Seleya Soleta stared at the four walls of the dungeon around her and wondered just how much one was reasonably supposed to suffer in the pursuit of scientific knowledge. Unfortunately, the skeleton lying next to her didn't seem inclined to provide an answer.
She suspected the Centauri left skeletons lying around in their dungeons for dramatic effect. Maybe even to intimidate prisoners. Certainly it didn't seem to serve any logical purpose.
The dungeon itself was hideously primitive-looking. The floor was strewn with straw, the walls made of rock. It was a contrast to the other parts of the palace, which had a far more contemporary look. Far in the distance, her Vulcan ears were able to take in the sound of celebration. The Centauri royal family was having one of their famous "do's."
"Pity I wasn't invited," she said dryly to nobody in particular.
She pulled experimentally on the bonds that attached her wrists to the wall. They weren't anything as arcane as chain, which would have been consistent with the décor. Instead they seemed to be some sort of coated cable. They were, however, rather effective. They seemed solidly attached to the wall, without the slightest interest in being broken by her efforts. They were firmly attached to her wrists by means of thick wristlets. The key was securely in the possession of the guards outside. She was having trouble brushing her hair out of her face since her movement was restricted. Her IDIC pin was gone; she had no idea whether someone had stole it or if it was just lost in the desert. She was saddened by the loss. The pin had no intrinsic value, but she had had it for some time and had become rather attached to it.
Her chest had stopped hurting a while back. She was reasonably sure that the weapon had been some kind of sonic disruptor device. Very primitive, but very effective.
She heard footsteps approaching the door as she had many times in the two days since she'd been tossed in here. She wondered if, as had been the case those other times, they would just walk on past. But then they seemed to slow down and stop just outside the door. There was a noise, a sound of an electronic key at a lock, and then the door swung open.
Standing framed in the doorway was the guard who had tossed Soleta into the dungeon upon the instructions of no less prestigious an individual than the Regent of Centauri. Standing next to him was another individual whom Soleta couldn't quite make out. he was cloaked and robed, a hood pulled up over his head.
"You've got company," said the guard. "You can rot together."
Soleta said nothing. Somehow it didn't seem the kind of comment that really needed a reply.
The guard seemed to display a flicker of disappointment, as if hoping that she'd beg or plead in some way try to convince him that she should be released. It was a bit of a pity; in times past, he'd been able to milk the desperation of some female prisoners for his own---advantage. Ah well. If she was made of sterner stuff than that, it was of no consequence to him. For that matter, it meant that if she eventually came around it would make her capitulation that much sweeter.
He guided the hooded and robed figure over to the opposite corner of the dungeon. "Sit," he snapped, his hand tapping the sonic disruptor which dangled prominently from his right hip. The newcomer obediently sat and the guard snapped cuffs identical to Soleta's into place around the newcomer's wrists. The guard stepped back, nodded approvingly, then turned to Soleta. "In case you're wondering, you had a trial today."
"I did?" Soleta said levelly. "I do not recall it."
"You didn't attend. Centauri law feels that matters proceed more smoothly if the accused is absent. Otherwise, things are slowed down."
"Far be it for me to stand in the way of efficient Centauri justice. I was found guilty, I assume."
"The charge was trespassing," the guard said reasonably, arms folded. "You're here. That makes it fairly indisputable. The penalty is death, of course."
"Of course. Is an appeal possible?"
"Naturally. Centauri law may be strict, but we are not unreasonable barbarians. As a matter of fact, your appeals hearing is scheduled for tomorrow."
"Ah." Soleta nodded and, with a sanguine tone, said, "You will be certain to come by and tell me how I did."
He inclined his head slightly in a deferential manner and then walked out, the door slamming shut solidly behind him.
Soleta turned and stared at the figure in the shadows. "Who are you?"
The figure was silent for a moment. When he spoke, it was in a tone that was flat and level, and just a touch ironic. "A fellow guest. And you're the famed 'Seleya Soleta,' I presume."
