Black Fire

by Sonni Cooper

  It was with difficulty that Spock removed his boots. The back brace McCoy insisted he wear until his wound entirely healed restricted his movement.

  The guard took the neatly folded bundle of clothing and dumped it in a corner. He handed Spock a fluorescent yellow jump suit and a pair of worn sandals. "Put these on!"

  Spock took the suit, made purposely distinctive to discourage escape attempts, and slowly slipped it on. He watched the guard remove the small bundle of clothes he had just taken off. Along with the uniform, his control of his own fate was gone.

  Throughout the entire process of prisoner identification and the change of clothes, Spock remained expressionless. He remembered times on board the Enterprise, on those rare occasions when prisoners were being transferred, how he had looked upon them with pity. Prisoner transfer had been the security section's responsibility and he had taken only a mild interest. The process was acutely distasteful to him—as the object of all the rigid precautions—but no one would have known; his face revealed absolutely nothing.

  The security docking bay of Starbase 12 was located on the far side of the space station. It was therefore necessary to take the prisoners along the main corridor through much of the base. Spock was acquainted with the physical layout of the starbase and dreaded the long walk in full view of any passersby. He withdrew further into himself as the time for his transfer approached.

  It was even worse than he expected. The station was full of personnel from the Enterprise, all doing their last-minute personal provisioning before returning to deep space. The corridor stretched infinitely long.

  Actually, it is 132.8 meters, Spock assured himself as he was led out of the detention unit into the long hall. He immediately recognized a lieutenant who was passing.

  Concentrating his sight on the end of the hall, Spock did not look to either side.

  There was no doubt as to the identity of the prisoner in fetters and accompanied by guards coming toward the three women as they finished their shopping before returning to the Enterprise. Christine Chapel saw him first as a bright spot moving toward them. As he came nearer, she broke into tears and started toward him. She was firmly held at arm's length by one of the guards. Uhura and Rand, their own tears of sympathy barely restrained, led Christine away.

  Each glance was almost physically painful as he continued down the long hallway with the guards. Spock was walking a gauntlet. He felt very exposed to the hostility of the onlookers at the station. The only sympathy came from crew members of the Enterprise. He shielded himself with Vulcan discipline as, one by one, other people turned to stare as he was led past.

  The court-martial had been the main topic of conversation in Starfleet for days, so it wasn't surprising to find a group of Starfleet reporters waiting at the door of the docking bay when the guards approached with their prisoner. Expressionless and silent, Spock tolerated the shoving reporters until the guards led him into the waiting ship.

  The brig on the cruiser was much like any other and had the distinct advantage of providing a haven from the blatant stares of curiosity seekers. Except for the guard outside his cell and an occasional nosy crewman who stopped to gawk, Spock was finally alone. He moved his arms briskly, bringing back his circulation after the removal of the restraints, and placed himself with his back toward the door, creating as much privacy as possible. He had no idea as to when he would arrive at Minos since the cruiser had other business en route. It was disconcerting not to have control over his own movements. Within the limits of Starfleet orders and the vicissitudes of missions, he had always had his freedom. There was also the challenge, adventure, and the exhilaration of exploration. And there had been the companionship of his captain and friend, James T. Kirk.

  Spock had always prided himself on his self-sufficiency. Forced to spend a lonely childhood, he had learned not to depend emotionally upon anyone else. Over the years he had developed a protective barrier which shielded him from the risks of intimacy. But under that barrier he felt pain. It was Jim Kirk who had been able to break through, who had become his close and only real friend. Now he had to face the unknown without him. He believed the entire court-martial and conviction was harder on Jim than on anyone else.

  That is all past, he told himself. I must manage alone.

  2

  Minos was a Class-A planet—life possible with artificial atmosphere and off-planet support—and was under a tight security screen. The actual center was completely underground, with the available arable land under an atmosphere dome for farming. The facility was now almost entirely self-supporting. Vegetables and fruits were supplied by the farm, meat by a large herd of hogs, the only livestock found able to adapt to the environment. All of the labor was provided by the inmates.

