Star Trek - Series Fan Fiction ❯ Imprint ❯ Chapter 3

Imprint

Chapter Three

 

 

Kirk set a daunting pace. “You okay?” he gasped, hitching Spock higher and reaffirming his hold on the boy's legs.

 

“The experience is unpleasantly jarring,” Spock stated, his teeth clacking together as Jim jumped to avoid a protruding root. Seconds later, he ducked his head against Jim's shoulder to avoid a low branch. “However, I am sufficiently supported and do not require further accommodation.” When he'd first settled against Jim's back, he had been highly self-conscious and failed to understand the logic in being carried. Humans were notoriously weaker than Vulcans. Though Jim was an adult, his physical strength was not much greater than Spock's own.

 

Spock had amended his earlier assessment and concluded that Jim's logic had been sound. The speed with which Jim moved was greater than Spock could have achieved. His relatively short stature and inadequate footwear would have impeded their progress. He kept a firm hold as Jim moved in fluid leaps, avoiding a tangled web of roots and stray bracken. For a Human, the captain was impressively agile. The darker haired Human, Lieutenant Carter as Jim had introduced him, was less physically adept.

 

Kirk didn't press the issue of Spock's discomfort. There was no helping the bumpy ride, but he was worried that lingering effects of the relic's discharge would surface. Apart from the obvious age regression, he had no clue what else the relic might have done. He was too busy trying not to trip to bother voicing his concerns. As he changed directions to circumvent a hill-sized boulder, he asked, “How close is Carter?”

 

Spock looked behind, careful not to unbalance the precarious weight distribution between himself and Jim. “His distance continues to increase incrementally. His speed is insufficient to your own. I estimate another two kilometers before he is no longer within visual range.”

 

Kirk barked over his shoulder, “On the double!”

 

“Aye, Captain!” came the distant acknowledgment.

 

They had left the cliff's enclosure before the rebels sighted them, but danger was on their trail. For the past two hours they had been running non-stop. Kirk's lungs felt tight and hard. His body dampened with sweat, and dehydration became an increasing concern.

 

Unfortunately, his point-and-go plan of heading east was not easily accomplished. The nondescript map he used as reference failed to indicate the giant boulders that seemed to spring up out of nowhere and the rocky ditches that dipped too deep to cross.

 

If he had to change course one more time, he might as well turn around and head straight towards the hunting party.

 

It was dusk when Kirk finally relented. The trees had darkened to black silhouettes. The patches of sky visible beyond towering tree limbs were pastel hues of orange and pink. A few stars were visible, twinkling specs that made Kirk feel very far from home. The smallest glimpse of the Enterprise would have put him at ease.

 

If not for Spock calling his attention to the obscure entrance to a cave, Kirk would have missed it. It was less a cave and more a hooded recess between two boulders, but it was still a shelter for the night.

 

The rebels would renew their efforts by morning. Their knowledge of the land gave them a strong advantage. Kirk would stake his captaincy that there were numerous outposts along the river. The hunting party need only signal an outpost and form another team of hunters to come at them from another direction.

 

Kirk wanted to keep moving and use the cover of night, but exhaustion had already set in.

 

Carter collapsed inside the rocky alcove, heedless of the damp ground. The lieutenant panted hoarsely, his prone form not even twitching as Kirk moved around him.

 

Crouching, Kirk helped Spock dismount. The boy stumbled, limbs stiff and uncooperative. He took a few minutes to catch his breath. Sitting beside Carter, he gave the lieutenant's shoulder a reassuring pat. In careful, methodical movements, Kirk stretched his sore muscles. He needed to keep his body loose or he'd be too tight to even stand up by morning.

 

While he stretched, he scanned his data pad. He couldn't pinpoint their current location. The GPS function couldn't connect with the jamming interference. He estimated another three days before they reached the river.

 

Kirk rummaged through his jacket. Emergency field rations were stored in one of the many pockets that lined the all-purpose parka.

