question. Spock accepted the phaser and adjusted the setting a notch above stun. “I believe I can manage, Captain.”

 

Kirk rushed into the open first, with Spock barely a step behind. They leveled their phasers towards the approaching reinforcements and made a run for the other side of the path. Without needing the order, Carter used the rifle to give a little more cover for them.

 

The sound of a high-pitched whine grabbed Kirk's attention. They were nearly to tree line. For a brief moment, he saw the black stone in the rebel's hand point in his direction. Black became a brilliant white. The next second, a bruising shove from Spock sent him clear off the path.

 

The clearing filled with a bright flash. Kirk shielded his eyes, expecting the sudden blast of an explosion. But the flash winked out, leaving everyone stunned. The shamans were the first to react by shouting.

 

That's when Kirk saw the fallen form of his first officer. A heavy weight plummeted in his chest, sinking down until his lungs couldn't expand to take in air. He scrambled to his feet, heedless of reinforcements nearly upon them.

 

“Spock!” Kirk yelled, rushing close until he nearly tripped over the Vulcan. He dropped to his knees with a painful thud. Steady but frantic hands pulled at the obscuring hood of the parka. This wasn't real. This wasn't happening.

 

“Spock?” he murmured in dazed disbelief. Blue eyes scanned the surrounding area for answers, searching for body parts or something that would explain why there was a small Vulcan swaddled in his first officer's uniform.

 

“Captain!” Lieutenant Carter yelled, darting into the open. He fired at the rebels until his bullets ran out, then he dove for the phaser that Kirk had dropped.

 

When lieutenant grabbed Kirk's arm and tried to pull him up, he shirked the hold off and ordered, “Get to the woods.”

 

Carter ignored the order and took up a position at Kirk's side. He opened fire once again, heedless of every near miss that the rebels returned.

 

Forcing down his rage, Kirk battled against the desire to take out as many rebels as he could. Teeth clenched, he did the only thing he could think to do. He grabbed Spock's fallen phaser and gathered the misshapen body into his arms. “Let's move!”

 

Adrenaline pumping, Kirk ran as fast as he could. The landscape passed in a blur. Carter provided cover fire, trailing close behind. He didn't look down at what he carried. He tried not to think about it. Escape was their priority.

 

Kirk felt like he was running in dream. No matter how hard he pushed, his movements were sluggish. The forest was dense. Most of his effort went towards ducking and dodging stray branches. The zigzagging course became increasingly frustrating.

 

“My phaser's drained,” Carter panted, drawing even with the captain.

 

Kirk considered handing over his own phaser, but thought it better to save ammunition. “Haul ass, Lieutenant,” he instructed, hefting the load in his arms.

 

“Is that Commander Spock?” Carter asked. He whipped out an arm to knock a branch aside.

 

“What's left of him,” Kirk returned, bowing under a branch and trying to keep his center of gravity despite the added weight. He ignored the scrape of pine-like needles against his cheek. He was numb to pain. His mind kept replaying that moment before the relic had flashed white. Spock had seen it and pushed him out of the way. Why hadn't he noticed in time? Why had he crossed to the wrong side of the path? If he had just grabbed the satchel and turned back around, this wouldn't have happened.

 

Carter swore a blue streak that would have made McCoy proud, but had the presence of mind not to continue talking.

 

Kirk's sense of distance became distorted. The terrain was uneven and their course non-linear. He knew that they were headed away from the rebel's encampment, but he suspected they were also moving away from the main city. He had no clue where the nearest village was located, or if the people there were aligned with the Brotherhood.

 

“Take my communicator. Try hailing the Enterprise,” Kirk said, slowing long enough for Carter to grab the device from his hip. He took the lead and let Carter follow while working the dials.

 

“Still jammed.”

 

Kirk didn't swear, because captains weren't supposed to show panic. His first officer was presumed dead, a lifeless reduction of limbs in his arms. Protocol would keep the Enterprise in orbit, unless instructed otherwise by Command. If he knew what type of jamming device was being used then he might have an idea of its range.

 

Though he was essentially running blind through enemy territory, Kirk managed to find his stride while his mind worked in rapid revolutions. The rebels weren't in close pursuit, which either meant that they didn't care about capturing a couple of Starfleet officers, or they had plans to catch up by some other means. Counting on a worst-case scenario, he didn't slow down even when he was certain they had evaded immediate capture.

 

“I think we lost them,” Carter gasped.

 

“We'll stop when we're sure,” Kirk said. He strained his ears, listening beyond the sound of his own labored breaths.

 

Another four kilometers, or what seemed like four kilometers, and Kirk called a halt. There was an outcropping of rock on the hillside. Behind the cover of the rocky recess, he set Spock's lifeless form down and took out his data pad. Without a link to the ship, he couldn't receive new data. But the preliminary report and mission parameters were still backlogged.

 

When he found what he was looking for, he felt a stirring of hope. He had a map of the planet. It wasn't detailed, but he read between the lines, making an educated guess on their current location.

 

In a worst-case scenario, there would be a number of rebel outposts. Probably small, like the one they'd just come from, little more than shanty sheds and a fire pit. The river was east of the main camp, but everyone needed water. There would definitely be an outpost somewhere to the east. They would need to divert south-east, hopefully avoiding the outpost.