She made no effort to hide her shock. "How did you know?"
'Word of you has spread. Apparently you dispatched the Lord Regent in a manner not keeping with his dignity. Vito Turhi informed anyone who would listen. He was more than happy to---how you say----take Regent Oreg 'down a few pegs.'" He paused a moment. "May I ask why you are here?"
She sighed. "Scientific curiosity. In my wanderings, I'd heard some rather odd reports about the surface structure of Centauri Prime. Some very unique geophysical, high-energy readings."
"Your 'wanderings,' did you say?"
"Yes."
From within the folds of his hood, he seemed to incline his head slightly. "You are a Vulcan. Vulcans do not generally 'wander' aimlessly. There's usually more direction and purpose in their lives."
She was quiet for a moment. "I am not---wholly Vulcan. My mother was a Vulcan---but my father, Sebacean." She shrugged, a casually human gesture which was in contrast to her demeanor. "I'm not sure why I'm telling you. Maybe because you're the last individual with whom I shall hold a relatively normal conversation. I have very little to hide."
"Indeed." He paused. "You are far from home, Ms. Soleta."
She raised an eyebrow and said---with as close to sadness as she ever got----"I have no home. Once, perhaps, Fleet. But now...." She shrugged.
"Ah," said the newcomer.
" 'Ah' what?"
" 'Ah,' the guard is returning as I surmised he would."
There was something about the voice of the man in the cell with her that she found almost spellbinding in its certainty. For Soleta had undergone a tremendous crisis of confidence, and a man who was so clear, so in control----she couldn't help but be fascinated by such a man. Sure enough, a moment later---just as he'd said---the door opened and the guard entered quickly. He glanced at Soleta and the newcomer. Neither had budged, of course. Soleta was on her feet but still nowhere within range of the guard. And the newcomer was seated on the floor with such serenity that it appeared he was ready to stay there until the end of time. Quickly the guard looked around on the floor. As he did so, he was patting down the pockets in his uniform.
"Problem?" asked Soleta. Not that she cared.
"It's none of your business," the guard said brusquely.
And the newcomer, from his position on the floor, inquired, "Would you be seeking this, by chance?"
The guard glanced over and his jaw dropped. For the prisoner was holding up the electronic key. The multipurpose device that opened the door of the cell...
....and also the prisoner's shackles.
Barely did the guard have the time to register this fact when the stranger was on his feet. It did not seem possible that anyone could move so fast. A second, two at the most, had passed in between the time when the guard realized his peril and when the newcomer was actually making his move. Soleta hadn't even blinked. It seemed to her that the newcomer had not even really moved with any apparent haste. It was simply that one moment he was upon the floor, and the next moment he was upon the guard. His hand snaked out, lightning fast, and for a moment Soleta though that the newcomer was in the process of strangling the guard. Had he done so, Soleta would not have mourned the guard's loss in the slightest. Oh, she couldn't have done the deed herself, but she wasn't going to shed a tear if someone else dispatched him on her behalf.
But the guard did not die. Instead his head snapped around in response to a hand clamping securely on his right shoulder. Reflexively his hands came up, grabbing his hand at the wrist, but by the time his hands clamped onto the arm of his assailant, it was already too late. His eyes rolled up and, without a sound, he slumped to the floor.
"That was a nerve pinch."
The newcomer made no immediate reply, but instead took the electronic key, which he clasped securely in his palm, crossed quickly to Soleta, and opened the shackles that held her. She rubbed her wrist. "Who are you?" she demanded.
He pulled his hood back and Soleta found herself staring into the eyes of an individual who looked as if he could (almost) have passed for a Centauri. His hair was cut into the traditional sideways Mohawk that Centauri males wore, but his skin was----green. She looked inquisitively at the stranger. No, he wasn't a Centauri, he was a Vulcan. An older Vulcan, to be sure. he had the face of one who had seen every reason to in the galaxy to give up on logic and surrender oneself to disorder....and yet had refused to do so.