  Spock still wore the yellow jump suit when he was led into the warden's office upon his arrival on Minos. He stood before the desk in the large, sparsely furnished room with his hands once again bound.

  "Sir, this is Spock, the Vulcan convicted of treason," the guard announced loudly.

  "I am Commander Bryant," the warden said. He indicated a file on his desk. "Your reputation precedes you, Spock. Please leave us, Lieutenant," Bryant ordered the guard.

  "But, sir, that's not the usual procedure," he protested.

  "He's a most unusual prisoner, Lieutenant. Please, do as I say."

  Spock watched the interchange with interest, trying to assess the warden. He seemed to typify Starfleet: He was tall, of medium coloring, well-groomed, self-assured, and appeared competent.

  The guard, obviously disturbed at leaving the warden alone with the prisoner, positioned himself outside the door, anticipating trouble.

  It was no more than five minutes later when he was called back in to finish the introductory procedures and escort the prisoner to his cell. Before he took Spock away, the warden once again addressed the guard.

  "Remove the cuffs, Lieutenant. The prisoner is not dangerous. He's given me his word that he'll be cooperative."

  Spock offered his hands and the guard unlocked the cuffs, freeing him. "Thank you, Lieutenant," the Vulcan said calmly. "That is a definite improvement."

  The guard was taken aback by Spock's relaxed attitude. It was too polite, and the tone was that of a superior officer. Feeling he had to assert his authority over the prisoner, he roughly spun the Vulcan about while preparing to take him to his cell.

  "Lieutenant, I'll not tolerate rough treatment of the prisoners," Bryant warned.

  "Sorry, sir."

  Bryant gave the guard a menacing look, and turned back to the pile of work on his desk.

  With a tight grip on Spock's arm the guard led him to the cell block.

  "I don't know what he told you in there, Vulcan, but you'll get no special treatment here," the lieutenant warned.

  "I expect none, Lieutenant," Spock replied too calmly.

  The guard was unnerved. "We've never had a Vulcan prisoner here before," he snapped. "This is predominantly a human institution. You understand that?"

  Spock nodded.

  Before he was taken to his cell, Spock was subjected to a body search. After that, he showered and was given a standard olive-green jump suit. The number M621V, in bold red letters, was stitched on the upper-left side and across the back.

  "Learn the number," the guard sneered. "That's who you are now, Commander Spock."

  Spock noticed that Starfleet had not planned its penal system to accommodate the great numbers requiring it. The screening and training processes were so stringent that they felt the need for correctional facilities to be negligible. But even among the Starfleet select there turned out to be offenders and incorrigibles in sufficient quantities to crowd the facilities set aside for them. The fact that it shared this correctional facility with the civil authorities in the sector only increased the load on the prison. Minos was disgracefully overcrowded.

  Spock was aware of four such facilities. This one and the one on the planet Galor were designed specifically for human
and like species; the other two served for Starfleet prisoners with different environmental needs. Spock knew he was the first Vulcan to have been sentenced to Minos. He acknowledged that it was not a particularly desirable distinction. He was handed a stack of linens and escorted to the cell which was to be his home for the next five years.

  He found himself alone. Examining the cell, he saw it accommodated four, although it had originally been designed for two. The two lower berths and one of the uppers were made up; the only unmade bed, obviously his, was the upper left. He put the linens he was carrying down on the lower bunk and proceeded to make up the bed. His back muscles rebelled. Still encumbered by the back brace which McCoy insisted he wear, Spock could see he would have difficulty raising himself onto the bunk, yet it was the only place for him to sit.

  Before making the effort to get up onto the bunk, Spock put an extended finger into the energy field on the entrance of the cell. It was activated and sent a very substantial jolt into him. He raised an eyebrow in acknowledgement and struggled onto the bunk, stretching flat. Grateful for the opportunity to gather his thoughts before the onslaught of prison life really began, he lay quietly in contemplation. He had hardly begun to ponder his situation when the cell's other occupants entered.