 

There were a total of three energy bars and water packets. Spock's coat would have three of each, and the lieutenant's another three. The finger-sized rations were packed with calories, but it wouldn't be enough to sustain them until they reached the river. Stretched thin, a single bar could keep a desperate man going for a couple days.

 

Dehydration was his main concern. His head throbbed and he knew it was a symptom of dehydration. With any luck, it would rain. For now, they would split the rations and worry about further provisions in the morning.

 

“Here,” Kirk said, offering the unappealing ration to Spock. It resembled a piece of jerky and was about as tough as leather. “It tastes like cardboard, but it's better than nothing.”

 

Spock eyed the bar for a prolonged moment.

 

Kirk chuckled quietly. “It's vegetarian,” he said. “Meat is too gourmet for emergency rations.” He selected a bar for himself, but thought better of it. If he ate anything with his stomach in knots, he'd just throw it up. He would wait until his body had cooled down.

 

Spock gave a small nod and accepted the food. He held the wrapper in place, taking care not to touch the bar itself. The lieutenant drained a water packet in a matter of seconds. Jim didn't touch his food or water, though Spock was certain the man required fluid intake.

 

Unstrapping his phaser, Kirk set it next to Carter and stood up. “Carter, keep watch until I get back.”

 

“Captain?” Carter intoned incredulously, his eyes pleading. The stitch in his side flared when he breathed and his head throbbed at every subtle movement. He just wanted to sleep for the next twenty-four hours.

 

Kirk shook his head, masking all trace of sympathy. “We're not safe, Lieutenant.”

 

“Where do you intend to go?” Spock asked, standing as if he intended to follow.

 

“I'm going to set decoy trails, hopefully lead our shadows in circles when they catch up.” Kirk glanced heavenward, estimating how much light he would have to see by. The sun had set, leaving little more than a pale orange trace of light in the western edge of the sky. Thelos had a faster rotation than Earth, spinning on a twenty hour cycle.

 

Dark shapes seemed to lurk behind every tree. Navigating without light was a calculated risk he would have to take. With a reassuring squeeze to Spock's shoulder, he said, “I won't be long.” Not waiting around for the boy to inform him that long was an inaccurate and nondescript measurement of time, he set off.

 

After watching Jim's form disappear behind the blending shadows of distant trees, Spock turned around and began an examination of the small alcove. There was a loose layer of topsoil that was soft and giving, but it was also damp and cold. Spock could feel the ground draining body heat through the flimsy strips wrapped around his feet. The uneven surface of the walls was colder than the ground. The rock itself was a pale violet color. He was tempted to take a scraping. There was clearly some naturally occurring mineral in the soil that gave the trees and rocks a violet tint.

 

Carter ate his depressingly small ration with enthusiasm before he settled back against the side of the rock wall. He stared openly at Spock. “Are you really Commander Spock?”

 

Seating himself opposite the Human, Spock answered, “As I have no knowledge of being a Starfleet officer, it would be logical to conclude that I am not Commander Spock.”

 

“But you're still him, aren't you? I mean, you're just younger somehow. The relic changed you.”

 

Though Spock had had approximately 7.4 hours to contemplate his situation, he had not received new information regarding his presence on an unknown planet. It would have been inappropriate to ask his questions whilst Jim had a limited capacity for speech.

 

Posture straightening, Spock's even expression tightened with concealed anxiousness. Weighing the lieutenant's words carefully, he addressed the most fascinating and distressing implication. “You have previously expressed concern regarding my age. I have no knowledge of the relic to which you refer. Nor do I recall any encounter with this unknown device or any effects on my physical person.”

 

“You were older,” Carter asserted. Head falling back, he slouched in exhausted defeat.

 

“Are you suggesting that I have regressed in age, a highly improbable act abetted by some type of relic device?”

 

Carter grunted as his head dipped forward, chin resting against his chest.

 

Spock shifted away from the alcove's wall. He considered reminding the lieutenant that Jim had told him to keep alert. Though his questions remained unanswered he concluded that the lieutenant's enervated state would provide unreliable information. Humans were a weak species, prone to lies and inaccuracies even when they commanded the full capacity of their limited mental faculties.