"Your hair...." she said.
"Simple camouflage, to blend in with Centauri," he said. "However---your predicament put me in something of an ethical bind. I could have remained an imposter---blending in with the Centauri people....but that would have required my allowing your demise. The security into the dungeon is too effective. Revealing that I myself was a trespasser onto Centauri Prime was the only means I could discern to get sufficiently near you to be of assistance."
"What is your name?"
"I am Balus Spock," he said.
She looked at him, and her inability to disguise her amazement a sure tipoff to her mixed lineage. A purebred Vulcan would have made do with a quizzically raised eyebrow. "Not----the Balus Spock. Captain Sawyer's Spock?"
And now he did, in fact, lift an eyebrow, in a manner evoking both curiosity and amusement. "I was not aware that I was considered his property."
"Sorry....I'm sorry."
"Your apology, though no doubt sincere, is both unnecessary and of no interest." He glanced briskly around. "There is no logical reason for us to remain. I suggest we do not."
She nodded in brisk agreement. "You lead the way."
"Of course."
They headed quickly out of the cell, pausing only to securely close the door behind them. The guard lay on the floor, insensate.
They made their way carefully down a hallway. In the far distance they could still hear the sounds of merriment. The party was apparently in full swing. With nobody around, Soleta could indulge herself in a low whisper. "I studied so many of your exploits back in the Academy. It---it's really difficult to believe that everything they told us really happened."
He paused, his back against the wall of the corridor. "Do not believe it."
"So you're saying it didn't happen."
"No. It happened. But if it simplifies your life to disbelieve it, then do so. It is of no consequence to me. Of far greater concern is our departure." He started moving again, and gestured for her to follow.
"You said security was tight."
"Coming in, yes. Departing, on the other hand, may prove a simpler matter."
Indeed, Spock's theory was right. There were guard stations placed at intervals along the way, but the guards were lax. Never within recent memory had there been any kind of breakout from the dungeon area, so nobody anticipated any now. To exacerbate matters, the sounds of the not-too-far-off party were a kind of aural intoxication. The guards could hear the sounds of laughter and merriment and---most distracting of all---peals of feminine laughter. It was, to say the least, distracting.
Cataclysmically distracting, as it turned out, for Spock and Soleta had no trouble sneaking up on the guards and dispatching them from behind. Indeed, Spock found himself in silent admiration of Soleta's technique. She moved so quietly that it almost seemed as if her feet did not touch the floor. Her technique with the nerve pinch was not as sure and smooth as his, however. Spock had so fine-tuned his ability that the merest brushing of his fingers in the right area was enough to dispatch his victims. Soleta, on the other hand, would grab her target with an almost feral ferocity. If there was a more deft means of taking down an individual through a nerve pinch, Soleta didn't seem interested in learning it. She noticed Spock watching her at one point.
"Problem?" she asked.
"Increase the speed of your middle fingers by point zero-five centimeters," he said. "You will find that you will find that you will render a subject unconscious precisely eight-tenths of a second more rapidly."
They came around a corner and suddenly found themselves face-to-face with a guard. He opened his mouth to let out a shout of alarm. Soleta's right arm swung around so fast that it seemed nothing more than a blur. It cracked solidly across the guard's jaw, breaking it with a loud snap that ricocheted up and down the hallway. He dropped insensate to the floor, unconscious before he reached it.
"Of course," Spock continued as if there had been no interruption, "there's something to be said for brute force."
"Thank you," she said. She'd already unloaded a disruptor from the belt of one of the guards. She pulled this guard's disruptor from his belt as well and extended it to Spock. He took it, glancing at it in a kind of abstract distaste....as if he saw little use for it, but nonetheless had no desire to simply toss it away. He tucked it safely within the folds of his cloak. "Why are you here?" she asked, taking the briefly lull to inquire. "You're an ambassador now, but the Space Federation doesn't have any diplomatic ties with Centauri Prime. Nobody does. So why are you here?"