  With a porcine grunt, the large man who entered first threw himself onto the bed below Spock, sending the entire bunk into vibrations. He was a huge hulk of a man who, Spock estimated, must weigh almost 300 pounds. He was built like a bull, and moved like one.

  On the lower bed across from "Bull" Tim Macklen, a small weasel of a man was removing his sandals. Harry Needham didn't even glance at the new occupant of the cell. But it was the man who took the bunk across from his who interested Spock most.

  Tall and slim, with the distinctive pointed ear of the Vulcan strain, the man gracefully vaulted to his bunk and sat, legs dangling, facing Spock. The two men openly stared, appraising each other.

  Spock made an attempt to introduce himself. "Spock."

  No acknowledgement followed.

  Realizing he was getting nowhere, Spock lay back, acutely aware of the scrutiny of the man in the next bunk, but saying nothing more.

  A warning buzzer sounded and the occupants of cell 621 prepared for lights-out by stripping for bed. Confronted with the choice of sleeping in his jump suit, the only clothing issued him so far, or with nothing on, Spock chose to strip as well.

  He got under the blankets as the lights dimmed, but they did not go out entirely. The ceiling was still partly illuminated. Spock's preference for the dark was an idiosyncrasy well known among the crew members of the Enterprise. His quarters were always dimly lit, providing a haven, a place where he could meditate. That privacy was now a thing of the past.

  Spock covered his eyes with his right arm, blocking the offending light. His sensitive hearing magnified every sound in the cell block: breathing, the rustle of men turning, the flush of a commode, all were intensified. He didn't plan on getting much sleep this first night in his new home.

  A full forty-five minutes and five seconds passed. The sound of even breathing indicated to Spock that most of the men in the block were asleep. Even the jolting movements of Bull Macklen below him had quieted. The usual solace of Vulcan meditation eluded him—the more he tried to relax, the less he was able.

  Suddenly the bunk convulsed again. Bull Macklen rose, towered above Spock's bunk, and grabbed the unprepared Vulcan by the arm, throwing him roughly off the bunk onto the hard concrete floor. Bull had raised his foot over Spock's head when a quick, strong hand pulled the huge man off his feet. Bull snorted an obscenity, pulled himself up, and lunged for Spock's protector, who moved quickly aside, letting Bull's momentum throw him off balance. He crashed into the side of the bunk. Bull came to his feet again, charging at Spock with fury. Like a matador, Spock slipped to the side, raising his hand to Bull's shoulder. The Vulcan nerve pinch brought Bull crashing senseless to the floor.

  "Thank you," Spock said to his protector.

  Responding to Spock's overture this time, his bunkmate spoke. "I am Desus."

  "Romulan," Spock commented.

  He was answered with a smile.

  "What is a Romulan doing in this place? I thought we …" he considered his statement and then continued, "the Federation exchanges Romulan prisoners."

  Desus gave Spock the needed boost up to his bunk. "Ordinarily, yes. But I am not a military prisoner. I was apprehended for piracy."

  "A Romulan of military age, a pirate? That seems illogical." Spock lay prone, easing the ache in his back.

  "No more so than a Vulcan convicted of treason." Desus' statement echoed in dead silence.

  The groggy Macklen got up off the floor and returned to his bunk. By the time the guard checked the disturbance in cell 621, all was quiet.

  The next morning Spock reported to the Labor Division office for his work assignment. He had no notion as to how assignments were designated, but logic dictated that a man's skills would be influential in the decision.

  He was wrong. It was hard, even for Spock, not to react openly in dismay when he was told what his work would be. He was assigned to the care and feeding of the hogs. He had no objection to physical work, but raising animals for food was against all of his beliefs. For him to be a part of the process was particularly distasteful, but he made no complaint.