 

Deciding to wait for Jim's return before attempting to formulate his conclusions, Spock meditated and sought a calmer frame of mind. His mental barriers were frayed. Beneath the surface of his calm countenance were fear, distrust, confusion and anxiety.

 

Above all other emotions, anxiety had chipped away at his forced emotional restraint. He attempted to mend the damage. He needed patience and a calm mind to accept the reality of his circumstances, whatever that reality might be.

 

Spock found the deeper reaches of meditation elusive. Physical stimuli interfered with his concentration. His ears were hyper sensitive to the creak of tree bows and rustling of needles in the faint breeze. Shrill caws and hoots answered back and forth from high above. There were animals prowling about, their scurrying feet scraping against tree bark. The pervasive notion that danger crept nearer prevented him from attaining true calm.

 

Spock's meditation broke down completely when he recalled the sensation of Jim's jostling movements. It was a phantom sensation of the man's body moving, muscles contracting and joints bending. He had never experienced such prolonged physical closeness with another being. He hesitated to categorize the sensation as unwelcome. His bred aversion to physical contact had made him uncomfortable for the duration of being carried, but he'd felt safe while pressed against Jim's back.

 

An unknown pursuant tracked them. As captain, Jim was the leader. Spock had catalogued all of Jim's actions since first encountering the man. Jim had delivered clear and concise orders and a firm type of encouragement to the lieutenant. Despite being Human, the man had not succumbed to the over emotionalism that such high stress situations might induce in other Humans. There was no panic or hesitancy in Jim, only constant action and confident decision-making.

 

It was only logical that Spock felt safer in Jim's presence, because statistically he was safer. His chances of survival jumped from 32.972 percent to 83.975 percent with Jim's aide. His calculations did not factor in the possibility that the rebels intended him harm. Despite Jim's assertions, he had no concrete evidence of such claims.

 

As Spock ended his failing endeavor to meditate, he became keenly aware of his vulnerable position. Jim was gone and Lieutenant Carter was asleep. He opened his eyes and surveyed the dark night. He was alone.

 

A tremor wracked his frame. The column of his back became colder each passing moment. The stone he leaned against leached his warmth away. Drawing his knees up to his chest, he burrowed deeper inside his over-sized jacket. A wave of contrite emotion threatened to spill forth.

 

He was not on Vulcan. He had no knowledge of how he'd come to be on a strange planet and in the company of two unfamiliar Humans. He returned to the possibility of abduction. His father had pressed him to excel in the art of hand-to-hand combat and master Suus Mahna before he was eleven. As an ambassador's son, there was greater risk of abduction and his father had made it clear that his life was forfeit should it come at the expense of the greater good.

 

Torn from his musings, Spock caught the sound of approaching footsteps. His head whipped to the side, wide eyes staring into the darkness beyond the alcove's entrance. A shadowy figure loomed in the distance. He darted a look to the lieutenant who remained undisturbed. On the verge of waking the man, he hesitated as a spike of resentment flashed through him. Humans were a weaker species. He'd been told this countless times. He was perfectly capable of defending himself without assistance.

 

Spock's hand slipped into the pocket that stored Jim's knife. He gripped it in his small fist and watched in silence as the shadow came closer.

 

“Can't see shit,” Kirk muttered to himself, steps faltering as he came within the hooded recess of the cave.

 

Spock's hand unclenched, releasing the knife like a sigh.

 

Squinting into the dark, Kirk groped the wall and eventually found his way to Spock's side. He flopped down without ceremony. At that moment, Carter gave a small snort and proceeded to snore, a sound Kirk likened to the rusted woodchip machine on the farm in Iowa.

 

Kirk decided against waking the lieutenant. He could lecture the man in the morning. “You awake Spock?” He could just make out the boy's form a couple feet away.

 

“Affirmative,” Spock answered.

 

“Try to get some sleep,” Kirk encouraged. “We'll be on the move in the morning.”

 

Spock didn't reply. While his mind needed meditation, his physical body was not exhausted.