"As of late, I have been making inroads into such situations as these precisely because there are no diplomatic ties," he said. "Absence of presence does not require absence of interest. The Space Federation considers the Centauri Republic of----interest. There has been so much rumor and innuendo. It was felt that someone capable of passing as a Centauri would be of use in investigating the territory."
"So you're a spy," Soleta said.
"Not at all. I am merely an operative for an outside government, who adopted an undercover persona and entered restricted territory through subterfuge for the purpose of discreetly gathering information that might be of use to my superiors."
"So you're a spy," Soleta repeated.
He gazed at her levelly. "Were I a spy," he advised her in an even tone, "you would still be in your cell, as I would be most unlikely to jeopardize my mission simply for the purpose of rescuing a single unrelated female whose own sloppiness placed her in harm's way."
"All right," she said. "Point taken. So---how do we get off Centauri Prime?"
"I have arranged transportation."
"What kind?"
"Swift."
She quickly realized he had no intention of going into detail. In the unfortunate happenstance that she should be recaptured, he had no desire to risk her being forced to tell her captors information that could prevent them from getting offworld, provided, of course, that she were still capable of getting offworld. She nodded, acknowledging the brevity of the answer, but not pursuing it.
As they got farther and farther away from the dungeon, Soleta was struck once again by the opulence of their surroundings. The royal family of Centauri Prime was collectively every inch of the ruling upper class. There were tapestries hanging on walls, ancient pottery inset into the wall, assorted chairs lining the walls apparently for the convenience of any exhausted passerby who needed to take some pressure off his feet after an extended trek through the castle.
The sounds of the party were deafening, and Soleta momentarily wondered if Spock had lost his mind. Did he intend to audaciously walk into the middle of the celebrations? There was a boldness to such a plan that was almost attractive. It would mean that he intended to hide in plain sight. A cunning strategy that, indeed, might work.
But most likely wouldn't.
And it quickly became apparent that this was not his intention at all. There was a cross-corridor, and Spock gestured for her to follow him down. She kept pace with him, following quickly behind.
And then from around the corner stepped Vito Turhi.
Spock and Soleta stopped dead in their tracks. Turhi did likewise. Turhi was dressed differently than he had been before. In the desert he'd been clad in riding leathers, but here he was sumptuously done up in thick, gorgeously patterned clothes. A long flowing cape hung down from his shoulders. There was also a disruptor dangling from his hip.
Soleta did not wait for him to draw it. Instead she had one of the stolen disruptors in her hand, and she was aiming it squarely at Turhi. "Do not move or I will shoot," she said briskly.
"Are you serious?" he asked with unfeigned amusement.
His tone of voice annoyed her, and it was all the excise Soleta needed. She squeezed the trigger.
Nothing happened.
She glanced at the level indicator in confusion. It read that the weapon was fully charged.
As if reading her mind, he said calmly, "Genetically encoded to its user. Just in a case a situation such as this should present itself."
Of course, Turhi's weapon would work just fine. And there was no question whatsoever that he could draw the weapon and fire it, and Spock and Soleta were too far away from him to do anything to stop him short of groveling. And neither of them were the groveling type.
He had them cold. They knew it, he knew it, and he knew they knew it.
Yet Spock sounded so calm that one would have thought it was he who had the upper hand. "There is nothing to be gained by our continued incarceration," he informed Turhi. "You would be well advised to release us immediately, so that we may take our leave."
"I doubt very seriously the Regent would feel the same way," Turhi replied.
Before Spock could reply, Soleta drew herself to her full height (which was still one head shorter than Vito Turhi). "I want you to know," Soleta said stridently, "that I believe your so-called civilized society to be anything but. Your xenophobia and controlling impulses are ultimately self-destructive."