  Because automation had made most time-consuming labor obsolete, the normal mechanical devices were omitted on Minos. Heavy work was needed to keep the prisoner population busy and in check. When Spock arrived at the livestock area, he was immediately handed a container of slops to carry over to the feeding pens. The bucket was oversized and heavy. With his back still healing, he wanted no extra strain on the area, so he dragged the bucket over to the pens.

  As he was lifting the bucket to dump the rancid contents, a well-placed foot was extended, tripping him. Losing his balance in the slippery mire, he fell, splattering the mess from the bucket. Gales of laughter from the other prisoners accompanied his fall.

  Covered with slime and sitting in a dirty puddle, Spock brushed himself off. A dirty but welcome hand was provided to help him up. It was Desus. "Thank you again," Spock said, brushing off as much of the refuse as he could.

  "It's the least I could offer under the circumstances. Your arrival has switched their attention from me."

  "What's this? Playing in the mud?" a guard barked.

  The other prisoners snickered.

  "I slipped," Spock answered quickly.

  "Back to work," the guard ordered. "Help him, Desus."

  "Yes, sir," the Romulan answered, following Spock, who went back to get another bucket.

  "It seems the guards are not going to be helpful," Spock observed.

  "The guards watch and don't permit them to get too much out of hand, but don't expect them to intercede for you. I've heard the prison gossip. Your crime is not a popular one."

  "Treason never is," Spock said seriously.

  "From my sources in the Romulan Empire, I have heard some of the details… ." Desus probed.

  Together they hefted a heavy bucket. "I simply kept my word, Desus. I do not wish to discuss it. It is done."

  "And you are here."

  "That, my friend, is obvious."

  "Hurry up, you two, this isn't a picnic," the guard shouted, spurring them on.

  Returning to the hog pen with the bucket, Spock and Desus dumped it and were heading back for another when they were confronted by Bull Macklen, his huge body effectively blocking their progress. Trying to avoid a confrontation, they backed off and tried to go around him, but Bull moved quickly for a man of his size and blocked them again. The guards' backs were turned, whether deliberately or not, Spock couldn't tell. Bull gripped Desus' jump suit, twirling the Romulan around like a toy. Seeing that no one was going to restrain the bully, Spock went into action. With a strategically placed blow with the side of his hand, he sent the huge assailant flying.

  Bull, brushing off the
clinging mud, charged at Spock, knocking the wind out of him. Desus, waiting for his opening, seized Bull's ankles, sending him sprawling face down in the mire. As long as the confrontation provided an amusing distraction, the other prisoners didn't care who came out ahead. They roared with laughter when the huge man righted himself and spit the muck out of his mouth.

  Picking up the bucket as if nothing had happened, Spock and Desus continued on their way. "A minor victory," Desus Warned, "but he'll be back for more."

  The last thing Spock expected so soon was a visitor. Awaiting him in the small room set aside for the infrequent visitors to Minos was James T. Kirk. He smiled when Spock entered the room.

  Sitting stiffly upright in the chair provided for him, Spock remained silent.

  "Not even a hello, Spock?" Kirk asked.

  "You should not have come here, Captain. Association with me can only cause further difficulty."

  "We were cruising in this sector, Spock. What kind of friend would I be if I passed up an opportunity to see how you are doing?"

  "A wise friend," Spock answered.

  "Not funny, Spock." Kirk sadly noted the dirt-encrusted, broken fingernails on the slender, tapering fingers that were used to playing on a computer console. As Spock adjusted his position on the chair, his sleeve moved up, revealing a large greenish-yellow bruise. He quickly let the sleeve drop to cover the injury when he saw Kirk's eyes resting on his forearm.

  "Are you all right?" Kirk demanded.

  Spock's silence was distressing. Kirk had seen Spock in all of his moods, and he knew the Vulcan would say nothing rather than admit anything was wrong.

  "I'm not leaving here without an answer from you, Spock! Now, what's wrong?"

  He knew he had to answer Kirk or he'd have no peace.

  "Nothing, Jim."

  "That bruise nothing?"

  "An accident. I tripped."

  "You lie badly, Spock."

  "I cannot lie, Captain. It's against my …"