 

Kirk dozed. Positioned nearest the entrance, his ears strained to pick up the faintest of noises. He tuned out Carter's snores. The wind was growing stronger and colder. At one point, a well-aimed gust ruffled his hair and woke him. Grimly, he felt the sharp bite of cold against his face and hands. The air smelled like snow, a crisp light scent distinguishable from the earthen smells of damp dirt and moss.

 

A quiet shuffle captured Kirk's attention and drew his thoughts from their peripheral haze. He glanced at Spock. Eyes better adjusted, he could discern the boy's outline and a faint distinction of muted colors.

 

Another shiver wracked Spock's body. He sat away from the rock wall, attempting to preserve as much body heat as possible. The temperature continued to fall, and he felt every degree acutely. The damp air seemed to sink through the material of his ill-fitted clothing and suck the heat out of him.

 

“Are you cold?” Kirk asked. He considered that the boy might be crying. Crying wasn't exactly a traditional pass time for Vulcans, but given the day's events, he wouldn't have been the least bit surprised to hear the boy sobbing.

 

“Vulcans are accustomed to warmer climates,” came the boy's terse reply.

 

Kirk felt a measure of relief. He wouldn't have known how to comfort a crying Vulcan. “So, you're freezing,” he surmised.

 

Spock considered this to be an exaggeration, but as an almost violent shiver jerked through him, he was inclined to agree.

 

Kirk straightened. “Come here,” he said, holding out an arm.

 

Spock didn't move.

 

From what Kirk knew of Vulcans, they were a prideful people. They prided themselves on their logic and self-sufficiency. Kirk also remembered what it was like to be thirteen years old and fiercely determined to prove he was a man and not a boy. “It's for your sake as much as mine,” he said, a blatant lie.

 

“Humans are better adapted for cold climates,” Spock returned, stubbornly rooted in place.

 

Kirk almost laughed. When Spock made statements like that, he didn't know what to think. Spock was a thirteen-year-old kid, no longer his first officer. Yet, it was still Spock. How could he reconcile the two extremes? He couldn't think of them as the same person, no more than he could consider Ambassador Spock to be the same as Commander Spock. In this situation, there was no physical separation between the two, but there were obvious physical differences. It was Kirk's intention to fix what the relic had done before he had to figure out how to deal with the thirteen-year-old.

 

Kirk's tired mind protested further analysis. “That doesn't mean we like the cold,” he said. “I'd rather not carry around a block of ice in the morning, so come on.”

 

“That is a chemical impossibility. Ice refers to water in its solidified state in the absence of heat, a naturally occurring phenomenon involving decelerated particle movement below temperatures of zero degrees Celsius. As I am not composed of water, it is illogical to suggest I would turn into a block of ice.” Spock considered elaborating on the specifics of water content within Vulcan bodies and the subzero temperatures required for solidifying it, but he suspected that Jim had spoken in non-literal terms. His mother often spoke in facetious idioms, a most illogical manner of speech.

 

Kirk hummed a note of agreement. “It's also illogical to sit there and freeze.”

 

Spock did not argue. For the sake of alleviating his physical discomfort, it was only logical to sit nearer to the blond Human for body heat. Nevertheless, logic also dictated that he avoid physical contact due to the nature of his touch telepathy and weakened mental barriers.

 

“I won't force you, kid,” Kirk conceded. He re-crossed his arms. At thirteen years old, Spock was stubborn to a fault. A small smile played across his lips as he considered that the kid was a lot like himself at that age, which was something he never would have imagined about his first officer. Closing his eyes, he was almost asleep again when he felt the press of Spock's body against his side. Not asking for permission, he unfolded an arm and encircled the boy's narrow shoulders. “Put your hood up,” he mumbled quietly.

 

Spock felt the heat of embarrassment in his cheeks, a sight invisible in the darkness of the cave. He had not considered the practicality of covering his head. Up to fifty-five percent of all body heat could be lost through the head. The oversight was inexcusable. He raised the hood without delay and remained stiffly posed against Jim's side. Hyper aware of the dangling arm around his shoulders, he struggled to maintain composure.