"Soleta," Spock said warningly.
Unheedingly she continued, "I believe that your society will crumble within the next twenty years. From my reading of the outlying worlds of your republic, it cannot sustain itself. Do with us as you will. Sound the alarm or, if you will, shoot us down where we stand. But be aware that our downfall will be followed, sooner or later, by your own."
Turhi eyed her with unrestrained curiosity. She wasn't quite sure, but it appeared as if, for a moment, the edges of his mouth were beginning to go upward. Then his hand went toward the disruptor, and Soleta and Spock steeled themselves. Spock caught her glance and, with an almost imperceptible movement of his head, indicated to her that she should break to the left upon Turhi's firing, while Spock angled to the right. Maybe, in that way, they wouldn't both be hit and a rescue could still be salvaged.
And then Turhi's hand went past the weapon and thrust into his pocket. He pulled something out in his closed fist, and then he opened his hand. Soleta looked in surprise to see her IDIC pin in Turhi's hand.
"My sister removed this from you without my knowledge," said Turhi. "I informed her that her theft was inappropriate behavior for a princess, and was on my way to return it. Thank you for saving me the extra distance." And with a flick of his wrist he tossed the IDIC to her.
She caught it expertly and looked at it with clear surprise. "I had not anticipated getting this back."
"Life is not an anticipation. Death is anticipation. Life is constant surprise."
Soleta considered the situation and then struck a definitive posture. Her arms were cocked, her legs poised and ready to lash out. Spock, standing to her side, looked at her with as close to confusion as he ever allowed himself to come. "What are you doing?"
"In the event he intends to attack us by hand..."
This actually prompted Vito Turhi to laugh. "As sporting as that might be, it seems a bit unnecessary." Then he pointed off to his left. "Go."
Soleta tilted her head slightly. "What?"
"Go. Leave. The way is clear, I believe. Depart." He paused and said in barely restrained amusement, "Unless you would prefer that I attempt to stop you."
Spock immediately said, "That will not be necessary." He put a firm hand on Soleta's shoulder and guided her past Turhi, who stepped to the side, arms folded.
As they headed off down the hallway, he suddenly called to them, "Wait." They turned and saw Turhi removed his cloak and tossed it to Soleta. She caught it reflexively and looked at it in confusion, and then at him. He gestured for her to drape it up and over her head, sporting it as if it had a hood. "It will make your departure easier," he said.
Soleta couldn't help herself. "Why?" she demanded. "Why are you helping us?"
He smiled. "A typical scientist. You can take nothing for granted; you have to have explanations for everything, even good fortune." He stroked his chin thoughtfully. "It'll annoy the Regent. There. Hopefully that will suffice. Now go.....before I change my mind."
They didn't wait around to see if that possibility occurred. Within minutes they were outside the palace. Two passing guards made no effort to stop them. It was entirely possible that they just didn't realize that these were escaping prisoners. On the other hand, it was also remotely possible that Turhi had somehow cleared the way for them. Either way, it was not a turn of events that either Spock or Soleta was in the slightest inclined to challenge.
They moved at a miles-eating clip until the palace was safely distant, and then Spock slowed his gait a notch. Soleta followed suit. "That was unexpected," she said.
"When I was in Captain Sawyer's 'possession,' the unexpected became somewhat routine."
She winced inwardly. "Sorry about that."
"Apologies are...."
"Unnecessary and of no interest, right. I know," Soleta sighed. "How do we get off this planet?"
"I have made arrangements. A private vessel, primarily a freighter servicing the Centauri Republic. Sufficiently resourceful to slip in and out past border patrols. The freighter captain will meet us shortly and escort us from the planet surface."
She turned to face him. "Ambassador Spock....thank you. I have no idea whether thanks fall into the same category as apologies, but..."
"You are..." He paused, dredged up the word. ".....welcome."
ns 15.158.61.6da2