 

Kirk related his findings to Carter. He gestured to the small screen. “We'll get as far south as we can while going east, toward the levy outside the city.”

 

“The insurgents are in the city, aren't they?”

 

“They're a minority there. There are a lot of Thelosians who might be willing to help us.” In his experience, even the most peaceful person became royally pissed when someone bombed his or her home. Revenge was a powerful motivator that he would exploit if he had the chance.

 

Kirk stored his pad away. “If anything happens, just head for the river.”

 

Before moving out again, Kirk had to deal with Spock. As his adrenaline ebbed away, the heavy ache in his chest took over. Eyes fixed on the lame bundle at his side, his breaths grew shallow and uneven.

 

His hands shook as he gently spread the hood's opening. He had to force himself to look beneath. With a clear view, he puzzled over the unrecognizable, yet familiar sight.

 

Lax features were pale and disturbingly youthful. Fuller cheeks, small nose, a faint dusting of freckles. Kirk didn't understand. It was the face of a child. A Vulcan child as indicated by the upswept eyebrows and pointed ears. A panicked voice in the back of his mind kept repeating, `This is Spock.'

 

There was a flicker of movement behind closed eyelids. Kirk's breath caught in his chest as he dared to believe that Spock was alive. Another flicker had his hopes soaring.

 

“He's alive,” Kirk hissed, his voice caught between relief and disbelief.

 

“What happened to him? Is he… younger?” There didn't seem to be an appropriate term for it.

 

The seeming impossibility kept Kirk from fully accepting what his eyes saw. Surely this was some deformity.

 

Violet-green eyelids snapped open. Wide brown eyes darted around, searching without success for the sight of something familiar.

 

“Spock?” Kirk called tentatively.

 

The young Vulcan met electric blue eyes. Spock read a mixture of fear and confusion in those Human eyes. Encumbered by a large jacket and twisted pant legs, he sat up with slow precision, compensating for his lack of mobility. He gave a puzzled frown at loose handcuffs and slipped them off. He scanned the small rock enclosure and the wooded expanse beyond. Eventually, he settled his attention back on the blond haired Human. “I am Spock,” he said in a small, level voice. “You know my name, but I profess to having no knowledge of who you are or how I came to be here.”

 

Swallowing a groan, Kirk asked, “You're really Spock?”

 

“He's a kid,” Carter declared.

 

Spock's eyes flickered back and forth between the penetrating gaze of bright blue eyes and the restless pacing of the dark haired man.

 

“Lieutenant, keep a look out,” Kirk directed.

 

Remembering himself, Carter snapped to attention. “Aye, Captain,” he said before making his way to the recess's edge.

 

Spock pulled his attention from the dark haired man and answered the blond. “I am S'chn T'gai Spock, son of Sarek.”

 

Kirk accepted the answer with pause. The sight of the relic's white glow and blinding flash replayed through his head. Between time travel and alternate universes, an age regressing black stone wasn't too farfetched. “You don't recognize me?”

 

“I do not,” Spock said. An edge of uncertainty entered his eyes as he once again scanned his surroundings. “Nor do I recognize my present location.” What he did recognize was that the penetrating cold in the air was like nothing on Vulcan.

 

Kirk prepared to ask the fatal question. “How old are you?”

 

“I am approximately thirteen years, two months, four days, and an indeterminate number of hours old.”

 

As implications rattled around in Kirk's head, he plowed on with an increasing sense of urgency to fix the situation. “What do you remember?”

 

“I was in my home,” Spock said succinctly. “This is not Vulcan.” While discovering himself inexplicably transported from his home was perplexing, finding that he was off-planet was downright distressing.

 

“No,” Kirk agreed.

 

“Captain,” Carter hissed over his shoulder. “I think I hear them.”

 

“First thing's first,” Kirk muttered to himself. Crouching, he slipped a hand to his boot and produced his knife.

 

Spock edged back, eyeing the knife narrowly.

 

Kirk held his hands up. “Relax, it's for your pant legs.” Spock's boots were gone. They'd probably slipped off when he rushed from the clearing, or at any point while running.

 

“These are not my clothes,” Spock observed. He rubbed the material to determine its properties. “How have I come to be here?”

 

“You're gonna have to trust me. I'll answer your questions later, but right now it's not safe to stay here.”

 

“You suggest that I trust you, yet your actions are suspect. As it stands, I am inclined to believe you have abducted me.” He lifted the handcuffs for inspection.

 

Kirk flipped the knife over and grasped the flat of the blade. He held it out for Spock. “Cut the excess hem. Wrap the pant strips around your feet. Tighten your belt.”

 

The command in Kirk's voice was gentle, but compelling. His steady gaze instilled a quiet sense of urgency. Spock read these contradicting emotions with confusion. Reaching out, he accepted the knife and followed each direction with mechanical proficiency. There was no belt, but a long strip cut from the leg of his pant sufficed.