 

Minutes passed and Spock only grew more tense and uncomfortable. The minor amount of heat he felt along his side was little comfort.

 

Kirk moved abruptly. He sat up and unzipped his jacket, distantly thinking that this particular thirteen-year-old was more like Sam than himself. While Kirk had been a stubborn and defiant boy, he hadn't been quite this stubborn. His older brother had given new meanings to the term. Sam had resented everyone and everything to the point of running away at fifteen.

 

The rush of cold air against Kirk's torso came as a surprise. It was colder than he had expected. If the temperature continued to drop, their plans for escape could be seriously hindered. Winter weather could force them to seek shelter, allowing the rebels to zero in on them.

 

Hoping that the temperature had more to do with the absent sun than a cold front, Kirk decided to deal with the potential problem when it arose. He couldn't even plan an exact course when the terrain was so unpredictable. There was no point in trying to plan for the weather.

 

Kirk reached out and gripped Spock by the underarms.

 

“What are you doing?” Spock tensed and pulled away. Jim was stronger than he had estimated, able to lift him bodily.

 

“You're worse than Sam,” Kirk muttered, settling Spock astride his legs. “Lean forward.”

 

“I will sit next to you,” Spock asserted, attempting to disengage from his inappropriate position atop the Human.

 

“And you'll keep shivering and waking me up.” Patience fraying, Kirk pulled Spock against his chest and fumbled for the ends of his jacket.

 

“I must protest. I do not require further accommodation. This is highly inappropriate. I am uncomfortable with such close proximity.” Spock's stream of protests bordered on rambling. There was apparent tension in his voice.

 

“I'm sure you are,” Kirk said. Managing to catch the zipper, he began to zip his jacket up, securing Spock inside. The boy was forced to lean in closer until his jacket closed up to the mid of Spock's back. “If I smell like I've just run a marathon, it's because I have.”

 

Refusing to show that he was disgruntled, Spock didn't comment. Vulcan males had dull olfactory senses compared to Humans. He scented only a stale salty scent from the man. It wasn't unpleasant, but he would rather not be close enough to detect it.

 

“The Vulcan custom that discourages casual physical contact is based on the fact that we are touch telepaths. I do not wish to sense the rampant emotions within your mind. It is unseemly.”

 

“I'll think quiet thoughts,” Kirk said, too tired to argue. With an exhausted tremor, he leaned back against the rock wall. His body was sore and stiff and begging to sleep for the next twelve hours. “We've got another four hours, give or take,” he said. “Try to sleep.”

 

There were very few stray thoughts in Kirk's head. His predominant emotions were subdued dread and weary hope, neither of which he believed the boy capable of sensing. He likened touch telepathy to the mind meld performed by Ambassador Spock. Vulcans were all about control. They would be able to control their telepathy, blocking unwanted transference.

 

Spock's next protest fell away when Jim's eyes closed. He watched at an uncomfortably close proximity as long lashes shuttered over the faint glint of blue eyes. This brash Human was highhanded and rude, but clearly exhausted and perhaps in need of additional warmth.

 

Minutes passed before Spock allowed himself to relax against Jim's chest. He couldn't possibly sleep, not when his mind was occupied with so many questions and the physical demands of his body did not require repose. Nevertheless, he settled down quietly and feigned the act of sleep to appease the insistent Human.

 

The steady rhythm of Jim's heartbeat and slow breaths had a hypnotic effect on Spock. Even as he remained uncomfortably aware of the physical connection, he welcomed the wealth of heat. He closed his eyes, not knowing when he fell asleep, only that he was surprised to have Jim shaking him awake hours later.

 

ooo

 

The next day followed the same exhaustive routine. Kirk tempered his pace when Carter lagged behind. They walked after finishing the remainder of their rations for lunch. The rations wouldn't have lasted regardless of how carefully they stretched them. Kirk had already noted a number of likely food sources, none of which he was keen on eating, but he couldn't argue with necessity.

 

There had been no sign of the rebel party all day. While Carter gave a whoop at the victory, Kirk contemplated the possibility that the rebels had the area surrounded and were simply waiting for them to pass through to the other side.

 

They made camp in the decaying hollow of a fallen tree. A fire was out of the question, even though the temperature continued to drop.

 

Learning his lesson from the night before, Kirk left as soon as the sun was low in the sky. He killed two birds with one stone, by setting false tracks while he gathered anything that looked edible. He returned to find Carter collapsed inside the tree's trunk and Spock appearing not to have moved an inch.

 

When Kirk called Carter, his voice was clipper than he meant it to be. Carter shot up and scrambled out, having the shame to at least appear sheepish.

 

Kirk held out a set of stringy plant roots that grew around most of the trees' bases. “I already tested these,” he said.

 

Spock inclined a brow, which was as close to scandalized as he generally appeared. “Ingesting unknown vegetation while isolated from any aide that Lieutenant Carter or myself could provide was most unwise.”

 

Nodding in agreement, Kirk said, “You're right, which is why you should never do it. But I decided to risk it before I passed out.”

 

“Are you okay, Captain?” Carter asked. He prodded the strange purple plant that the captain had given him. The stringy veins were like miniature tentacles attached to a knobby bulb head.

 

“Yeah, I'm fine. I was just thirsty.” Kirk set the bundle of vegetation between the three of them. “You can't really eat the roots, but they've got a lot of water in them. Just suck on them.” The knob at the top was like a water pouch, where the plant stored moisture drained from the ground.

 

When Spock made no move to retrieve a water plant for himself, Kirk tossed one to him. “Even Vulcans have to drink,” he said.

 

Spock examined the plant at great length. “Fascinating,” he said, observing how the roots actually responded to his touch.

 

“That's disgusting,” Carter stated, eyes riveted on the millimeter thin root that had wrapped around the young Vulcan's finger.

 

Kirk was about to tell Spock to stop playing with his food, but the boy's thirst overcame his curiosity. Spock promptly mimicked Kirk's methods of sucking on the root lengths.

 

There was a bitter taste to the plant, but water was too precious to waste.

 

Kirk sorted through the rest of his findings and divided it into three equal portions. Their dinner consisted of tubular potatoes that were a dark plum color and probably didn't taste anything like potatoes, a leafy brown moss and mushrooms shaped like small clover flowers. There were obvious risks involved, but he'd spotted a squirrel-like creature eating the mushrooms and there were signs that other animals had scavenged the moss and dug up the potatoes.

 

Taking initiative, Kirk popped a mushroom into his mouth. He grimaced, but valiantly chewed and swallowed. “I give it two stars,” he said.

 

Carter followed the captain's lead, but struggled with his gag reflex. “You sure this is edible?” He'd passed his survival training like the rest of the crew, but he wouldn't have touched what the captain had collected unless he'd been on the verge of starvation.

 

With a grin, Kirk said, “No, so don't eat anything else for the next ten minutes.” He offered a mushroom to Spock. “Examine it all you want, but don't eat it yet.

 

Ten minutes passed without incident. They finished off their portions of the mushrooms. He was rushing the testing sequence involved in determining if items were poisonous, but he had a hunch they were all edible. He could only hope he wasn't allergic to any of it, which was a higher probability than he was comfortable with.

 

Spock eyed a mushroom cap warily. Vulcans cultivated an appreciation for food as a biological imperative. Vulcans did not eat in excess, nor did they deny their bodies necessary consumption based on a food's appeal, or lack thereof. Regardless, Spock found the plant wholly unappetizing. It would be rude to refuse the offering, but his mouth dried at the prospect of tasting the spongy fungus. “Vulcans are capable of extended periods without sustenance.”

 

“If things get desperate, I'll keep that in mind,” Kirk said.

 

Carter laughed. “Desperate, Captain? What exactly do you call this?” He made a gesture to the rotted tree behind them, their shelter for the night.