 

Kirk spoke while Spock worked. “I'm going to carry you on my back.” He pulled out his data pad once again. Not knowing whether he should treat the boy like a helpless child or like a competent Starfleet officer, he settled for the latter. Vulcans were competent at any age, or so Spock led him to believe.

 

“If we get separated, this is where you need to go.” He gestured to the screen, drawing a line from their current location eastward. The plan was crude, but even a child could understand instructions on a point-and-go level. He pulled out his communicator and showed how it opened. “There's a starship in orbit of this planet. We can't communicate with her right now, but if we get far enough away, we might be able to.” The daunting reality was that Kirk didn't know if he was moving closer or farther away from the jamming signal.

 

Sober awareness in large brown eyes was unsettling on such a young face. Kirk was all too aware of what it meant to grow up too fast. Apparently, he and Spock had more in common than he had thought.

 

Spock nodded his understanding.

 

Belatedly, Kirk realized he hadn't introduced himself. He didn't like that it was necessary, but situations such as these rarely paid any courtesy to what he would have liked. “My name is Jim Kirk. I'm Captain of the USS Enterprise. That man over there is Lieutenant Bret Carter.” Darkly amused that he was introducing himself to his first officer, he smiled. “Call me Jim.”

 

Spock nodded once more.

 

Carter called over his shoulder, “Captain?”

 

Kirk didn't acknowledge the lieutenant. He held Spock's gaze. “You're going to have to trust me,” he reiterated.

 

Spock didn't know how to respond. Logically, he had no reason to trust this man. He couldn't form any conclusions until he had observed more of his surroundings. In place of words, he held out the knife to indicate his compliance.

 

Kirk closed the switchblade and handed it back. “You keep it,” he directed. “Put it in one of your pockets.”

 

Spock recognized the gesture for what it was, an offer of assurance and an attempt to gain his trust. He stowed the knife away.

 

Still crouched on the ground, Kirk turned around. With his back to Spock, he patted his shoulder. “Climb on.”

 

“I am capable of walking without assistance.” The thin strips of material on Spock's feet offered minimal protection.

 

Kirk glanced over his shoulder and grinned. Despite the urgent circumstances, he felt oddly lighthearted. Minutes ago, he had believed his first officer to be dead. Now there was hope. Even better, there was Spock. “We're not walking. We're running.”

 

A sudden sensation of unease overcame Spock. From what little this man had told him, there was an unspecified danger in approach. They were “on the run,” as his mother might have said. It occurred to him that the pursuers were in fact a rescue team sent to retrieve him. They might be his allies, while the man claiming to be a captain might be his enemy.

 

Refusing this bright eyed, smiling Human was a chance that Spock was not willing to take. Having no indication of the pursuers' claims or actions, the statistical likelihood that they were his allies was less than 20 percent. This captain had already made several gestures of peace, even going so far as to allow Spock a weapon.

 

Standing, but not moving closer, Spock eyed the blond man with continued suspicion.

 

Kirk could read none of the back and forth calculations going on in Spock's head. The boy's eerily neutral expression didn't twitch or flicker. Sensing uncertainty where he saw none, he shifted around.

 

“My job right now is to keep you safe. We're in danger if we stay here. Put your arms around my neck and wrap your legs around my waist. I'll hold you in place.” Giving no room for argument, he turned back around with the evident expectation for obedience.

 

Spock moved behind the kneeling Human. Immeasurably grateful that the man could not see his face, he set a tentative hand on Jim's shoulder. He spotted the tear in the coat's arm and the damp ooze of clotting blood in the material. “You are injured,” he said, his hand dropping away.

 

“It's just a scratch,” Kirk said. Déjà vu struck him at the strange concern for his injuries that this boy and his first officer shared. “I don't mean to scare you, but a few scrapes and bruises will be the least of our worries if we don't hurry.”

 

Spurred by Jim's undertone of urgency, Spock leaned closer, almost flush against the man's backside. Suppressing his embarrassment, he set his hands on firm shoulders. Before he could figure out the next step, Jim surged forward and upright. Instinctively, his arms encircled the man's neck. Strong hands grasped the backs of his knees, drawing them to hug slim hips. His position felt precarious, as though he might fall at any moment. It was an utterly undignified position.

 

Warmth radiated off the man's backside. This starship captain was Human like his mother. Warm to the touch. Spock was careful not to touch bare skin, but he could still feel the heat through layers of clothing.

 

Kirk joined Carter at the enclosure's edge. “Alright, let's go.”

 

 

TBC…

 

 

Author's note: You guys are so freaking awesome! Thank you to all who reviewed. Sorry there wasn't a lot of face time between Kirk and kid!Spock. But there's plenty in the next chapter. I'll post again in a few days. Please tell me what you think. ^_^

 

Things got a little more action packed and drawn out than I initially planned, but there's nothing like life and death situations to bond people together… right?

 

The story isn't beta read, so I'm sorry for any errors with typos/grammar/strange sentence structure. I'm a pretty big gerund abuser. My creative writing professor wanted to murder me because of it, but I can't shake the habit. That reminds me, I'm in the market for a beta. Any offers? *gives puppy dog eyes * You'll get to yell at me for using words like “rebel” fifty times in a single paragraph!