 

Kirk clapped Carter's shoulder. “This is just a mild inconvenience.” He regarded Spock again. “We'll give it an hour. If Carter and I aren't dead, you'll eat.” His tone was blithe, but his humor failed at lightening Spock's mood. Some things never changed.

 

Spock's lips formed a tighter line. He was not accustomed to having such concern expressed on his behalf. He nodded his acceptance, suspecting that Jim's intensely blue eyes would remain upon him until he agreed. However, even after he gave his agreement, Jim continued to stare. “You are staring,” he stated.

 

Kirk grinned.

 

A faint furrow between Spock's brows indicated his confusion. Despite the dire circumstances, the Human smiled. Perhaps it was a nervous reflex.

 

“It's weird seeing you like this,” Kirk said. He felt like was seeing a side to his first officer that was somehow secret.

 

“To what are you referring?”

 

“Seeing you so young. It's not something I could have pictured.” If Kirk were less concerned for his first officer's well being, he might have found the sight of Spock as a child amusing.

 

Spock cast a look between both Humans before speaking. “Would the present time be acceptable to request an explanation regarding my presence on this planet and in your company?”

 

Kirk frowned, puzzling over the polite request. “Now's as good a time as any.”

 

“It seemed inappropriate to make such a request while… on the run,” Spock said, his tone inflecting with question. He was uncertain if he had used the Human colloquialism properly.

 

Kirk bowed his head and ran a hand through his hair. The damp strands stood on end. He didn't know whether to chasten Spock or himself. Even if their priority was evading the rebels, that didn't mean their host of other troubles could be ignored. He had fallen prey to tunnel vision, becoming too focused on the task at hand. However, Spock could have piped in and reminded him that an explanation was overdue.

 

Dismissing the matter as a failure to communicate, Kirk raised his head and regarded Spock levelly. “You don't have to wait to ask a question.”

 

Spock nodded, accepting this new directive as though it had never occurred to him to inconvenience either of the Humans.

 

“The truth is, I don't really know what happened to you,” Kirk said. “We came here on a diplomatic mission. We did our job and were about to leave, but communications were jammed so we couldn't contact the ship for transport.”

 

Spock listened intently, filing each fact away and forming new questions to ask when Jim finished speaking.

 

“There was an attack, an insurrection against the government we were in negotiations with. The rebel faction wanted us as hostages for leverage against the Federation.”

 

Kirk glossed over the gritty details, simply relating that they had been taken prisoner. “The Brotherhood also wanted something called the Holy Relic. It's a glorified stick, but it managed to turn you into a kid.”

 

“Lieutenant Carter previously alluded that I had somehow regressed physically and mentally. Given the improbability of such a feat, I remain dubious.”

 

Kirk laughed, releasing his tension. “I saw it happen and I still don't believe it.”

 

Spock could detect no dishonesty in the man's expressive countenance and steady voice patterns. “I admit to having no alternative explanation for my presence among you. I can deduce no plausible motive for an abduction.” He glanced away, lost in thought. After several long moments, he queried, “You are captain of a Federation vessel? The USS Enterprise?”

 

Kirk beamed proudly. “She's a beauty. Constellation class.”

 

Head cocking fractionally to the side, Spock said, “You would be remarkably young for such a position. I profess that I am doubtful of such a fact.”

 

Laughing again, Kirk's eyes brightened with true amusement.

 

“You are amused,” Spock observed with confusion.

 

Still smiling, Kirk agreed with the boy's blunt observation. “I am young for a captain.”

 

“Youngest captain in the history of Starfleet,” Carter added.

 

Kirk didn't encourage further discussion of his captaincy. He knew Spock as the stringent science officer who cited regulations like a priest cited Bible passages. The Spock he knew was older and had seen the world through an adult's eyes. Commander Spock had witnessed death, destruction, and experienced deep loss. The story of Kirk's captaincy paralleled Spock's most tragic experiences.

 

However, Kirk did not see his first officer in the young Vulcan boy before him. He saw a child still innocent and untouched by the void of space.

 

Kirk made an executive decision not to tell Spock more than absolutely necessary. Why burden a child with news of a dead mother and lost home world? It was not Kirk's intention to leave Spock as a child. Once they were safely aboard the Enterprise, reversing the effects of the relic would become his first priority.

 

Carter seemed to sense the captain's sobering line of thought. He excused himself to settle in for the night.

 

Spock asked his questions, seeking specifics on Thelosian culture, the Brotherhood, the political unrest, and everything he could think to ask that might illuminate his own situation. An hour passed quickly, too quickly as he was soon instructed to eat the questionable vegetation.

 

Spock ate without complaint, grateful that his sense of taste was duller than a Human's.

 

When night fell, Spock began to wonder if Jim would once again insist on sleeping together. He watched intently as Jim settled in. The hollowed trunk offered less space than the cave. He was reluctant to join the Humans. The sound of Carter's snores agitated his sensitive hearing.

 

Kirk glanced at the lieutenant and then at Spock, and gave a shrug as though able to read the boy's thoughts. He held out a hand expectantly. Spock bowed his head and approached with an air of reluctant obedience.

 

Unable to sleep, Spock took an interest in monitoring Jim's movements. When the man's breathing slowed, his head nodded forward, chin pressing against the top of Spock's hooded head. The longest Jim remained asleep was thirty-eight minutes, at which point his body tensed and his head lifted.

 

The jacket zipper that secured Spock against Jim's chest had slowly come undone. He felt the cold against his shoulders and back. His feet were numb. As subtly as he could, he hunched deeper inside Jim's jacket. The contrast between hot and cold was unpleasant. Against his back, Spock felt an icy breeze. In front, Jim's warmth taunted him to burrow deeper.

 

When Kirk nodded awake once again, he felt Spock shifting about. He made a quiet noise to let the boy know he was awake.

 

Spock went still, ceasing his attempts to maneuver the jacket's zipper back up. His mobility was quite limited.

 

Kirk's hands fumbled with a distant understanding of what the boy wanted. He zipped his jacket up as high as it could go. By accident, his bare hand grazed a bandaged foot. His fingers were stiff with cold, but he could still feel how much colder Spock's feet were by comparison. The bandages felt damp, which was unsurprising given the moistness of the soil and dank wood.

 

“Nobody likes a martyr,” Kirk whispered. The haze of sleep lifted long enough for him to figure out how to warm the kid's feet.

 

“This is unnecessary,” Spock said, though he allowed Jim to reposition his legs.

 

Awkwardly readjusting Spock in his lap, Kirk wedged the bandaged feet between his knees. “Are you gonna be okay?” he asked quietly. It was getting colder. Children, whether they were Vulcan or Human, seemed like fragile creatures. His own memories of being thirteen involved jumping from haylofts and testing the laws of gravity at every opportunity. Kids were resilient, but most kids didn't wake up on a strange planet with a band of rebels hunting them.

 

Kirk couldn't tell if Spock was okay or not. Did the boy need more food? Did he need more warmth? How long could a child last under such stressful conditions? He felt guilty for not knowing, for not being able to do better. He couldn't triangulate the jamming signal, nor could he Jerry-rig a stronger signal that would reach the Enterprise. He could only keep running for as long as his legs could carry him. That was all he could do and he was beginning to doubt if it was enough.

 

Spock considered Jim's question, sensing a strange weight to it. “While the cold climate poses acute discomfort, Vulcans are more resilient than Humans. As I have already stated, I do not require sleep or nourishment with the same frequency as a Human.”

 

Spock stiffened when Jim began to laugh. He felt the gentle vibration in the man's chest accompanied by a breathy chuckle.

 

“I'm just projecting my Human weaknesses, then?” Kirk murmured, only half-joking.

 

“Perhaps,” Spock agreed. After a long pause he said, “I appreciate your efforts.”

 

“Thanks, kid,” Kirk said in a quiet voice.

 

Not knowing the customary reply, Spock didn't give one. Minutes passed and Jim's breathing began to slow. He listened to the soft sound, wondering why the lieutenant could not breathe as quietly as Jim.

 

 

TBC…